Dabbling in Poetry Again


Fly Eagles Fly

A pre-spring thaw lasted for a couple of days, melting all the snow away;
But as I write these words of wit, below-freezing temps returned for a bit,
To stay until Tuesday, when a high of forty-three (6°C) is what it will be,
And dip back below thirty-three (.5°C) for the rest of the week.

After all it is wintertime,
When many of the birds fly south, and some stay behind,
To try and stay warm, find food, and hope to survive,
While not being eaten by a hawk that might be soaring by.

Speaking of birds, the Philadelphia Eagles won their NFC division championship today,
By beating the Atlanta Falcons in a fine game, I must say.
All of Philly and the burbs pray they win again in seven days,
So in two weeks they’ll face the AFC champs on Super Bowl Sunday.

Two more entries for Publishers Clearing House Sweepstakes are awaiting to be mailed,
Sometimes thrice-weekly I’ve completed entry forms, sending them back without fail.
This one’s to award a prize of $5,000.00 a week for the rest of my life,
By glueing on respective stickers, provided my assigned sweepstakes’ number is right.

If someday I would answer my door to find the Prize Patrol outside,
And their holding a large cardboard check with my name printed on the top line,
My luck, I’d probably drop dead from a coronary resulting from my surprise,
Or have to use up all the money for life-support to keep me alive.

Two hundred and fifty-three words are used up thus far,
Rhyming and reasoning, wondering how is my poetry? I hope it is par,
With those who are known as bards, song writers, minstrels or rap stars,
Bands like the Beatles, who sang, “Baby, you can drive my car.”

I’ve got another two hundred words to go,
Still thinking of all that dough. Shall I make a pot of Joe,
To inspire my fingers to type fast and not slow,
And make my Saturday-night deadline with this poem in tow?

It’s 10:53 p.m. Do you know where your children are?
They used to say that on TV, many years afar.
I was just a kid back then, and would hear that line while sitting at the bar,
Drinking white liquor from a mason jar.

This is getting ridiculous, grabbing words from mid-air,
To fill my quota by trying to be coherent, which can be rare,
Or cooked medium to well-done, if I really dare,
So long as not too many will tend to stare.

Flu season is here. Have you gotten your shot?
Personally, I’d rather not.
For you see, the last time that I did,
In bed I stayed for days, sick as a dog. I do not kid!

I’ve been lucky so far, avoiding a fever and chills,
Making sure to dress warm outside, and paying all my bills,
Washing my hands often, eating well and taking Vitamin C,
And trying not to hang out in places where the flu bug may be.

Five hundred words have come to pass,
This silly rune is done at last.
I bid thee good night, and thanks for stopping by,
To read this nonsensical verse without giving a big sigh.

About Mike Slickster

As an early retiree with an honorary doctorate degree from the proverbial "School of Hard Knocks," this upcoming author with a lot of free time on his hands utilizes his expansive repertoire for humorous yet tragic, wildly creative writing that contains years of imaginative fantasy, pure nonsense, classic slapstick, extreme happiness and searing heartbreak; gathered by a wealth of personal experiences throughout his thrilling—sometimes mundane or unusually horrid—free-spirited, rock-'n'-roller-coaster ride around our beloved Planet Earth. Mike Slickster's illustrious quest continues, living now in Act Three of his present incarnation, quite a bit on the cutting edge of profundity and philosophical merriment as seen through his colorful characters, most notably evident in the amusing Thirty Days Across the Big Pond series, all of which can be found at Lulu.com.
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