WHEN THE TRAINING WHEELS COME OFF

Remember when you first learned to ride a bike...when everything was new?

Have you ever stopped to think about the evolution you went through?

Close your eyes and you are back there...remember how it feels?

You started on a tricycle...then a two-wheeler with training wheels

Then came the day that changed the world, we all must face it as we grow

The day when we all realized...the training wheels must go.

Remember Dad or Mom running behind you; hearing their encouragement, their groans.

Remember seeing them in the distance...you were riding on your own!

At that moment you were alive and you thought...this bike riding is a piece of cake.

Till you remembered they taught you how to ride but no one taught you how to brake.

It turns out life is a series of evolutions we experience along the way

For, like it or not, everything is changing, every second, every day.

Of course we know this...but once in a while we become a little more attuned

Like when Sunday merges into Monday or May turns into June.

And we begin to think as we take time out from our normal circadian climb

About the changes we have experienced through the passages of time. 

A baby changes daily and in no time at all is learning how to crawl

As quickly as the summer breeze shifts to the winds of fall.

We blink and that toddler is a child, then a teenager on the go

As quickly as the falling leaves of autumn turn into winter snow.

The teenager becomes an adult with all the responsibilities that brings.

As quickly as the winter cold gives way to the flowers of spring.

Change surrounds us, it’s inevitable...and though we may not understand why

Without it...no caterpillar in the world become a butterfly?

Since life will not slow down for us no matter how we’ve tried

I think learning to ride a bike helps prepares us for the ride. 

“Oh that’s ridiculous! How can riding a bike prepare us for life?” You scoff.

It’s simple really, it gets us ready for the day...when the training wheels come off.

After all we need to keep pedaling to stay balanced, we learn from our mistakes

We feel the joy of independence and, eventually, we even hit the breaks.

WHEN I WAS YOUNG

I know this from experience.  I heard it from my father’s tongue.

Noting makes a person sound older than saying, “When I was young.”

You go through life thinking, I’ll never say those words, that’s what old people do.

Then you listen to yourself talking one day...and find it’s happened to you.

You try not to show it outwardly but your pride and ego are bruised

When you find yourself using words and phrases your father or grandfather used.

When I was young, you tell your children, people were kinder the world was not as hard.

Neighbors gathered and had fun together, there weren’t fences in every backyard.

When I was young we drove old cars...we didn’t have these outrageous gas prices

When I was young kids played outside...we didn’t have hand held devices.

Yes when I was young a blackberry was nothing more than a black berry.

And if you wanted to give someone the bird you bought them a canary.

When I was young we respected our elders and our hair was neatly combed

When I was young if you got in trouble at school then you got in trouble at home.

Could it be as we climb the ladder of life with changes around every rung

We’re just trying to hold on to a piece of the past when we say, ‘When I was young.’

Could it be we want our children and grandchildren to know they are lucky, they are blessed.

For all the world has set before them, for all that they possess.

Perhaps we’re just repeating what’s been handed down from family to family

And I am only echoing the same words my father said to me.

If that’s the case, sit back and smile, no need to feel high-strung

And await the day your children look at their children and say...I remember, when I was young. 

WILD ANIMALS

One of the joys of our daily walks is passing the same things every day.  

It makes the walk more intimate knowing what to expect along the way.

You stop being an observer when you walk the same paths repeatedly

As you find yourself a participant in everything you see.

Not only are you observing the trees, the animals and the rest of nature too

But you can feel in your soul that they are watching you.

You realize that everything in life has so much to offer, so much to give

And you begin to feel a sense of ownership and pride in where you live.

You feel contentment with the ordinary...in the everydayness of the scene 

And discomfort when something happens to disturb your set routine.

The other day our normal pattern was upset, which got us both a little down

As we approached a favorite sculpture in the center of our town

It’s a bronze sculpture of a conductor checking his watch and showing a little disdain

While a mother and daughter run hand in hand as they try to catch the train.

They are clad in clothes from olden days which adds to the sculpture’s charm

Why then, one wonders, would anyone want to do this sculpture harm?

Overnight it was vandalized...how can people be so mean?

The vandals took that beautiful sculpture and made each piece obscene.

Deborah and I quickly returned the sculpture’s dignity....but I would be remiss

If I didn’t ask...why would anyone treat anything like this?

What is wrong with a person or persons who generate such mayhem?

Who attempt to damage something that never damaged them?

We like to compare ourselves to the animal world, we see them and look askance...

They are animals, they are wild, we are humans and more advanced.

But if you look for this type of behavior in the animal kingdom, not only is it rare...

Search the whole world over...you won’t find it anywhere.

Animals don’t vandalize each other, birds don’t graffiti each other’s nests

Fish don’t draw obscenities on other fish, trees don’t give each other breasts.

No, this is a human characteristic...and as you look at the evidence I’ve compiled.

Please refresh my memory...which one if us is wild?

FLOWERS FOR DORIS

Alzheimer’s is a disease that steals the memory and with it one’s dignity and grace

Loved ones stand by helplessly as it drains the vitality from its victim’s face.

Melvyn has Alzheimer’s...Doris doesn’t...so she spends much time reminiscing

While lost in thought one day, her Melvyn turned up missing. 

Doris quickly called the police, (it’s not uncommon for Alzheimer’s patients to roam.)

When the police finally caught up to him he was 2 miles from his home.

They stopped to help and talk to Melvyn who kept walking, never slowing

He didn’t remember where he came from but he knew where he was going.

It was a special time in Melvyn’s mind this particular Saturday morning in May

Because, and here his information was correct, tomorrow was Mother’s Day.

He was resolute.  He was going to buy Doris flowers, to the police he made this clear.

You see, he always gave Doris flowers...every Mother’s Day...every year.

The police radioed they were taking Melvyn home, told Doris not to worry any more

But on the way they made a stop at the local grocery store.

They escorted Melvyn in, he picked his flowers and when he didn’t have enough money to pay

One of the officers made up the difference, and Melvyn was on his way.

When they got him home, with Doris at the door, Melvyn walked up with dignity and grace

Clutching the flowers in his hands and with a huge smile on his face.

Doris was ecstatic, she smiled as she suddenly became aware

That somewhere under that cloud of Alzheimer’s, her Melvyn was still there.

It’s true Alzheimer’s takes no prisoners so little victories are cause for jubilation

And the officers, who helped him find his way home, shared in their elation.

Yes, Melvyn was determined Doris’s flowers would arrive by Mother’s Day

Proving even when the mind’s been stolen...the heart will find a way. 

HOW TO MAKE IT MORE INTERESTING

I know these poems I write each day are simple, sometimes childlike and light

I make no apologies, for I have no choice, you see that is how I write.

I do not pen these little rhymes so other people will necessarily heed them

But I saw a suggestion the other day on how to make more people read them.

It said to make them more interesting...if more people I want to reach

Then I need to make them about boobs, cocktails, new cars and the beach.

“Well if this is what people are interested in, if this is really what they want.”, I thought.

“Then by golly that’s what I will do...at least I’ll give it my best shot.”:

I was walking along the beach one day when I spied a voluptuous young lady

She was walking her pet rooster which at first, to me, seemed shady.

She was in a two piece bathing suit, (leaving nothing to the imagination)

While the rooster, having trouble walking in the sand, seemed filled with aggravation.

This unlikely pair was taking a leisurely stroll along the sand...when...

Out of the blue, onto the beach, burst a new car...driven by two men.

I couldn’t tell who was driving...suddenly everything turned surreal

As each man was fighting with the other one...jockeying for the wheel.

“Look out!” I screamed, the lady jumped and here’s where things got yucky

The lady escaped the out of control new car, but the rooster wasn’t as lucky.

I rushed to help the lady who was leaning over her rooster shaking her head

I touched her shoulder to comfort her, “Can you believe those two boobs I said?”

“Yes, two enormous boobs that’s what they are and I don’t mean to preach

But someone should inform them you shouldn’t drive new cars on the beach.”

The rooster was annihilated all that remained was that cock’s tail in the sand.

“How about a drink?” I asked helping her up and taking her by the hand.

She smiled then nodded accepting my offer, my God she was a peach

And we walked off leaving in our wake two boobs, a cock tail and a new car on the beach.

So this is what the people want huh...I must admit it seems a little trite.

Tomorrow I think I’ll go back to writing the way I used to write.

MEMORIAL DAY

When I was a boy I don’t think I understood the meaning of Memorial Day.

I knew people got together to commemorate...to remember...and to pray.

But I thought of it as an old people’s holiday...I was just happy to be out of school.

Now I look back at that naive little boy and consider him a fool.

In high school and college, since I never had to fight, and it was a different time,

I hated everything about war...it’s reason and it’s rhyme.

I did not heed the lessons of war and the men and women who taught it.

I did not understand one could hate war...but have respect for those who fought it.

But now that time has slowly left it’s signature on me

I’ve come to realize my folly and see Memorial Day differently.

I know I don’t have all the answers...no one is that wise

I know that everyone who ever lived...eventually dies.

I know that most people in the world hate war as much as me

I know that people fight and die in war so we can all be free.

I know that those who die in war might be black or white or gay, 

I know they may be men or women...but they all die anyway.

I know that on Memorial Day we can put those differences aside

As we come together to commemorate all our soldiers who have died.

I know although they’ve blended on the battlefield and suffered the ultimate fate

Many people here at home still discriminate and hate.

I only wish those that hate would somehow change their view

When they wake up tomorrow morning and Memorial Day is through.

I know...I know...the world we live in is a lot more complicated than it seems...

And I am not that naive little boy anymore, but still...a man can dream.

So on this Memorial Day...as I wish all wars would cease

I thank all those who’ve died in war...so that I may die in peace.

HOW DO YOU WANT TO BE REMEMBERED?

On the eve of Memorial Day as we prepare for the day ahead, 

We begin to think about the ones we lost and a question pops into my head.

Whatever path our lives may take one truism applies

No one is immortal...eventually everybody dies.

So as our lives move from January’s summer of youth to winter’s long December

It makes one wonder, when it’s over, how do you want to be remembered?

Would you rather be remembered for what you own...for the new cars you have driven?

Or for helping others along the way and all the riches you have given?

Would you rather be remembered for the size of your house on the day that you depart

Or for the size of your humanity and the capacity of your heart?

Would you rather to be remembered for all the money you’ve accumulated

Or for the friends you’ve made in your lifetime and the family you created?

Would you rather be remembered for your ambition...for your climb

Or as someone who stopped along the way and generously gave your time?

Would you rather be remembered for how other’s treated you

Or for how you treated others before your life was through?

The initial question is a simple one but its ripples extend quite far

Because how you choose to answer it...determines who you are.

So I think the day before Memorial Day is a great day to ponder our legacy

To think about who we are today, before we, too, are but a memory.

For the time will come when our life extinguishes its last remaining ember

That’s why today is a good day to ask...how do you want to be remembered?

THE PENDULUM

Have you ever noticed how, like a pendulum, life swings rhythmically to and fro 

How we are faced with opposing forces wherever we may go?

As I look out on the world, at its constant fluctuation and its sway

I think our lives have a myriad of pendulums...swinging every day.

We come, we go, we give, we take, we win, sometimes we fail

We sleep, we wake, we have highs and lows, we breathe in...we exhale.

We laugh, we cry, we are foolish and wise, sometimes we’re the patient, sometimes the nurse.

We love, we hate, we’re true, we’re false, why we even marry for better or for worse.

We are at war, we are at peace, we create, we destroy, we agree and disagree

We feel sorrow, we feel joy, we are up, we are down, we are a friend and an enemy.

It matters not who we are, where we’ve been or our individual upbringing

Or wether or not we’d like it to stop...the pendulum keeps swinging

Sometimes we know the length of the arc, like from sunrise to sunset

While other swings are more erratic, like from a misstep to regret.

Sometimes the pendulum swings quickly like between acceptance and rejection.

Sometimes like from life to death it swings in only one direction.

Most of the time we have no control of its distance or its flight

The best we can do is climb aboard, close our eyes and hold on tight.

If we’re lucky, along the way, we realize the swing is really a glide

So we can sit back, throw our hands in the air and simply enjoy the ride.

And pray when the pendulum swings to sorrow that we are still able to smile

And hope when it swings to joy...it will linger there awhile.

DOOVER

I had a wonderful little league coach back when I played the game

I’m sorry to say as the years glided by I have forgotten his name.

You see I loved the game of baseball...it had glamour and appeal

Unfortunately my ability to play the game was not always matched by my zeal.

If I missed a pitch or flubbed a catch while standing in the right field clover

My coach would smile patiently, and say, “Nice try, Jim...how about a do over?”

In fact, I amassed so many second chances, so many do overs along the way

That on and off the field ‘Do Over’ became my sobriquet.

At practice it was not uncommon to hear, “Hey Do Over, throw me the ball.”

“How’s it going, Do Over.” I might hear in school walking down the hall.

On our jerseys, as a surprise, Coach had our names emblazoned on the back.

But when I looked at mine I was dumbfounded to find ‘Doover’ all in black.

How in the world could this have happened? I’m sure I didn’t have a clue...

Although looking back it seems appropriate my jersey was a do over too.

“No one will ever notice.” Coach said as a smile crossed his face

“I’m sure I wrote Do Over on the form..I guess the jersey store missed the space.

I put it on only because I couldn’t think of a ‘way out’ maneuver

And for the rest of my short-lived baseball career my new nickname was ‘Doover’.

But I grew to love that jersey, in it I found both glamour and appeal

And I learned more from that old jersey than from my time spent on the field.

I learned to view the world through patient eyes, I learned everyone deserves a break.

I learned to give people second chances, that everyone makes mistakes

We never know if we will succeed and I learned, when all is said and done,

If we fail...we have to keep trying, because the next do over may be The One.

Eventually my mom threw out that jersey...years of wear and tear taking it’s toll

But I didn’t mind because by then ‘Doover’ was emblazoned on my soul.

‘Doover’ could have been my undoing but in the end it was ‘Doover’ that saved me

So thanks coach, I may not remember your name but I’ll never forget the name you gave me.

LIFE & DEATH & LIFE

Have you heard the story of Katie Ogg who received the news all mothers dread

When her premature babies were born she was told one of them was dead.

Emily and Jamie were to be the names they’d pin their hopes and dreams on

But in an instant Emily was alive and kicking while, Jamie, her twin, was gone.

I wonder if we can fully comprehend this moment, it’s dichotomy or its scope

One baby born alive and noisy the other silent...without hope.

Katie wanted to tell Jamie, that he was loved and blessed

So she unwrapped all 2 pounds of him and held him to her chest.

It’s called Kangaroo Care and is a technique many hospitals now apply

But Katie used it for another purpose...as a way to say goodbye

Katie’s husband, David, climbed in next to them, he wanted Jamie to feel his dad

If they had to say goodbye they were going to savor what little time they had.

The doctor and nurses who were in the room all quietly receded

Trying to give this grieving family the space and time it needed.

For 2 hours they held him close with Jamie and mommy skin-to-skin

They told him about his family, they stroked his little chin.

When Jamie made a little gasp Katie wondered if perhaps he wasn’t dead

“Please don’t get your hopes up, that’s a normal reflex.” Her doctor said.

Katie took some breast milk and placed it on her fingertips

Then, as is a mother’s nature, brought it to her baby’s lips.

“I think he’s breathing.” Katie said to everyone’s surprise

And the doctor finally believed her when Jamie opened up his eyes.

“It’s a miracle.” The doctor proclaimed...Jamie was breathing normally

And today Katie, David and the twins are a happy family.

Death looms around every corner, every bedroom, every hall

He’s never in a hurry for he knows eventually he’ll take us all.

In a world where we have no idea when death will next attack

Isn’t it nice to know, every now and then, death will give one back?

HELLO SELFIE, GOODBYE SNOLLYGOSTER

For anyone who admires words yesterday was epic...revolutionary

As Merriam-Webster announced the latest words added to its dictionary.

New words are added as they become popular like the Thanksgiving treat turducken

Eating three birds placed inside each other makes me want to add a new word- yucken!

Selfie made the list as did tweep and fracking and pho

You can now use Yoopers or hash tag to show you’re in the know.

Thank you Merriam-Webster your addition of new words always makes me glad

But this day also has a tendency to make me somewhat sad.

With the birth of all these new words the Merriam-Webster’s editors turn cold

You see, in order to make room for the new words they must retire some of the old.

Pocket handkerchief is gone, I believe my great grandfather wore one

Nethoscope, an instrument for measuring clouds, is also getting shunned.

Snollygoster, an unprincipled but shrewd person, becomes a new dictionary omission

Why use that word, I’m sure the editors thought, when we have a better one...politician?

Stylopodium and Hodad are now words in the dictionary you will no longer see

Riboflavin replaces a complex of B vitamins once knows as Vitamin G.

The world is constantly changing after all that’s how it’s designed

But that doesn’t mean there isn’t some sadness for the words we leave behind.

Knowing there are words out there that we will no longer see

I guess in some way reminds us of our own mortality.

So welcome to all the new words as we watch our vocabulary grow

And as for all the old words...I’m sorry to see you go.

There is one consolation, however, if you, like me, are old-school literary

You will find both the old and new words in the unabridged dictionary.

HANDYMAN

I imagine most people like to think they’re handy, whether they’re single or a spouse

We all like to think we can competently complete those little projects around the house.

When something breaks at our house I say, “Deborah, have no fear!”

“Why call an electrician or a plumber when I’m already here?”

Deborah rolls her eyes and tries her best not to grumble or to grouse

“OK you can try to fix it, Jim...but please...don’t destroy the house.”

She remembers that little fire I started...it could happen to any man

When I connected the black wire to the white one installing our bedroom ceiling fan.

Or those tiny, little sparks that flew...it looked like a meteor shower

When, again working with electricity...I forgot to shut off the power.

Perhaps she’s thinking how our kitchen is unique and that is making her scoff.

To turn the lights on you flip the switch down and you flip it up to turn them off.

It could be she’s thinking about when I redid that wall and my skill she is dismissing

She had to admit the wall looked great in spite of the 3 tools I’m still missing.

Or maybe it’s that drawer in the kitchen filled with my left over parts collection

In my defense have you ever tried to make sense of those crazy IKEA directions?

No, I’m sure she’s thinking about the day she was away and I hung that bedroom door. 

It has gone down into the history of my household project lore.

I worked all day while she was out.  I measured, I cut and I drilled

I was going to win back her confidence and show her I could build.

The door was hanging when she came home, she looked at it, then with a slight frown

Kissed my cheek, turned and walked away saying, “You’ve hung it upside down.”

Experience has been my teacher...sure I’ve endured some pains and aches

But look around my house and you’ll see...I’ve learned from my mistakes.

That door is still hanging upside down as a reminder how anyone can...

If they persevere...if they work long and hard...become a handy man.

GRANDMA'S TREE

The year was 1992, Deborah’s mother had recently passed

She was taken from us too soon...her life over much too fast.

Our family was having lunch at McDonalds talking about how death is funny that way.

It must have been synchronicity that it was also Arbor Day.

While we were discussing the end of life...all its puzzles and mysteries

McDonalds was celebrating the beginning of life by handing out pine trees.

They came in little green cups and stood about 4 inches high

“I’m going to plant mine on Grandma’s grave.” Bryan said.  I was curious and asked him why. 

I must admit I was quite impressed with the wisdom he displayed

“Because her grave is sitting in the sun,” he said, “and Grandma loved the shade.”

I mentioned how that little plant won’t provide much shade and his answer gave me a thrill.

“Maybe not today, Dad,” he said, “but one day...I know it will.”

So we took that cup to the cemetery and in a spot that Bryan found

We dug a hole and he gently placed that seedling in the ground.

Every day for one month religiously we’d take water from the sink

Head out to the cemetery and give that tree a drink.

It’s been 22 years since we planted her and that tree is no longer small

From her humble beginning in that little green cup she’s now 35 feet tall.

Last time we visited the cemetery...this memory I shall save

The sun was shining brightly but there was shade on Grandma’s grave.

A tree has no knowledge of where it will end up, of where it will one day grow

Will it bask in the southern sunshine or weather the winter snow?

Will it look out over the ocean or an island in the 7 seas?

Will it stand on top of a mountain and sway gently in the breeze?

If it’s lucky perhaps a young boy will see something none of us could see

And give it a chance to shade one grandma throughout eternity.

MISTAKES

I’ve made a few mistakes in my life. I can say that with aplomb

I wore a blue brocade tux with a top hat and cane to my junior/senior prom.

I once let a beautician curl my hair...now that was really astute!

It seems I thought a curly head of hair would go great with my leisure suit.

She said a perm would make my baldness seem fuller and my love life it would prolong.

When it was over, it took but one look in the mirror to know that she was wrong.

My hair looked like a rebellious Brillo pad and I’m not being indiscreet

When I say the only female attracted to me was a French Poodle down the street!

In college while out drinking with friends I pretty much sealed my fate

When I cozied up to a pretty cheerleader and asked her for a date.

Was it the alcohol or was it love that made me forget I’d have to contend

With the boyfriend sitting next to her...was he the quarterback or a tight end?

I’m not sure, but I know my distilled confidence made me feel bold and brave and brash

What happened next is a bit blurry...I woke up face down in the trash.

The point here is we all make mistakes they await us around every turn

We shouldn’t be afraid to make them because from them we’ve so much to learn.

Without mistakes we wouldn’t have the chocolate chip cookies so many of us crave.

The slinky would have never been invented...no post it notes or microwaves.

There would be no penicillin, no fireworks would ever be seen

Without mistakes we’d see a straight tower in Pisa and miss that beautiful lean.

We will try and fail many times in our life, sometimes we’ll crash...sometimes we’ll fly

But the biggest mistake we will ever make...is when we fail to even try.

True I didn’t get a date with the cheerleader but I still think to this day

She gave me a wink and a smile as her huge boyfriend dragged me away.

I remember that moment with fondness...I know as a couple we would have been cute.

She, the beautiful cheerleader and me in my blue leisure suit.

HIEROGLYPHICS

Deborah and I recently helped Aden with a project his teacher assigned.

Was it our knowledge or creativity he desired to make his project shine?

Did he think we’d have some great ideas?  Did he think that we were wise?

His answer not only humbled us...but took us by surprise.

His project was on Hieroglyphics...(I swear you gotta love that kid.)

Turns out he wanted someone to help him who was as old as the Pyramids.

When I explained that would make us over 4000 years old, my nose got a bit out of joint

When he looked at me, shrugged his shoulders and said...“So, Pop Pop...what’s your point?”

The rest of the project went just as smoothly...for try as I might I couldn’t see

How Aden, a mere 4th grader in Elementary School, could know so much more than me.

In my defense it’s not my fault I was feeling like such a fool.

According to Aden it’s been 4000 years since I attended school.

In the end the project came out great and our help was not a total waste.

But I’ll now offer three examples of the kind of problems we faced.

First off there’s those Egyptian words...I mean what in the world would compel them

To come up with such complicated words and make it impossible to spell them?

Who in the world can spell hieroglyphics, pharaohs, Ptolemy or Sphynx

I’m convinced those ancient Egyptians had far too much beer to drink!

Second, when Aden objected to making papyrus in a blender...I immediately diffused it.

“Don’t worry.” I said. “If the ancient Egyptians had a blender I’m sure they would have used it.”

Finally after Aden asked about the Cartouche...I sense he was displeased

When my answer was, “God Bless You”....for the life of me...I thought he sneezed.

In the end I had a secret weapon which allowed the seeds of creativity to be sewn

Turns out I didn’t have to remember a thing from school...I had Google on my phone.

If not, I’m sure this happy story would have ended quite differently.

And Aden’s hieroglyphics project...would have been nothing but Greek to me.

3 MARTINI HANGOVER

OK it’s official people...from Key West to the city of Gnome

If I go by the number of likes I received...3 martini’s is my most popular poem.

26 Likes and a host of comments has finally made me face up to the truth

I could write till I’m blue in the face but I can’t compete with gin and vermouth.

So I’ve come to the following conclusion..my original philosophy I shall now amend

I’ll follow Abe Lincoln’s advice and make my enemy into my friend.

I’ll combine my writing with drinking martinis...sure it may sound a bit hackneyed or trite.

But from now on, as God is my witness, I’ll drink martinis whenever I write.

The first problem I’ve run into already is a bit prickly...just like a spur or a thorn.

I do most of my writing not in the evening...but in the hours of the early morn.

It means I’ll have to be drinking quite early and I’m not sure if that’s very smart

But like most struggling writers I know, I’m willing to sacrifice for the sake of my art.

But not to worry, I have everything under control, I’m sure I will come out of this just fine.

I’ll keep my mind on my writing and not get distracted..Hey this stuff tastes really divine!

Where was I, oh yea, I was saying you needn’t be uneasy for you have nothing to fear

A martini or two won’t make a difference...Oh man...Is it getting hot in here?

OF courth it’s not getting warmER    I think I shoulD perHaps quith my GRIPING

WOW, Did wee just have an EARthquAke...I’m having difficulty sheeinG What I’m TYPING. 

But Earchquake or not...I’m sstill writing.........IN fact I’m typing ash fasht ass I can

I Told u eye can handle marteenies...but I haven’t told U how much I LOVE YOU MAN!

I’m Knot shure where I wass going with this poem..I’ll remember ...I jusht HAVE to think!

Did it halve to do with MARTIN scorsayzee or waz it something THAT’S stuck in my shink?

Oh hECk I’ll never remember...were WEE playing some kind of A Game?

It seems I can knOW longer BEE responsible 4 the poems I create...

AND U ONLY HALF YOUR SHELVES TO BLAME.........................