What's the Dif?

What separates man from the beasts is not our intellect;

Consider recent presidents we've managed to elect.

It isn't nobleness of soul, our sense of what is right;

Ugly caterpillars soon are butterflies in flight.

Mark Twain said 'twas our blushes, but that's nonsense I deride;

A troop of baboons blushes all the way down their backside.

Our conscience isn't so unique to just the human race;

Monkeys never would have let Joe Stalin take up space.

Religion isn't man's  alone, though I will grant you this –

The praying mantis has a form that I would never miss.

It isn't music, since the birds sing better melodies.

It isn't work or thrift at all – just look at ants and bees.

What is it then that raises us above the brutish vapor?

Could it be the only thing is using toilet paper?

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Fugu

Fugu is a trendy dish

Made from parts of puffer fish.

Neurotoxins lace its flesh,

Even when you eat it fresh.

One wrong bite can lead to death –

Or if not, to nasty breath.

Still, the Japanese devour

Tons of it most every hour.

If to danger they must cater,

Why not under-tip the waiter?

 

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Moving Day

Moving day is here again.

There's no cause for cheer again.

Nervous breakdown near again.

Moving day is here again.

Moving truck is parked outside.

Movers start to slip and slide.

Suddenly they all collide.

Moving truck is parked outside.

Grandma's vase was vintage stock.

Crushed beneath the cuckoo clock.

Every other thing is schlock.

Grandma' vase was vintage stock.

Who has got the dolly cart?

Cardboard boxes fall apart.

I am quickly losing heart.

Who has got the dolly cart?

Let us pause for lemonade

In the cooling dusky shade.

(Are those ants?  Go get the Raid!)

Let us pause for lemonade.

All the picture frames are cracked.

And the china is ill-stacked.

I am running out of tact.

All the picture frames are cracked.

Must we take those magazines?

And that trunk of hippie jeans?

Not the case of lima beans!

Must we take those magazines?

Leave behind the hide-a-bed.

Heavier than tons of lead.

Let new tenants shrink in dread.

Leave behind the hide-a-bed.

Now is not the time to slack.

Holes in wall and floor is black.

Scrubbing, patching, breaking back.

Now is not the time to slack.

At our new home we arrive.

Can't believe we're still alive.

It smells like an old bee hive.

At our new home we arrive.

If we move again, don't frown.

Just remove your evening gown.

Then we'll burn the place right down.

If we move again, don't frown.

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Trashy Romance Novels

The trashy romance novel

Is such a hit becuz

The ladies love a story

Where all the men are scuz.

Until that Certain Someone

With biceps like a rock,

With soul to spare, clean underwear,

Who owns some Google stock,

Goes walking on the beach with

Such tragic look that gals

Want to heal his heartache

And be his bestest pals.

The sex is pure and simple,

And happens quite a lot,

And that is how the author

Gets by without a plot.

Of course we men don't read 'em;

We've better things to do –

Like napping on the couch all day

And learning how to chew.

---

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Kingdom Come

The poor you will always have with you; it's just as the Savior has said.

You'll find them among the best families, cuz you can be broke and well-fed.

Of course there are homeless and jobless and orphans and widows and such

Who lean on religion and welfare, and find it a willowy crutch.

The eye of a needle for rich folk is not such an all-daunting view;

With lawyers, accountants and lipo, they'll figure a way to slip through.

The world has a conscience, or leastways it craves the publicity due

To heroes who give away money to keep the poor way out of view.

A beggar can work like a Trojan to earn but a pittance, and when

Illness and stock markets kick up he has to start over again.

The prisons are full of plain people who can't buy a cop or a judge

Or influence stern politicians, who spend all their time making fudge.

I'd rather be poor in my spirit and live in a comfortable house

Than spend the night praying and hungry in fields with the cricket and mouse.

But since I am fated to never have silver and gold I can spare,

And since all my debts keep on growing, while I live upon the thin air,

I'll dawdle awhile on God's footstool to see what turns up for a bum –

That is if Iran, North Korea, don't first blow us to Kingdom Come.

---

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Summer School

To a boy the summer stretches out, an endless pool

Of delight, of pleasure, until there's summer school.

Birds may flit from tree to tree and baseball games do rule

But not if you're a dunce chained up inside a summer school.

The morning sun is drained of joy, your parents just a tool

Of those darker forces that dumped you in summer school.

They may call it arts and crafts but I was never fooled

About the bondage that occurred when I was summer-schooled.

A prison pallor crept o'er me and I began to drool –

My spittle all that I produced while trapped in summer school.

Reeking of stale chalk dust, met with teachers in a duel,

The boredom was a living thing inside of summer school.

Missing out on so much fun made me a little ghoul,

Creeping down the corridors of rotten summer school.

Parents I beseech you to obey this golden rule –

Send your kids to summer camp but not to summer school.

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The Lemonade Stand

 

---

Down a shady sidewalk on a summer's promenade,
you are bound to find small children selling lemonade.
Grinning through their freckles, they are massed in earnest quorum,
offering a paper cup that's brimming and lukewarm.
Hornets circle lazily above this charming scene;
El Dorado beckoning without a window screen.
Every quarter in their till is cause for toasts and talk
of expanding business 'til they've drunk up all the stock!
Then it's back to mother for a slew of new supplies,
robbing her quite merrily before her very eyes.
As the shades of evening fall upon their little stand,
they espy their father and begin a loud demand:
customers are scarcer than the hair on chicken egg;
won't he buy up their whole stand, so solemnly they beg.
Father knows the drill quite well, and so with weary smile,
he reaches in his pockets and lays quarters in a pile.
With their new prosperity the kids run clean away--
letting mother, father, clean up after them next day.
Does this simple comedy remind you of some folk,
who trifle with their bizness and make others bear the yoke?
I will not belabor any similarities.
Draw your own conclusions as to who gets all the cheese.

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The Burka

In banning wearing of the burka

France has gone a bit beserka.

What is next, the nun's chaste wimple?

Or that famous Gallic dimple?

The French can never leave alone

Their yearning to become a clone.

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The Doorknob

A doorknob is a handy thing to have around the home;

Otherwise you'd be hard-pressed to get out doors and roam.

A doorknob and a piece of string provide the tools to yank

A tooth to put 'neath pillow and a coin for piggy bank.

They're often cold and rattle so that no one can surprise you.

Touch one in electric storms and lightening maybe fries you.

People do collect them, though I do not know what for;

You might as well take hinges, panels, heck – the whole darn door.

On Star Trek doorknobs don't exist, but that's their loss I'd say

'cause where else can old Cap'n Kirk hang up his wet toupee?

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The Local Choir

On Sunday when the choir sings

I do not think of angel wings

But rather of a weathered hinge

Upon a rusty squeaking binge.

I know the singers are sincere

In wanting God to be quite near

But voices free of practice are

Made to set my teeth ajar.

I really do not mean to sneer;

I often wish for a tin ear.

And in my heart I sure do know

That church is not a talent show.

And those who come close unto God

Are never featured on iPod.

The fault is mine, I do confess,

But is it wrong to seek finesse?

 

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Grammar

Grammar is a thing of which I ain't got no use for.

Diagramming sentences is such a crashing bore.

Adjectives in past tense with a passive voice – oh please!

I don't care if gerunds grow on auxiliary trees.

So I split infinitives – just what is that to you?

I'll give you punctuation that'll leave you black and blue!

---

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Mountains

Climbing mountains just for fun seems very much to me

A form of deep psychosis or profound insanity.

The air is thin, the rocks are sharp, there's ice on which to slip.

To masochists this must be all a bunch of sweet catnip.

To brag you've climbed a mountain peak to wallow in the view

Impresses me about as much as music by kazoo.

So take your rugged mountains and your glaciers all aglow

And wrap 'em round a piece of string to make a grand yo-yo.

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The Firefly

The firefly is glowing

To attract a fertile mate.

Once the courting's over,

He grows dull as heavy slate.

Nature thus reminds us

That romance is but a ruse.

Sparks that are extinguished

Cannot light another fuse.

---

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A Bowl of Steam

Scientists say birds don't sing to cheer us up – oh no;

They're marking territory, putting on a mating show.

Studies prove that rainbows do not lead to pots of gold

And marriage made in heaven is a misconception bold.

A bowl of cherries is just fruit – our life it won't explain.

Astronomers say wishing on a star is simply vain.

Scholars claim the Bible is a gruesome fairy tale;

Casting bread on water is an insult to the whale.

Miracles are humbug, so our dreams we should deride.

(Maybe that explains the prevalence of suicide.)

---

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The Title

Judging books by covers is an honorable pursuit,

Though there are old fogies who would give it the old boot.

Books on economics need to feature words like "sex" –

And everything from history to Yellow Pages' Dex.

The fact is if you put "sex" in the title of your book

You will be top-listed even though you are a schnook.

"Sex and Apple Strudel" makes a cookbook off shelves fly.

"The Sex Life of Pinocchio" will make your agent cry.

Use the F-word, softened with some winking asterisks

And you will be dining on sweet caviar and bisques.

Should you hesitate to prostitute the written word,

Remember that the iPod makes all reading quite absurd.

---

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The Nose

Among the body's organs that is never in repose

There is none so busy as the solitary nose.

Throned in grandeur on the face like ancient pyramid,

putting men a step above the ostrich and the squid.

Vigilant in sniffing out an onion or a rose –

Everybody wishes that they had a second nose.

One to poke in business that is none of their affair –

One to signify contempt by pointing in the air.

Whether yours is button cute or something from Durante,

Pampered in a mansion or ground down in tumbled shanty,

Browned upon the bosses' rear or bent quite out of shape,

Our nose is what keeps all of us from looking like a grape.

So raise a Kleenex in salute to noses sweet as sugar . . .

 when your pride is at the flood you're bound to drop a booger.

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Automated

 

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Everything is automated --
doesn't make me too elated.
Phone calls are of no avail --
all you get is cold voicemail.
Checkout lines, you do the scanning.
Cashiers are out someplace, tanning.
No need to be a grand aesthete
to know we'll soon be obsolete.

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Lincoln was a homely man

Lincoln was a lonely man.

He knew the bite of want.

He lawyered in the stolen fields

which Red men used to haunt.

The slowness of a river bend

Where turbulence runs deep

Is underneath his starched white shirt

And keeps him from his sleep.

But Honest Abe is sleeping now

And cannot be dismayed

At the wars his country spreads,

At principles betrayed.

Lincoln was a homely man.

Today he'd have no heart

In the juggernaut we bless

To break the world apart.

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The Fly

The fly is innocent of guile and also all hygiene.

It lands upon our steaming food and garbage quite unseen.

It crawls about on baby's knee and road kill without pause.

It walks upon the ceiling with no thought of higher laws.

It rubs its little hands as if it wants to celebrate,

Then finds a bowl of soup in which it can regurgitate.

Oh why is it that creatures that must mess around with feces

Never ever do become a rare endangered species?

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The Good Life

The invention of alarm clocks was a blow to mankind's ease.

The safety cap on aspirin has caused some mutinies.

And the parking meter is a bane, along with one-way streets,

As well as karaoke and the rise of those spread sheets.

The telemarketer is such a cursing that I shudder

Lawyers stir up anger, pitting brudder against brudder.

Computers crash, inflation soars, and savings melt like ice cubes.

Video has turned our children into packs of nice boobs.

Divorce is strictly no-fault and quite easy in obtaining.

Need I add that chastity and virtue all are waning?

And that is why my daily prayer does ask the Lord to permit

Me to live like men of old, a solitary hermit.

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Travel

I love to look at maps to plan the trips I'll never take,

The beds I'll never sleep in and the sights I must forsake.

I plan these trips most carefully to places that I crave

And then rejoice while counting all the money I will save.

The world is full of beauty and excitement, it is true.

But if you never say 'hello', you will not need 'adieu'.

In my mind I travel quite a bit around the globe

And never worry that I will pick up a stray microbe.

Let others scamper round about in search of who-knows-what;

I can have adventures when I go for my haircut.

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My Bank

A rose by any other name is still a thorny weed.

A bank by any other name is welcomed like nosebleed.

They can change the sign out front as often as they want

But the best a bank can hope is for a slight détente.

"Forgive!  Forget!" and "Let's forge on!" come quickly to their lips

But when it comes to lending they are still the same old drips.

All the PR in the world won't cover up the tale

Of how our banking system has grown lackluster and stale.

You notice 'mea culpa' is not part of their design,

Though we've hung 'em out to dry upon their own clothesline.

My bank is not my bosom friend, and should not so aspire.

Like the old-time Western, they are just a gun for hire.

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Fearless Leader

When the poor and hungry ask their leaders for a break,

They're "communists" or "terrorists" or something else quite fake.

Their leaders go to Washington for cash to stabilize

Governments so rotten they repel the very flies.

And Uncle Sam is willing to provide the ready loot,

Which these grasping leaders seem to think is their tribute.

They salt away the money and their children have it made,

While the hungry masses are tossed scorn or a grenade.

If Uncle Sam wants money for these sticky-fingered goons

He'd better keep us drunk and raise the taxes on saloons.

 

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The Fisherman

A fisherman will never lie, at least not consciously.

He wouldn't tell a falsehood just to burnish his glory.

If his fish has got away he'd not exaggerate.

He'd be as honest as the men who handled Watergate.

You can trust the fisherman; he's steady, firm and brave.

He knows the truth is often stiff, so gives it a close shave.

 

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The Elephant

The elephant has got a trunk.

The other end has always stunk.

His eyes are small, his ears are big.

He's bald but doesn't wear a wig.

His feet are round and flat and firm.

The snobs all call him pachyderm.

He's always grey, unless he's white.

And mice do not give him a fright.

He eats a lot, but wouldn't you

If you were cooped up in a zoo?

He's awful mild, the elephant,

And never was malevolent.

But should you tease him with some food

You'll find he can be slightly rude;

And slightly rude, the elephant

Has the muscle prevalent

To flatten toes and feet and more.

So do not ever make him sore.

Just treat him square, the elephant,

And he will be benevolent.

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North Dakota

The state of North Dakota doesn't have a deficit.

Neither does it have a pair of tailored pants that fit.

Unemployment is below the average nationally.

They're also below average as a whole society.

Commodities have kept their state economy on track –

Maybe their state flag should show a picture of fatback.

Wind turbines are everywhere and so are lefse jokes.

The Sons of Norway run the place and keep out Swedish folks.

You betcha, that's the state I love when I am far away.

But when I get close to it I feel nothing but dismay.

It ought to be a parking lot, and not a civil state,

Making it more useful for a partying tailgate

 

---

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mass transit, sic transit gloria

Seems like money isn't scarce when building our freeways;

We've exit ramps and clover leafs to last 'til end of days.

You can drive straight from New York to bright Laguna Beach

And see less of the country than the fuzz upon a peach.

But transit funds for bus and rail are always running shy;

People want to drive their cars while all the subways die.

We tax the gas we guzzle for the trolley cars we dread

Will not keep our economy from hanging by a thread.

So let's build better highways while the bus line closes down –

This will keep the paupers segregated in downtown.

Those who can't afford a car or even motor bike

Still have two good thumbs at hand and might as well hitchhike.

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Top Ten . . .

TOP TEN CAUSES OF DEATH WORLD-WIDE

 

ü Heart Attack

ü Stroke

ü Plaque

ü Buyer's Remorse

ü Heartbreak of Psoriasis

ü Will Ferrell

ü Paper Cuts

ü Godzilla

ü Escalators

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sittin' & thinkin'

 

---

Little bug upon the wall,
no one looks at you at all;
no one but myself, that is --
will you stay or will you whiz?
Will you creep so far above?
Will you drop down, for all love?
Have you fangs and venom sleek?
Are you rather mild and meek?
Do you wonder at your lot,
that the angels for you fought?
Or if not, at least they know
how you come and where you go.
Little bug upon the wall,
you are lucky I'm not tall.
Otherwise, in my huge pride
I'd commit a pesticide.
 
************************************8
 
I never know when someone
talking might not be alone
but instead be jabbering
away on their cell phone.
"Hello!  How are you?" they will say
and I will start to speak,
only to discover
it's their cell phone, cheek to cheek.
A proper fool I am, I am,
to offer my reply
to someone who don't know me
from a slice of pizza pie.
Some day I'll fix their wagon
and keep talking 'til I'm blue
and then when they start staring
I will jump and holler: Boo!

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Now I Lay Me Down To Sleep

Now I lay me down to sleep,

Though the cost of drugs may creep

Higher than I can afford –

Who will pay for them, oh Lord?

Trust in thee and Medicare

Doesn't get me anywhere.

Guess I'll pick and choose today

Hoping symptoms go away.

And if I die before I wake

Because of pills I didn't take

Please dress me up and carry me

To Congress for those schmucks to see.

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The Hanky

 

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Growing up, I saw the hanky carried everywhere;

Put in a breast pocket, used in dusting off a chair.

Grandma kept one in her purse, quite dainty, edged in lace.

She cleaned her glasses with it and would pat down her damp face.

My mother ironed them at night to keep them crisp and neat.

They came in awful handy during summer's throbbing heat.

(and for blowing noses they could never have been beat.)

A box of them with monograms was just the thing for dad;

For Christmas or his birthday, they sure seemed to make him glad.

Now I find that handkerchiefs are relics of the past,

Shunned as unhygienic, they leave youngsters all aghast.

Most people carry tissues which are easy to dispose,

But tissues are not sturdy and cannot stand many blows.

I carry a bandanna and I do not give a rot

If there's some that call it a recipient of snot.

'Twas good enough for grandpa and it's good enough for me

And if you do not like it you can soak your head in tea.

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Tim Pawlenty

Minnesota has Pawlenty;

Odds for prez are one in twenty.

As governor he will not run;

The job no longer is much fun.

He's cut the budget, saved the state,

And now he wants a better fate

Than state-side politics can grant.

He wants to be the Presidant.

Republicans who catch this bug

Need therapy or good sound slug.

Pawlenty ought to stay at home

And polish up the local chrome.

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The New Yankee Stadium

In days of yore,

Despite the score,

We loved our dear old Yankees.

They'd sign their name

Before the game

On things like balls and hankies.

In their new digs

They are bigwigs;

We're fenced out from their presence.

To put it short

These kings of sport

Now treat us all like peasants.

Free autograph?

Don't make me laugh!

They're sold to highest bidder.

The team forgets

It has some debts

To orphan child and widder.

So fare-thee-well

(or go to hell)

Most noble Yankee sluggers.

A soccer game

May be quite lame –

But they are humble buggers.

---

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GM

Like a Greeked-up tragedy

GM fell for all to see.

Mighty was its market share.

Muscle cars made people stare.

Factories throughout the land

Could not keep up with demand.

Lo, the well-trod buyer's track

To the land of Pontiac!

Working at a GM plant

Was a dream to make one pant;

Union benefits so large

They would not fit in a barge.

Proud and slothful they became;

Putting cars all on one frame.

'Til the wily Japanese

Cut them off below the knees.

And the pension plan became

Stacked up like casino game.

Wagoner, the CEO,

Couldn't see the rocks below;

Drove GM upon the shoals

Of his makeshift market goals.

Now he's gone, with all the rest –

Left are those who beat their breast

As the shrunken giant moans,

Weary in its joints and bones,

Crashing down in bitter shock

(glad I never bought their stock).

How it ends, the Greeks may know. 

Obama cries:  Look out below!

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Packing

 

---

The reason I hate travel is because I really lack
ability to organize my suitcase when I pack.
The shampoo always opens and nobody seems to know
why my socks are single -- where the other one could go.
My pants become so ruffled they would make a washboard grin;
my shirts have now got creases that run clear up to my chin.
I packed my comb and toothbrush, with a box of kleenex, too;
they manage to combine as if they bathed in Elmer's glue.
Those zippered little pouches that stick out so very bold
must be for ostentation -- there is nothing they can hold.
The handle comes unraveled and the locks refuse to budge,
and since I'm with some strangers I will only holler "Fudge!"
I always travel lightly but my suitcase weighs a ton;
travel may be broadening but it sure isn't fun.
Not when every time I pack I seem to half-destroy
most of my possessions as hydraulics I employ.
Next time I am tempted some exotic place to go,
I'll settle for an armchair and a book by Paul Theroux.

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