Friday, February 20, 2015

He mumbles

He mumbles, forcing me to ask,
"What's that? What did you just now say?"
His vodka's done its nightly task,
Helped push his empty day away.

Amidst the hubbub at the bar,
Perched on his stool, his words unclear,
Above the strains of a guitar,
He tries to talk, but I can't hear.

The barmaid passes by, he points;
She brings a drink to fill his need.
He spills some vodka, which anoints
The bar, then drinks his holy creed.

Thursday, February 19, 2015

A headline writer's woes

A headline writer has to score;
He must be right, and think, before
He chooses words meant to impart
The message at the story's heart.
His rigid deadline fosters dread,
As pressure builds to move ahead.
Thoughts come to mind at breakneck speed
To make, and stress the points to heed.
Sometimes, a word that he selects
Will leave the readership perplexed.

Wednesday, February 18, 2015

On still being carded

At twenty-nine, that was my age,
Not thirty, although near,
A bartender who couldn't gauge,
Sought proof to sell me beer.

I had a wife and kid at home,
A job for board and bed;
I was adult, how dare this gnome,
To question what I said!

I vowed this stuff would come no more,
A 'stache would do the trick,
And years flew by with no encore,
Time passing very quick.

I wear a full, grey beard today,
It suits me not to shave,
And proof of age, I have to say,
Is not a thing they crave.

Monday, February 16, 2015

A pun my word!

It shows no mental lack,
If paronomaniac,
You just find lots of phun
In making up a pun.

Sunday, February 15, 2015

Occam's Razor

Occam's Razor, suggests you find
The simplest way, and peace of mind;
Your first solution could work best
To get a problem off your chest.

Saturday, February 14, 2015

On the cockroach

Consider the lowly cockroach,
Who runs away at our approach;
He only wants some crumbs to eat,
We try to kill him with our feet.

Survival of the fittest rules
When species use the proper tools;
Cockroaches still will have their day,
When hapless mankind fades away.

Friday, February 13, 2015

On choices

Should we turn left, or to the right?
Is it the day, or is it night?
Confused, we heave dramatic sighs,
Then choosing, wonder, were we wise?
We make choices, and we fiddle,
Winding up close to  the middle.

And wind up somewherfe in the middle.