Nov. 18, 2014

Sneeze Attack

November 12, 2014

Near Rupert, PA

A Pennsylvania morning, with

A summer’s balmy breeze.

But in our car it seemed that all

That I could do was sneeze.

It happened once—and then again

(A symptom of disease?)—

Again and then again they came:

A sneeze, a sneeze, a sneeze!

I glanced at Joyce, whose eyes beseeched,

Whose manner uttered, “Please,”

While I replied the only way

I could: another sneeze.

I wondered if my drama skills

Would somehow bring me ease,

And so I waxed so thespian

With each ensuing sneeze.

But, no, my acting (never good)

Did nothing to appease

The god now reigning in my nose,

The god who's known as Sneeze.

Old Nature has her music—like

The surf and rippling leaves.

And so, inspired, I improvised

My Symphony of Sneeze,

Bassoons and trumpets, timpani—

I used in all degrees,

But Joyce, I saw, considered it

Just more obnoxious sneeze.

And on they went, a score or more,

In various degrees,

And Joyce and I were tiring fast

Of my displays of sneeze.

Then, suddenly, they ceased—relief!

No, not a single wheeze,

And Joyce and I discussed awhile

The noxiousness of sneeze.

“Our car could use a sail,” I said,

“And I'd provide the breeze.

Then we would have a sturdy craft—

And christen it The Sneeze!”

The Dancing Deer

This will be the final entry in the Daily Doggerel series. As the Walrus said, "The time has come." I will be publishing on Kindle Direct a final collection of these pieces (it will be the 7th volume) and will post here when it is available--probably in a week or so.

A Dancing Deer

A couple cars ahead of us—a dance.

A deer had dashed—had taken such a chance

On crossing Highway 91. She did

Not look, of course. And when we heard cars skid

And saw them swerve. I quickly hit the brakes—

No need for any fatuous mistakes,

Not at my age, an age when “tripping” has

A different meaning than in days of jazz

And Sixties’ foolishness. And as we stopped,

We saw the deer, in panic, then adopt

Contorted choreography. It worked!

And though I won't persuade you that she twerked,

It was a sort of sexy move. O, deer!

What have you done? Your move—so full of fear—

Has caused a man to have a naughty thought.

O, Nature! Do you know what you have wrought?

Both Freud and Darwin see their theories win,

But must, in-graved, begin a tortured spin.

Today, I fear, I had to shelve

My plan to study—really delve

Into the Mystery of Twelve.

(Why don’t we have a word Twoteen?

It makes more sense—know what I mean?)

Shakespeare Couplet:  Romeo and Juliet

The Nurse and Romeo will now conspire

To stoke the glowing embers of Love’s fire. (2.4)

October Lily

October Lily

October lily, on the stalk,

What would you say if you could talk?

Perhaps you’d offer to explain

Why you are blooming by the walk?

The other lilies had their reign

Beneath the spring and summer rain,

But there you are—so orange and bright—

As sun and warmth begin to wane.

It isn’t wrong—nor is it right—

That you are here—the strangest sight.

It’s just a sign of nature’s might:

Before the dark—a buoyant light.

 

I heard he wanted to aggress—

Which would have caused an awful mess—

And so to ease my pure distress,

I showed up in a wedding dress,

And, laughing, he proposed some chess,

Which made some sense … but I digress …

Shakespeare Couplet

Out in the street, his friends find Romeo.

The Nurse arrives—a message for our beau. (2.4)

Immortal Shelves

Immortal Shelves

I remember—many years ago—

The house where Grandma lived. I know

So much about the place because

I was there frequently—it was

So close to where we lived. They had

So many books. It makes me sad

To think of all those books now gone,

Dispersed. A few then sat upon

Two wooden cases, darkly stained.

The cases long ago contained

Some titles  I recall, among

Them readers by McGuffey. Hung

Above them were some pictures I

Cannot remember, though I try.

When my grandparents died—the worst

Of times—among the very first

Of things I wanted were those shelves.

By then, see, Joyce and I ourselves

Had piles of books that had no home,

From tattered paperback to tome.

And years soared by—and decades too.

And soon those cases sagged. Were new

Ones necessary now? I could

Not stand the thought of that. They’d stood,

Endured all that our hope supplied.

And now would they be cast aside?

No. Never. So today dear Joyce

Delivered them—was there a choice?—

Unto a shop where they’ll enjoy

A resurrection. And return

To serve again. Oh, they have earned

It all. I like to think they’ll thrive

Beyond the time that I’m alive.

And grandsons will employ them then,

Perhaps recalling where they’ve been.

Classic photos in the buff—I

Called the series “Nude-Os”—

Earned me lot of major bucks and

Critics’ earnest kudos.

Shakespeare Couplet:  Romeo and Juliet

The Friar hopes a marriage will unite

The families who are now so filled with spite. (2.3)

The Mild Ones

The Mild Ones

The Harley glides toward us where we sit—

McDonald’s driveway. I don't want to hit

The guy, but I can't really tell if he

Is turning. Why no signal? Mystery.

He's close enough that I can see him well—

An “older” gentleman (not hard to tell:

His frame is bent and slender, and his face

Reveals his years.) Oh, it is no disgrace

To carry all the history that he does.

In fact, I somewhat sympathize because

I bear a half a dozen decades, too—

Okay, it's seven—more than just a few.

This Harley guy seems out of place upon

His fine machine. No Marlon Brando, he.

No wildness lingers near him. Now I see

He does desire to turn, and as he leans

Into the thing, I see his faded jeans,

His faded face, his jacket scuffed with age—

Perhaps a wipeout now and then? It's tough to gauge.

He gives us both a feeble look as he

Slides past—a wrinkled face, a white goatee.

And then he's in our mirror, then he’s gone,

We turn out in the road—and then drive on.

Oh, Time defeats us in our weary wars,

Transforming us into a mouse that roars.

Wrote her that she was terrific,

But I wrote in hieroglyphic.

She replied, “Be more specific.”

So I did—I’m so prolific.

Dumped me fast—oh, so horrific!

Told me I was soporific—

So I cruised the vast Pacific,

Not for reasons scientific,

Seeking life more beatific. 

Shakespeare Couplet:  Romeo and Juliet

To Friar Lawrence hies our Romeo.

He tells the Friar what he needs to know. (2.3)

Stumblebum

Stumblebum

I leaned back in my study chair

To grab a folder near.  

The next I knew, I supine lay—

I’d found a new frontier.

My balance in my sunset years

Is nothing to behold.

It’s just more certain evidence

That I am getting old.

I stumble over rumpled rugs,

On magazines and books—

I visit them there on the floor

To give them closer looks.

And soon, I know, so very soon,

I will not have a prayer,

And I will fall because, you see,

I’ve stumbled on the air.

And when it’s air that's tripping me,

I know The End is nigh,

And soon enough I’ll find it’s time

That I must say, “Buh-bye!”

I liked her parabolic tale

About the journey of a snail.

Shakespeare Couplet:  Romeo and Juliet

So sweetly, sorrowfully the lovers part—

Each carries now the other lover’s heart. (2.2)

Literary Geese?

Literary Geese

Outside a Barnes & Noble—on a night

When more than several things did not seem right—

We were right by the entrance when we heard

That honking sound from that most common bird.

Canada geese were winging overhead—

And practically invisible. I said,

Just pointing out the obvious, “It’s geese!”

And Joyce, adept at keeping spousal peace,

Agreed, eschewing irony and such,

Which do not help relationships too much.

A lesser spouse (like me?) might well have quipped,

“Duh. You think?” But Joyce could not have slipped

In such a way. She does not ever use

Such cruel irony. She knows you lose

More than you gain with such locutions, so

She merely looked aloft and said, “I know.”

I don't believe that I have ever seen

A flight this late. What motives anserine

Propelled them from the pond—or maybe ground—

Where they were probably simply gathered round

And waiting for some goosy Morpheus?

Or maybe they had started to discuss

A Pynchon novel? But they had no book?

So flew to Barnes & Noble for a look?

But saw a couple in the parking lot—

The man looked creepy old, the woman not—

Decided they’d postpone their Pynchon talk,

And filled the night with disappointed squawk.

No matter how much stuff you cumulate,

You can't escape your final, fatal date.

 Shakespeare Couplet:  Romeo and Juliet

“O, swear not by the moon, the inconstant moon”—

She’s learning that from love she's not immune. (2.2)