Posts tagged ‘poetry’

Not Bad – For a Monday

13 January, 2014 | | 1 Comment

OK, this came to me driving in to work this morning, and as usual I felt the need to inflict this on share this with you all!  I’m blatently cross-posting from Free Range Poetry, where it can be found at  Also, you need to remember – Jimmy Buffet is singing this to you.  Not me.  As you read it, imagine Jimmy Buffet singing it.  In fact, if any of you know Jimmy Buffet, please point this out to him and let him know it’s for sale! 

Without further ado…

“How ya doin’?”

“Oh, I’m not bad…  For a Monday.”

Well I’m not bad for a Monday
I could use another Sunday
I need a weekend with One More Day
But even if I had it I know I’d say
That I’m not bad … for a Monday.


I got into the office and it’s too damn loud
My feet are on the floor but my head’s in a cloud
And the prospect of the work-week has my spirit cowed
But I’m not bad – for a Monday

And my wallet’s empty but my head is full
Of angry squirrels, with maracas, and no sense of timing
But I’m OK.  Not bad, really. 
For a Monday.

Well I’m not bad for a Monday
I can’t remember much of Sunday
I need a weekend with One More Day
But even if I had it I know I’d say
That I’m not bad … for a Monday.


Well the weekend was a blur, it went by so fast
My arm’s in a sling and my leg’s in a cast
And I don’t really know what was in that pipe they passed
But I’m not bad for a Monday

My ex won an Oscar for playing herself
In a movie she wrote about what a jerk I am
But that’s all right.  Not bad, really. 
For a Monday.

Well I’m not bad for a Monday
I can’t remember much of Sunday
I need a weekend with One More Day
But even if I had it I know I’d say
That I’m not bad … for a Monday.


Friday it all started out so well
Half a case of beer for our thirsts to quell
Who could guess how fast it would all go to hell
But I’m not bad for a Monday.

I don’t think that beer was half the problem since we were OK until
My half-brother’s sister’s cousin showed up with that Tequila,
But we forgive him.  It’s OK.  Not bad, really. 
For a Monday.

Well I’m not bad for a Monday
I could’ve lived without Sunday
I need a weekend with One More Day
But even if I had it I know I’d say
That I’m not bad … for a Monday.

I don’t remember much of Sunday
I need a weekend with One More Day
But even if I had it I know I’d say
That I’m not bad … for a Monday.
Yeah, I’m not bad … for a Monday.



On First Looking into Jackson’s Hobbit

14 January, 2013 | | No Comment

Yes, I’m blatently pulling this across from Free Range Poetry:

Many’s the children’s tale or poem or book
I’ve seen turned to a movie on the screen;
I worried what this Hobbit film would mean,
and how bald-faced the liberties he’d took?
From many had I heard a pre-viewed look:
The latest Peter Jackson film they’d seen,
and urged me skip, at risk of primal scream —
An Unexpected Journey, best forsook!
And yet this weekend past, I sat entranced
while Tolkien’s dream of Shire-folk unwound,
while stout Bilbo with ogres fought and danced,
like Arthur Dent, whose courage must be found.
And Gollum gollum’s best, and thus advanced
the tale – our Precious, lying on the ground.


Supreme Courts, Healthcare Laws, and Poetry?

28 June, 2012 | | No Comment

Why yes!

In honor of the Supreme Court’s favorable ruling today on what we’ve come to call ObamaCare, I’m dusting off my “poem about insurance.”  

Cross-posting, you ask?  Why yes!  Please, saunter over to and indulge.  Let me know what you think, either here or there!

Reading to the Lost Boys

2 March, 2012 | | 4 Comments

“The Winter is forbidden ’til December,
And exits March the 2nd, on the dot!”

So there I was, in my silk-lined yellow corduroy smoking jacket and red-and-yellow checked jester hat, with my jester balls bouncing for emphasis, reading to a gaggle of wide-eyed 3rd graders, when I wondered: “How did I get here?”

March the 2nd, you see, is a great date.  Not only is it the date, the dot upon which Winter exits Camelot, it is also, as you are most probably aware, the birthday of Dr. Seuss.  (Why is it that the two greatest children’s poets who ever lived had pen names?  Charles Dodgson and Theodor Geisel.  I’m thinking I need a good nom de plume.)

So in honor of the father of the Cat in the Hat’s birthday, the Reigning Queen of Pink asked if I would come to school this morning and read a Dr. Seuss book to her and her classmates, as was being requested of all the parents.  How could I refuse?  I was raised on One, Two, Red, and Blue Fishes, and most memorably, Fox in Sox.  (FOBUMD can still get his tongue around a muddle puddle tweetle poodle beetle noodle bottle paddle battle, which is of course what it’s called when tweetle beetles fight these battles in a bottle with their paddles and the bottle’s on a poodle and the poodle’s eating noodles.  But you knew that.)

So on with the silk-lined yellow corduroy smoking jacket and on with the red-and-yellow checked jester hat and off, with my battered old copy of Yertle the Turtle and the Reigning Queen of Pink, to school we went.

Reading with Yertle

Reading with Yertle, Rehearsing my Lines

Signing in at the office, I was greeted with “I dare you to go to your office like that.”  Since I work on an Army post, I politely demurred.  One of the school’s many saints, who has worked with both Number One Son and the RQoP, came around a corner, took one look at me and said, “I should have known.” I think it was the bouncing balls around my head that did it, but it could have been that Hugh Hefner aura I was projecting with the smoking jacket.  You never know.  I was also greeted warmly by the wonderful PTA President, who luckily did not have her camera.

Once signed in, I with the other parents milled about while waiting to enter the cafeteria, which is of course the official waiting spot – but we needed to wait before waiting since there were still a few dozen little darlings coming out of the cafeteria, having finished waiting for classes to start.  Three of these little darlings, on their egress from the cafeteria, walked straight up to me, like the crew of Stand By Me confronting their fears, except shorter, and they were girls.

Girl 1:  “Who are you?”
BUMD:  “Well, I don’t know yet.  I’m here to read this book.”
Girl 2:  “You don’t know who you are?”
BUMD:  “Well, it’s hard to be certain.”
Girl 1:  “You’re Yertle the Turtle?”
BUMD:  “I could be.  I’m not sure; I haven’t read the book yet.”
Girl 3:  “Are you a turtle?”

Damnit.  I didn’t see that coming, and I can’t answer this 7-year-old properly.  First, I don’t know her parents, and I would need to apologize for contributing to her corruption.  Second, it would be just generally inappropriate.  And third, the PTA President and a school staffer were standing right next to me.

Mind you, these are all reasons that I should answer her, also.  Because there is only one answer to that questionYou bet your sweet ass I am. 

Thinking quickly on my feet, I replied, “I’m not at liberty to say right now.”   Still, I felt the shame.  Look me up in 15 years, kid – I owe you a beer.  (I then checked with the PTA President and school staffer; luckily, they weren’t turtles, or I would have owed them a beer also.)  The girls must have sensed my discomfiture, because they vanished shortly afterward – whereupon we made our way into the cafeteria for some serious, adult waiting.

After hanging out in the cafeteria for a while, trying to avoid eye contact with other parents who probably thought *they* would make better readers, we were dismissed to our respective classrooms.  In mine, I found that 8 other parents had arrived to read to their respective children – a ratio of 9 readers to 23 little listeners, or as I like to think of it, 9 mouths to 46 ears.  Hardly seems fair, does it?  The teacher – another saint who remembers Number One Son – suggested we break into groups of our own kid and one or two others, and find a spot and read.  The RQoP hauled me to the center of the room and was looking for a place to sit and a friend to grab in the milling crowd, when I noticed a gaggle of five boys in a huddle, with no parent, asking said teacher what they should do.  She told them to find a parent group, and I looked at the obvious ringleader and said, “Hey, I’m a parent group!” 

This little punk took one look at my hat and said, “Oh, yeah!!!”  You could hear the exclamation points.  I was touched. 

And so the RQoP and the five lost boys and I moved to the back, and I rolled through Yertle the Turtle.  On page one, I noticed they were squirming more than I would have expected.  On page two, this continued.  By page three, I realized that I was completely out of practice reading this sort of thing to this sort of audience – I had been holding the book in front of me.  As soon as I switched hands and moved the book so that they could all see the pictures, I had them.  We got through Yertle, Gertrude McFee, and The Big Brag, and with 5 minutes to spare in our allotted time the ringleader asked if I could read his book – The Twenty Little Piggies.  I considered explaining that I was only there for the Seuss, but I had a flashback to the movie Stand By Me and decided to just read it – Gordie might be packing, you never know.  The piggies book didn’t suck, but it’s not Dr. Seuss.  Besides, I was rooting for the wolf – you know how I love a good pulled pig.

Once our half hour was up and all the piggies were accounted for, the boys decided that my balls looked like cat toys and began batting at them.  That the RQoP aided and abetted them in this endeavor did not help matters.  I made my escape with my book, my hat, and my sacred honor, leaving the lost boys to their lost boy games, and to their teacher. 

At least we know winter is over in Camelot.  Plus, happy birthday to Dr. Seuss! 


The RFP Before Christmas

27 December, 2011 | | 3 Comments

Do you know what happens when the government releases a Request For Proposal 8 business hours before the start of the Christmas weekend? 

This.  This is what happens. 

The RFP Before Christmas
T’was the night before Christmas, and through every house
You could hear the keyboards and the clicks of the mouse.
My copies were stacked by the printers, but none
of the sections that I had been writing were done.

The RFP dropped in the holiday season
Government contracting, there’s no rhyme or reason.
I had just settled in to re-read what I’d wrote
with a bit of a cough from that 3AM throat,

When up on my Skype there came such a beep
that I closed seven browsers to take a quick peep.
And there on the screen like a nightmare moonbeam,
Was a multi-Skype session with half of the team!

They looked as distressed and confuse’d as me,
not too surprising at a quarter past three,
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a Proposal Response Co-Facilitateer!

With a chart and a graphic and a bulleted list,
I knew in a moment it must be Catalyst!
More rapid than eagles the milestones came,
And she whistled, and shouted, and called them by name!

“Now Pink Team! Now Red Team! Now Gold Team & Blue!
Get up, you contractors, we’ve got work to do!
To the management volume! To the technical, too!
Now write away! Write away! Hurry up, you!”

Like pages before the Proposal Lead sees,
Our words took shape fast in an effort to please.
So up to the page limit our sections we wrote,
With domains full of change, and some technical bloat.
And then, in a twinkling, I saw on the Skype
A Box full of Boxes for each section to swipe!
As I copied and pasted for part Three-point-three-two
I knew what I wrote about SOA was true.

Integration! Develop! Innovate and deploy,
And our management sections now read like a joy
A bundle of services working together
With a vision and strategy to make it all better.

Application! Location! Technology! Data!
Our processes fix everything that’s the matta.
This proposal will win, there’s no question or doubt,
‘Cause with Catalyst we don’t leave anything out!

The Skype beeped again, and I realized that, gee,
the Proposal Response Co-Facil’ wanted me!
She had a bright smile as she cheerfully said,
“Are you done with it yet? Can we put it to bed?

‘Cause your section goes right in front of fourteen
and the Appendix is ready, if you know what I mean.
This Proposal’s Main Thrust, and we’d better not lose,
or we’ll all be out looking for new walking shoes!”

I spoke not a word, but went straight to my work,
And I checked all my graphics (though I felt like a jerk).
And I laid my pen down, and hit print and hit send,
And I wondered when all of this prop-work would end.

And the Skype session closed, and to Red Team it went;
But they said that we hadn’t even half made a dent
in the PWS – non-compliant was right!
“Cancel New Year’s for all! We’re writing tonight!”