Let’s buy out the store
For snacks galore
And we’ll need plenty of ice
To cool drinks down really nice.

And we need checkered hats
Along with programs full of stats
And plenty of sunscreen
In case the heat is really mean.

We’ll need lightweight clothing
To keep us from sunny loathing
And then primo parking
For when our feet are barking.

Then it’s time for souvenirs
Gee, I hope my check clears
For they’re not too cheap
Even if bought off the back of a jeep.

Then, we find our nifty seats
And get out our edible treats
And divvy up names
As if we’re playing high-stakes games.

Soon, the call is given
“Ladies and Gentlemen, start your engines”
And the pace car starts down the lane
Much to the impatient racers’ pain.

And then that flag is waved
And drivers fly down all that’s paved
In hopes of being the first
Or at least not being the worst.

But, whoever gets the flowers
And whoever avoids the sparking showers
The real race winner all alone
Is the first fan who reaches the garage at home.

Monday’s Post: What was your guess for nascent?

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Today they all dress up
And face that final “line-up”
And then they seriously march
In shoes with actual arch.

While they may want to party and romp
They have to walk to a song with lots of pomp,
And then they listen to lots and lots of speeches
About what the future should teach us.

They file onto a portable stage
With hopes of getting that historic page
They shake a lot of graduated hands
Then hear from their dearest fans.

They sit back in their seats
And long to gaze at their academic feats
But their emotions start to “tank”
When they realize their folders are blank.

So, all those years of hard work
Can make people go a little berserk
Because they didn’t really get a diploma
But only a commencement speech-induced coma.

Congratulations to the Class of 2013…Lucky ’13, right?!

Monday’s Post: Does canorous have anything to do with cans?

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We go to church twice
Once shortly after sunrise
And once after sundown
Despite adolescent protesting cries.

In the second one
There will be blue “gowns”
And funny-looking hats
With golden tassels
Swaying this way and that.

The persons wearing this
Unusual Attire
Will probably look annoyed,
Bored, and about to Perspire.

The rest of the crowd
Will be dressed in their finest
And still smile broadly even when
The robed crowd is whiniest.

The name of the occasion
Is also pretty extraordinary
And is probably named that,
To make atheists less wary.

But the fact remains
Despite all the nonsense
That God has brought success
To teens who are now a lot less tense.

And so we acknowledge
The Power that blesses
And hope that those children
Don’t displace their perfectly-combed tresses.

Monday’s Post: How carminative is Carmen????

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The DSL and the DD celebrate their first anniversary on Monday. Wait. A whole year? Nah. It can’t be.

People often ask me how the newlyweds are doing. They’re doing so well that they’re making the rest of us married folks look bad. So, here’s a little tribute to their upcoming anniversary and their seemingly supernatural expertise at marriage:

They were a couple of high school band nerds
When their paths first meandering met,
He made her laugh out loud
And she had a face he couldn’t forget.

One would date for a while
While the other sat solo,
Then the roles would be reversed
Even if he wore his best polo.

They became great friends
Through all of this dating
But it wasn’t until senior year
That both gained a higher “rating.”

The first dates should be low key,
But she didn’t get those memos
She dragged him to a banquet
And he hung in there during her dance demos.

She loved to cook
And he hated to eat
So, she forced him to try new foods
Until his patience was just plain beat.

They suffered through the first year of college
And didn’t like it so well
They transferred to 2 different campuses
And the phone bill began to swell.

But, despite some distance
And mutual stubborn momentary resistance
He wound up down on one knee
And wondered why a puddle had to be.

They had a long engagement
But if you saw the wedding
They needed that much time
Twelve dozen baseballs require a lot of “getting.”

It seemed to be well worth it
A pretty outdoor affair
With lots of family and friends
That seemed to ignore all that Texas hot air.

And now as they celebrate
Their first year of wedded bliss
The happy couple looks really great,
They just may not like the taste
Of that 1st anniversary cake.

Monday’s Post: What is fuliginous?

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I am not a song composer. This fact really saddens me, because a good part of my life has been spent living Glee. The reality is that my voice is average, at best, and that I have no talent writing music or song lyrics. Thankfully, someone else is talented at all of this. His name is God. And occasionally, He chooses to write a song lyric or a post or a poem when I’m not “looking.” He did this one Saturday morning in late March, which is really irritating. Because I hate mornings with a passion and am a chronic night owl. But, I have learned, through the years, that if the Muse (aka God) wants to write in the middle of the night or in the early morning hours, I am better off getting up and jotting down what He is composing in my head (It will be gone when I wake up later.). How do I know it came from Him? It’s simply eloquent in a way I can’t write. I have often said that I am the pen and God is the writer. Here is what I think may be proof of that–a simply lyric that I hear in my head sung by professional male opera singers (Weird, because I “hear” this lyric as a folk or a country tune!), preferably 3 baritones. And even weirder because it’s written in honor of a woman, but from the perspective of men!

But, I do have a favorite songwriter in mind to put this lyric to music for me and I hope it makes him extremely wealthy. He would deserve that! If I have written this lyric, that probably won’t happen, but if God did the writing, who knows?! And no…I do not think this song is about me, but I hope it reflects the thoughts of 3 men somewhere for the daughter, wife and mother that get to call “theirs.”

Father:

I call your name
And you instantly come runnin’.
You leap to my arms
With abandon and great huggin’.
I can’t explain how
I love those small arms,
But all I know is I’m glad
To be your man.

Husband:

I call your name
And you instantly come runnin’.
You kiss my day
Far away and keep on workin’.
I can’t explain how
I love your sweet ways
But all I know is I’m glad
To be your man.

Son:

I call your name
And you instantly come runnin’.
You touch my head
And hug me tight
Until the hurt quits on hurtin’.
I can’t explain how I love
Your calm voice,
But all I know is I’m glad
To be your man.

All:

We are the men
Who have loved you on sight
And as we watch you,
Your love for us shows with
Surprising gentle might,
Our love only grows
As you fight each good fight.

All:

And so, our darling,
We live in your light,
For we are the men
Who still love you tonight.

Monday’s Post: So, just what is a thimblerig?

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How do we put in words

The feelings in our gut

About the tragedy in Boston

Where runners usually strut?

How do we solve this illness

In the heart of so many minds

That thinks that violence

Is the best way to help mankind?

I cannot see the end

To terror on innocent lives.

The problem seems voluminous,

With too many forces and drives.

It doesn’t matter what the weapon

When young life’s blood is shed,

Evil is just evil

And something we all dread.

But one day Light will shine

Right down into all our hearts

And save us all from weakness

That causes disintegration into parts.

And Light knows no darkness

So none of us can hide

We’d better be ready to answer

For what we think is pride.

For Light only acknowledges

One simple little truth,

That Love is the only answer

That’s ultimately and completely  bomb-proof.

Monday’s Post: Is provenience related to convenience???

While at the writer’s conference last week, a speaker said that no poems had been written about cheese to date. His point was that no one would read a poem about cheese. The speaker is probably right and honestly, I didn’t research poems to figure out if the speaker’s claim was correct. But, I am just stubborn enough to take such statements as a dare. So, in case the speaker’s claim was true, here’s my ode to cheese:

Asiago, American
Bleu and brie
Cheddar, Camembert
And Domiati.

Edam, Feta
Gouda, gruyere,
Havarti, Imsil
Jarlsberg all are there.

Kojack, Limberger, Mozzarella
Monterey Jack, Mascarpone,
Munster, Nacho, Olteranni
And good ol’ provolone.

Parmesan, pepperjack
Queto and Romano
Swiss, String,
Tandil and Urda.

Valdeon, Whitestone
And Xygalo
Yaraslavsky and
Zamora.

Whatever the occasion
Whatever the day,
There’s a cheese to imbibe
To take your bleus away.

Monday’s Post: Zarzuela anyone?

Two lives end as one begins

In the prettiest of places

But it is the in-between spaces

Where loves are shared with kin.

There is a third party

Coming to the occasion

And He doesn’t have

That handsome invitation.

But the hosts do not mind

If this party attends

For when it does

Love truly descends.

Can you guess of whom I speak?

Will the guessing make legs weak?

It depends on who you are

And what you know about life so far.

But even if you cannot guess

The event will still continue

And if the two are wise

They will want his watching eyes.

For he blesses what will follow

In the whole and in the hollow

And I will sing his praises

For giving joy to both their faces.

Monday’s Post: What was your guess for vernissage?

If you live in Texas,
You can do this, too.
It’s a little dance
Called Cascarone Fight.

Hide your head from all,
Duck before you fall,
To avoid getting the
Hit, hit, hit.

No one is too safe,
But before you chafe,
Just retaliate with a
Bop, Bop, Bop.

Dontcha love big eggs,
And confetti on your legs
You can do it, too.
Just drop, drop, drop.

It’s madness;
It’s mayhem;
It’s superior fandom.
It’s Hoopland torture
For the bracket worshipper.

Watching four channels
And burning out remotes,
To see the hottest play
Or the coaches’ best quotes.

We don’t want to miss a second at all,
For if we did, we might miss the latest bucketed ball.
And that would be horrible
For all of us fans;
We sure don’t want that to happen
When the score finally stands.

And what is the point of all of this drivel?
To see who walked by missing a dribble!
And to find out who’s queen or king,
Not of the b-ball court,
But of this bracket thing.

Will I be there at the very end?
Based on so far,
I’d say that’s a stretch.
Because when I pick a winner,
My bracket makes me look like a wretch.

Monday’s Post: Do you traduce?