Take It Easy, Greasy

Take it easy, Greasy, we have a long way to slide.
I like to travel with those who enjoy the ride.
Anticipation of ecstasy and the afterglow
Make the joy of anything have a greater glow.
When we're in such a hurry getting to the finish,
There is so much detail in life that we miss.
The planning of a shared event is half the fun.
There's no point in playing catch-up once a project is begun.

Making My Bed

Do you know the reason that people used to make their beds?
It was to keep out critters that we still have cause to dread.
My friend Jack in Appalachia says he once found a snake
Snuggling on a bed he, thankfully, did make.
And we don't want spiders crawling around,
Considering they'll bite us without making a sound.

Now we make beds because it makes them look nice,
But, still any critter would have to think twice
Before burrowing down between blanket and sheet
So, there's little chance that, our skin, they will meet.
It also makes it easier to pull the covers over us
Because when we're tired, we don't want much fuss.

So when you're tempted not to make your bed
If not one thing, it's another that can cause dread.
And if none of these things has convinced you to behave
Remember one more thought that is grave
You can't continue doing only what you want to do
Unless you want do decrease your friends by more than one or two.

When you go visiting, if your bed is made
Is matters not whether because its cute or your host is afraid
When you wake, place the pillows and smooth the covers
So you may be invited back by good manners lovers.
If you don't behave for goodness sake
They may, next time tell you to go jump in the lake.

Living Less Large

This is the big risk
That I took today:
I told my hubby we can't
Continue to play.
The cost of everything
Has gotten so high,
And our retirement fund
Makes us want to cry.

His ego may be hurt,
I am quite sure,
But this is something
We both have to endure.
We didn't think we
Would live this long,
But his heart transplant
Made all estimates wrong.

My daddy's mama lived
To be ninety-six and a half.
If we live this long,
We'll want to laugh.
We won't be laughing
If we run out of dough,
So this is somewhere
We don't want to go.

Cost cutting measures
May not be easy,
But the alternatives
Make us both queasy.
We're glad we enjoy
Each others company
This is a continued joy
That we get for free.

During the day he's busy
Building a PT boat
That in the fighting
Of World War II did float.
But my Vietnam veteran
Always returns to me,
Unlike many veterans
Lost on boats at sea.

In the evenings we play
Scrabble and Rummikub
Then he rubs my feet
While we watch some tube.
On Sundays, we go see
Family and friends.
May our joy in each other
Never come to an end.

Today They Look Like Ducklings

Today they look like ducklings, all swimming in a row;
They start out on their sailboats, then over they go.
This must be a part of their seamanship training;
Or, are they simply taking a swim before it starts raining?

This could be essential lessons in how to right their own mistakes,
Under the watchful eyes of teachers who will do whatever it takes
To make sure these young sailors do not drown in their endeavors
To win their crazy competitions over who can act most clever.

If only we had more teachers with a sense of safety and adventure,
Who would guide our young people as they, into the world, venture,
Who understand the chances that one will manage to survive
Are based on how much one is willing to learn and how hard one strives.

Setting Sail

Like baby butterflies, they float on the waves;
In the shadow of the rescue boat, they are so brave.
Bouncing, bobbing, running into one another,
It's clear they haven't mastered the use of a rudder.
It must be on purpose that they heel over so gleefully;
I suspect this isn't what their instructors want to see.
Round and round they sail about the practice bouys
Many days will pass before they're ready for open seas.

Learning to master the wind, a treat for these girls and boys,
That gives the old salts a way to relive their youthful joys.
Dreams of riding the waves on the open sea,
A fantasy of what it means to feel truly free.
But even this freedom requires many disciplines,
That must learn before our adventures begin.
Without it, we chase each other in an endless loop,
Yawing and broaching on our rudderless sloops.

Rage-Filled Rhetoric

How much of thinking is shut down
By another's strong words?
If we want to get to the message,
We should examine the words we heard.

There are people of great passion
Who will burn with the hottest flame.
After the first fire burns down,
We must ask what message remains.

Are their words just kindling,
Simply a showy flash in the pan?
Or is their hottest passion a fuel
For pursuing a crafted plan?

We must look at their lives,
The examples they have set before,
Prior to allowing their impassioned
Speeches to enter our minds' doors.

We must remember that Herr Hitler
Was a man of impassioned speech.
His rage-filled rhetoric shut down the brain,
And it had a terribly far reach.

A screaming child is sent to the room
Until they collect their thoughts,
But we continue to ignore all the destruction
Adult bravado has wrought.

A snarling person, like a barking dog
Is something to be feared;
The real message their words carry
Is that we have come too near.

So often people snarl to ward us off
From discovering their truths,
But backing off is not the same
As rendering them moot.

All the passion pulls others in
To a mindless, soulless pack,
Until the numbers are sufficient
For them to feel strong enough to attack.

And there are so many others
Whose lives are lived in fear;
Their paranoia is activated by
The angry words they hear.

What can we do with excess passion
That flies in the face of reason?
By allowing the angry to lead the world,
We commit intellectual and emotional treason.

Why do we refuse to listen to
Those who speak soft and true?
When will we stop surrendering
To the loudest and most abusive few?

It is difficult to sit silently,
Listening and comprehending,
But until we learn respectful discourse,
The violence will have no ending.

Protecting Our Pack

Have you ever noticed how women like to
Publicly preen their men and their young?
Anyone else who tries to approach them
Is in grave danger of getting stung.

It is a woman's way of saying
This is mine; don't try to touch;
I'm the one who cares for
These people so very much.

Many men strut and flex,
As if they are the ones who are strong,
But, knowing that, if challenged,
Their strength wouldn't last very long.

I have willingly traded
Strength of body for strength of mind.
I feel protected by his quiet courage,
Preferring that my mate be smart and kind.

Many people travel in packs,
Rather than stay and protect their own.
It doesn't seem to me that
Their adolescence has been outgrown.

There are other men and women
Who seek a society of friends
That are pledged to protect each other
Until all of their lives end.

Because we have chosen new family,
We are blessed with such a society
Of faithful long-time friends,
Who know my man, my children, and me.

We rejoice with each others joys,
Share in each others' passion and pain.
And when we lose our way, they are there
To help us find our right path again.