Obama watched the endless attack
On our brave forces assigned in Iraq;
Democracy foundering at home and abroad;
All factions thinking they’re upholding God.
“You’re making mistakes,” say the ‘Libs’, “left and right;”
From the right “You’re an ‘Islamic commie’ we need to fight.”
Barack Obama he didn’t worry;
He didn’t fret and scream and scurry.
He took the long view as he promised before,
And brought our troops home signaling the end of THAT war.
This is Noah. He runs Tomi’s house!
Figaro and Einstein. They keep Frank up at night!
One of my daughter Leslea’s cats whose name escapes me.
This is Angel. She lives in Malibu with Georgianna and Holly.
Tipper lives much of his life in a 5th Wheel with my cousin Jan.
This is Norma Jean when she had her tail.
And this is Norma Jean without it!
My mother had this Oahu Hawaiian guitar which I inherited when I was in the seventh grade. I learned to play a few chords on it so I could perform in our junior high talent show. Hank Williams was my favorite country singer. I played and sang “Detour, there’s a muddy road ahead” in the talent show. My classmates at reunions have not neglected to recall this performance, in my cowboy hat and Levi’s and engineer boots. That was my introduction to the guitar. I never played in public again, but continued on for my own enjoyment, later adding the harmonica. During the ‘60s I picked up the guitar again, graduating to a cheap but not bad sounding acoustic job so that I could play with some friends at the “hootenannies” we had in our living rooms. It was, after all, the 60s. We played and sang all the protest songs of the civil rights movement and the anti-war movement: “Blowin’ in the Wind,” “We Shall Overcome,” etc., etc. Later I joined in the church renewal movement and joined a secular-religious order. We sang a lot and even wrote lyrics to some of the folk hymns and popular tunes of the day. Then I just stopped singing and the guitar went to my ex-wife when we split up. Except for a few brief attempts to sing in a church choir it seemed that I had just lost interest in music. Until this summer, that is. My friend Frank got this guitar, a steel string Eko made in Italy that he wanted to sell. I took it home to try it out. It sat in my office next to my computer desk, gathering dust for several months. Then this summer Linda, intuiting that I might be almost ready to pick it up, arranged a bartering deal with one of her Tai Chi students: free Tai Chi lessons in exchange for free guitar lessons. I got the guitar out, tuned it up, had my first lesson, and was amazed at what was coming back to me, not just the chords, but the Music, the interest, the passion for it. So I went out and bought new strings and a tuner and re-strung the instrument and am now practicing every day. I even dug out my four harmonicas that have been languishing in my bedside stand for several years. This must be the “summer of love.”
MONA LISA HAS NOTHING ON SAMANTHA!
EVERYONE LOVES SAMANTHA!
I CALL HER SAMI! SHE CALLS ME GRANDPA!
Obama saw a gargantuan gusher.
Oil! – Looked like a real crusher.
The gusher spewed, enlarged its reach;
It fouled the waters, approaching the beach.
The people were anxious, the fishermen scared;
BP couldn’t stop it, its flawed system was bared.
Barack Obama, he didn’t worry;
He wouldn’t yell or scream and fury;
He went to work on a cleanup plan,
And mobilized the forces to save the Land.
Sitting in Palm Springs,
Corner of Starbucks and Coffee Bean,
Waiting for the movie to begin the beguine;
Waiting for the birthday to arrive;
Waiting for anniversaries to come alive;
Waiting for the homecoming;
Waiting for the end of all shortcomings;
While waiting a bus went by
And I – well –
Missed it.
But no cry
Or sigh
Escaped;
Just another thought of “I”.
Obama encountered a ferocious Troll
Which came in the form of a popular Poll;
The Troll grew and grew to gigantical size
Until it was bloated; He looked into its eyes
And listened carefully as it demanded attention:
“Obama you know I can eat you, in case I didn’t mention.”
Barack Obama, he didn’t worry;
He wouldn’t bow to its frantic fury.
He summoned his courage, he kept his cool
And said “A Poll ain’t no Troll, and I ain’t no fool.”
