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THE END OF A "PERFECT" DAY


Work done.  Time for fun.
Use suds.  Change duds.
Cubes clink.  Soft drink.

Book read.  In bed.
Good plot.  I thought.

Time flies.  Tired eyes.
Pages turn.  Eyes burn.
Eyes close.  Cause doze.

Sudden start.  Lids part.
Goodness sake.  I'm awake.
Look around.  Cause a frown.
See the clock.  Get a shock.
Was seven.  Now eleven.

Coke sat.  Got flat.
No fizz.  Gee whiz.

Out of bed.  To the head.
Brush gums.  Take Tums.

Hit the hay.  Another day.


By Ray Prillwitz

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GOOD INTENTIONS 


                                                             
I like it fine, this life of mine;
I love to loaf and sit.
But I'm concerned that too much rest                         
Might hinder keeping fit.

I've read that daily exercise
Is great, and so I tried it.
But I got "pooped" and so I quit,
And "ditto" for my diet!


by Ray Prillwitz 

THE ORNERY MULE


Sometime ago I owned a mule;
At least, that's what I thought.
I'd say "gittup", he'd stand real still;
And when I "whoa-ed", he'd trot.

Some people seem that way, I think;
They need to have their say.
No matter that it's really wrong,
It must be done their way.

I like to get along with folks,
And live the Golden Rule;
But there's always someone in the crowd,
Who acts just like the mule.

I guess complaining doesn't help.
So I'll just let it pass.
I'm sure I'd rather know a mule,
Than a self-proclaimed jackass.

by Ray Prillwitz

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Alike as two peas in a POD?
It seems to me to be odd.
There is only one "P",
So replace it with "D",
Then I'm sure you'll agree,
This is ODD!

by Ray Prillwitz

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REST IS BEST



Now I sit me down to rest;
Yes that's the part I like the best.
And if I get real energetic,
I tend to be a bit athletic.
I stretch!

I like to watch the TV news,
And hear the commentators' views.
But sitting in my easy chair,
My eyelids droop, (it isn't prayer).
I doze!

I guess I'll read the paper through,
And do the crossword puzzle, too.
I'll scan the special ads, you see,
And read the comics carefully;
And then--- I'll rest!

by Ray Prillwitz

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SENIORITY

My brain grows old, I seem to find
That words I need won't come to mind.
I speak all right with normal speed
Until a certain word I need.

To meet a friend I've known for years
Can cause anxiety and fears.
He doesn't change; he's still the same,
But my old memory's lost his name.

I rise up from my easy chair
To do some task; of course, elsewhere.

But by the time I start to do it,
Memory's fled and so I blow it.

Bodies age; and hair turns gray.
We all accept it; it's okay.
But when the mind goes, well "Gee Whiz",
We know it's over... the hill, that is!


By Ray Prillwitz

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I WONDER ?


I wonder why I wonder?
I wonder that wondering is wonderful.
I wonder that maybe I wonder too much.
I wonder that maybe I wonder too little.
I wonder that I wonder at all.
I wonder......?

by Ray Prillwitz

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THE BIRDS AND THE BEES
(THE TRUE STORY)

        
I'll tell you the story of the birds and the bees.
The bees live in hives, and the birds in the trees.

The bees favor flowers, the birds like the sky.
The bees tend to buzz, while the birds choose to fly.

The birds tweet and warble, dispelling our gloom.
The bees gather pollen, from flowers in bloom.

The birds think that aphids and worms taste real good.
The bees make us honey, to sweeten our food.

So the children who read this, I'm sure will be pleased,
As they hear the true story, of the birds and the bees.

by Ray Prillwitz

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C. E. O.
(Costly Endeavors Outlawed)



Since I retired some years ago,
I look for things to do.
The things I used to do, before,
Are far between, and few.

I think of cruise ships on the sea
And trips to foreign lands;
Or skiing on the Alpine slopes,
Or white Hawaiian sands.

My wishful list is made of things
I really can't afford;
So I settle in my easy chair,
Where I'm "Chair" man of the "Bored"!

by Ray Prillwitz

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I DON'T KNOW WHICH WAY IS UP!

                                                                     
Which way is up?  Doggoned if I know!
The more I think on it, the dumber I grow.
The Earth keeps aspinning, around and around;
Is up, toward the sky, and down, toward the ground?

Is up, to the north, and down, to the south?
To me it sounds silly, as it comes from my mouth.
If I go to the east far enough, they do say,
 I'll arrive at the west, or the vice-versay.

If I'm looking up, when I look at the blue,
And the Frenchman looks down, to the ground 'neath his shoe,
Could I see through the Earth, it would surely be plain;
The direction we're aiming at's really the same.

So I ask all you scholars, with higher I.Q.'s,
Will you please tell me truly, from your point of view;
I will promise to listen and not interrupt,
Tell me, which way is down, and which way is up?


by Ray Prillwitz

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AN OPEN MIND




It's comfortable to meet with friends
Who share your point of view.
You always do agree with them,
And they agree with you.

It's hard to raise an argument;
You never disagree.
Your list of thoughts compatible,
Would range from A to Z.

But sometimes, though, I must admit,
I like a good debate;
It gives my mind some exercise,
And helps me concentrate.

Assimilation is the clue
For those who seek to know;
A mind that's closed to argument,
Is one that will not grow.

So listen well, and you will find
That other points of view,
When mingled with your own good thoughts,
Will raise your own I.Q.

by Ray Prillwitz

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CONVERSATION



No one likes a griper,
Who moans and groans all day;
It seems that he just never has
A pleasant thing to say.

We don't respect a curser,
His words are an offense;
He cannot find good words to say,
He displays his lack of sense.

And who can stand a boaster,
Whose favorite word is "I".
He always talks about himself,
And he certainly isn't shy!

And we detest a liar,
Who stretches every fact;
To state it very mildly,
His thoughts are inexact.

The kind of folks we seem to like,
Are those whose words refresh us.
Our conversation's not a chore;
Instead, it tends to bless us.

We know that conversation
Includes our listening ear.
The greater attribute, I think,
Is not to speak, but hear.

by Ray Prillwitz

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CRAZY ABOUT BOWLING


I've always thought that bowling
Was a right smart thing to do;
But because it has its ups and downs,
I began to think it through.

Now I've heard from many a bowler,
(And oft times I say the same)
When they're throwing splits and misses,
That they say, "I hate this game!"

But we come again the next time,
With expectations high,
'Til we hit the same old slump again...
It's enough to make one cry.

I guess it's just addiction,
For which there is no pill.
We hope to throw a real good game,
Our ambitious aims fulfill.

And so we come back to the lanes,
Our eyes all bright and glazey,
And we slip right back into that rut,
So I guess that means we're crazy!

by Ray Prillwitz

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GOOD TASTE


The things I really love to eat
Are always bad for me.
And all the foods I just can't stand,
They say are good, you see.

Pizza has a lot of fat;
Big Macs and Whoppers, too.
And juicy steaks---a big "no-no";
Cholesterol, to you!

Green salads with no dressing,
Steamed veggies with no flavor,
And toast without the butter,
Are those that I must savor.

Triglycerides and L.D.L.,
Though they are Greek, to me;
I guess I'll have to take the vow,
To live propitiously.
-----------
(And learn to love it!)

by Ray Prillwitz

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IT'S ONLY JUST A GAME

I love the sport of bowling,
one makes a lot of friends.

It doesn't cost a fortune
and the challenge never ends.

So I thought that I would take it up;
I chose a purple ball.
I bought a bag and shoes that fit,
all purchased at the mall.


I showed up early at the lanes
to practice on my throw.
My first ball hit the gutter,
I threw it way too slow.

I watched the guy just next to me;
He seemed to know it all.
He threw his ball with lots of speed
and made all ten pins fall.

So I reared right back and slung it hard,
I gave it lots of spin.
I heard a crack and grabbed my leg;
The ball had hit my shin!

As soon as I recovered
and thought it through a bit,
I lined one down the middle,
and whoops---I got a split!

You have to hit the pocket
and always follow through.
And if you do it every time
you'll score some Turkeys, too.

But try as hard as I can do,
I never throw the same.
So I console myself, and say,
"It's only just a game."

by Ray Prillwitz

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KOOL, MAN...


My friend said he really loves smoking.
I told him that he must be joking.
He said it was cool,
So I called him a fool,
As he walked away coughing and choking.

So he laid down his last cigarette;
And he vowed no more smokes would he get.
From his friend, kind and true,
He got help from the chew
Of that great tasting gum, Nicorette.

by Ray Prillwitz

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POLLY WANTS AN ANSWER


His parrot had a nasty mouth,
And when the pastor came,
The air was blue with naughty words, 
And the parrot was to blame!

Her master couldn't stop her cussing,
So he finally had to seize her;
He picked her up and tossed her in 
His white and shiny freezer.

He left her there a little while
Until she learned her lesson,
And then he opened up the door,
Concerned for her condition.

The shivering parrot said, "Please, boss,
I have to question you;
I really, truly, have to know,
What did that chicken do?"

(The inspiration for this poem was derived from a story I recently heard)

by Ray Prillwitz

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Cruciverbalism


Most crossword puzzle workers
Use pencils with erasers.
It helps a lot when words don't fit
Within allotted spaces.

When I do crossword puzzles, though,
It's imperative that I think;
I can't afford to make mistakes,
'Cause I do mine in ink.

by Ray Prillwitz

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The Pleasures (?) of Hunting

I went off a-hunting a few days ago.
I needed a change, and business was slow.
So I got in my pickup and took to the hills
To forget all my worries, my job, and the bills.

But before I had got there, the weather turned cold.
So I turned up the heater, to make my heart bold.
Arriving, I dressed up, to keep off the chill,
And stepped out a-weather, by dint of strong will.

I trudged through the snow drifts and tripped o’er my feet;
I got snow down my neck and a bruise on my seat.
I looked for my quarry, but all to my shame,
Though I used all my senses, I spotted no game.

I got wind-burned and sun-burned and blinded by snow.
I ached from the top of my head to my toes.
I tore my new britches on a barb-wire fence,
And it gouged a big chunk out of....you know of whence.

My gun went and jammed and I tried all in vain,
To get it to work in spite of my pain.
But my hands were both frozen, I’d lost both my mittens;
So I shouldered my gun and did as was fitten.

I got in my pickup and packed up my gear;
I said to myself, that’s enough for this year.
But I know for a fact, just as sure as I’m born,
I’ll be ready to go again, first thing in the morn.

There’s something about hunting that gets in your blood.
It clears out your mind, like a soul-cleansing flood.
I know I will always absorb all the pain,
For the pleasures of hunting, again and again.

by Ray Prillwitz
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The Praying Bear


I snuck out of church one Sunday,
To go out and hunt me a bear.
I clumb up the hill to the mesa,
To see if a critter was there.

The path, it just twisted and spiraled,
As it found its way up to the top.
I traveled along without resting,
I was anxious and did not wish to stop.

As I rounded a difficult corner,
I was going like sixty, for fair;
When I ‘spose you have already guessed it,
I ran into a mighty big bear.

My gun clattered down off the hillside;
I was petrified and I couldn’t rise.
As the monster decided to charge me,
I lifted my eyes to the skies.

Dear Lord, I’m so sorry I skipped church;
Forgive me and help me today.
Please make that old bear a Christian,
And save his poor soul, I pray.

At that, the old bear, he slid to a halt,
And fell down on his fur-covered knees;
He clasped both his paws together,
And this prayer wafted out on the breeze.

“Dear God, bless this food I am about to receive...”

by Ray Prillwitz

(based on a joke by an unknown author)

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The hopping Robin looked so sweet,
I stopped a bit to watch him eat.
Then something in its beak did sqirm;
T’was an icky, slimy, big fat worm.
The bird I thought so sweet, before,
I didn’t favor anymore.
I knew, were I a bird, indeed,
My food of choice would be a seed.
I guess I’m glad I’m not one, though,
I like my seed made into dough;
And though the worm, his meal, would make,
I’d rather eat a juicy steak!

by Ray Prillwitz

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