Timeless Surf
Time it does
Stop for Me
Whenever I
Lie by the sea.
Breaking surf
A thing sublime
Gives no reason to
The thing called time.
One wave it does
Not lend itself to
Beat or rhythm
Nor anything new.
Ancient beat
Too complicated
To the simplicity of digital
or analog, we are jaded.
What better way though
to spend your time?
God put it to work
To give us rhyme.
Ken Goree
I figured I needed one about the sea to go with the bit of Doug Varga’s poem. If by any stretch of the imagination, he or his parents (you know how parents save our school work) have the original poem intact, I would love to see it, or hear it again to see if my fevered imagination has remembered the first two stanzas anywhere close to the original version.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
I'm old, reeeeeealllyy old, but I still think back to a magnificent work of poetic genius, written by a childhood friend of mine, Doug Varga. It was our sixth grade year at Sunset
Elementary school in the Issaquah School District. We were studying, and had to do a report on, Explorers, or maybe just Columbus more likely (Remember when we all thought Columbus was a good guy?).
In Doug's genius, he created a poem that, I'm sure got him an "A" but reduced his word count on the report considerably at the same time. As a bonus, the poem required almost no factual material, thus limiting the amount of studying to approximately ... ummm ... nothing. And, he got laughed "with," not "at" by his whole class. I forget whether the teacher was laughing or not. I wonder if Doug even remembers it?
I can even remember some of the poem Doug wrote ...
Keep in mind as you read this, Doug was kind of a Monty Python, Hitch Hiker's Guide to the Galaxy sort of guy.
By Doug Varga, my childhood friend, and I'm sure still a really good guy.
Unknown title, probably something about Columbus or Other Random Great Explorer
While sailing this square cube
And what I might encounter
On the eighteenth day
I spied a giant flounder.
I whipped out my black Zebco
And casted without fear
Instead of catching the fish
I caught the captain's ear.
Sorry to leave you hanging, but I don't remember any more of it, though I am certain there was something about walking the plank and a last minute reprieve as the guy with the Zebco is the first to see "The New World."
Another day, I may tell the story about the time Greg Grimes was practicing his golf swing and Doug's head got in the way of Greg's #2 wood. Doug was less than impressed.
Showing posts with label time travel. Show all posts
Showing posts with label time travel. Show all posts
Thursday, January 13, 2011
Sunday, January 2, 2011
The Second
Wow, now this is like time travel. I came from the end of this blog, back to the beginning to make an observation. Observation: The beauty of being in control of this blog is, when I write something really embarrassing I can go bcak and edit it out later. Okay, now back to where I started.
I think before you read this next poem, you should reflect on the fact that I teach elementary school. Now this one (poem) contains references to partying, alcohol, and deception. Though it appears to be written at the maturity level of a third grader, the content isn't appropriate to that age. Luckily, men, me being one of the aforementioned, stay at that maturity level for roughly ... hmmmm, add that to that, subtract one, multiply by three ... for life. If you care to read more of this ridiculous commentary, I will likely continue after the poem.
Where Do the Ducks Go
Where do the ducks go
When my pond freezes over?
Clear, or covered with snow
I need my closure.
They can’t have gone South
as it’s too far away.
I know they’ll be back
In one of two day.
I’d ask my friend Kim
She’s the sciencey kind
But I really don’t want that,
I’ve something stranger in mind.
I think that just maybe
They’d steal a big car
A stretched limo with heat
And a well stocked bar.
They’d drive into town
Maybe take in a show
Then they hit the best dance club
They could, you never know.
I do know one thing
Oh yes, let me tell ya
They better watch what they drink
and avoid the tequila.
I never have seen them
Cut loose on the stuff
But my grandma once told me
A tale of a bluff
Her dad an inn owner
had needed some “pil-ahs”
He had all the cloth
But none of the “fil-ahs.”
Then in came some ducks
avoiding the cold
Some of them youngsters
Some of them old.
Great granddad, he thought
And came up with a bluff
He’d drink those ducks under
and collect all their fluff.
The duck now they steer
of alcohol clear
They count all their drinks
no matter how cold the year.
But that still leaves me wondering
about the ducks from my pond
Maybe I should ask Kim
“Where have they gone?”
K.G.
Brandon Myuse
So, I don't really have anything else to say. However, if you would like to hear more on my theories of male maturity (remember, I'm an expert, as I "are" one), you can see my posts in my other blog K.G.'s Really Insightful Theories on the Maturity Process of Men (It's kind of oxymoronic). I've written the theories, but haven't created the blog yet. Never fear, though. I am studying quantum mechanics, and intend to make the blog prior to now, after I have finished my studies and have all the time travel "bugs" taken care of. Don't worry, you won't feel a thing as I "whoosh" past you to before now and create that blog before you read this. It will be painless ... I think ...?
I think before you read this next poem, you should reflect on the fact that I teach elementary school. Now this one (poem) contains references to partying, alcohol, and deception. Though it appears to be written at the maturity level of a third grader, the content isn't appropriate to that age. Luckily, men, me being one of the aforementioned, stay at that maturity level for roughly ... hmmmm, add that to that, subtract one, multiply by three ... for life. If you care to read more of this ridiculous commentary, I will likely continue after the poem.
Where Do the Ducks Go
Where do the ducks go
When my pond freezes over?
Clear, or covered with snow
I need my closure.
They can’t have gone South
as it’s too far away.
I know they’ll be back
In one of two day.
I’d ask my friend Kim
She’s the sciencey kind
But I really don’t want that,
I’ve something stranger in mind.
I think that just maybe
They’d steal a big car
A stretched limo with heat
And a well stocked bar.
They’d drive into town
Maybe take in a show
Then they hit the best dance club
They could, you never know.
I do know one thing
Oh yes, let me tell ya
They better watch what they drink
and avoid the tequila.
I never have seen them
Cut loose on the stuff
But my grandma once told me
A tale of a bluff
Her dad an inn owner
had needed some “pil-ahs”
He had all the cloth
But none of the “fil-ahs.”
Then in came some ducks
avoiding the cold
Some of them youngsters
Some of them old.
Great granddad, he thought
And came up with a bluff
He’d drink those ducks under
and collect all their fluff.
The duck now they steer
of alcohol clear
They count all their drinks
no matter how cold the year.
But that still leaves me wondering
about the ducks from my pond
Maybe I should ask Kim
“Where have they gone?”
K.G.
Brandon Myuse
So, I don't really have anything else to say. However, if you would like to hear more on my theories of male maturity (remember, I'm an expert, as I "are" one), you can see my posts in my other blog K.G.'s Really Insightful Theories on the Maturity Process of Men (It's kind of oxymoronic). I've written the theories, but haven't created the blog yet. Never fear, though. I am studying quantum mechanics, and intend to make the blog prior to now, after I have finished my studies and have all the time travel "bugs" taken care of. Don't worry, you won't feel a thing as I "whoosh" past you to before now and create that blog before you read this. It will be painless ... I think ...?
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