Tuesday, August 31, 2010

Happy Birthday

Tomorrow - 1 September - is my wife's birthday.  I wrote this for her last year.

Here’s wishing you a birthday wish
A home-made cake, a lover’s kiss
A day that you can spend with friends
From sunrise till the sunset ends
This is just my way to say
Hope you have a glorious day
Here is one for this year - - -
When I lie down with you each night
I hope and pray with all my might
That in the morning when I wake
You'll still be there for heaven's sake

Monday, August 30, 2010


This feels like a good to post a couple of sport related poems.  We have a newcomers group down here that gets together once a month to bowl.  You never know who you will bowl with and it is all in fun.  I have bowled very little in my life but have tried it now that I am retired.
Bowling’s just bowling
Unless it’s with us
Then bowling is bowling
A bit more robust
It’s an evening with friends
And sharing your story
And when bowling’s done
You can bask in the glory
Of seeing your name
In the overhead light
And improving your game
And it’s all in one night
Oh, it doesn’t matter
What you finally score
It isn’t the scoring
That you go there for
No, you go there for friendship
You go there for fun
And when bowling is over
Your evening’s not done
We’re all going out
For a drink and a bite
That’s Newcomers’ bowling
On fabulous night

Mdailey 6/3/10


I saw a notice on Orchids and felt compelled to respond. While I think all golfers have a hole like that every once in a while, very few announce it publically on Orchids. This golfer has made all other golfers feel good about their game with that confession. I hope you enjoy the little poem I wrote for you on it.


Woe is the golfer who after two strokes
Is not passed the tee of the feminine folks
Whose drive hits the marker and takes a right turn
And his shot from the rough is a major concern
So he’s sitting at three and not yet passed the tee
Woe is a golfer like that

Can there be any penalty greater than shame
An open confession on Orchids with name
Don’t be hard on yourself, there is no one to blame
A hole such as that is just part of the game

Mdailey 8/30/10


Orchid notice - - -
What good is retirement living, if you can't occasionally laugh at yourself. I find myself in uncharted waters and I need wisdom. We all know what the generally accepted penalty is for men who fail to hit their drive past the women's tee. My question is what is the penalty when after hitting your drive and then your second shot (not from the tee) you still are not past the women's tee.

Yes, on hole 17 of Panthers (I know it’s a Par 3) my 5 iron drive hit the yellow tee marker and went right over the cart path in the direction of "The Schuster's) but was still in play. My 7 iron second shot was out of "the Dante's Inferno" rough and landed short of the women's tee and I took a 6. I then went on to bogey the 18th and post a marvelous 101. If anyone has knowledge as to the appropriate penalty, or has experienced a similar fate I would appreciate their input.

Friday, August 27, 2010

Better With Age

And again this friend of mine was bragging about how she thought she was getting better with age and since I am nearing her same age, I thought to myself that I too could utter that phrase with conficence as long as I looked at myself from a certain perspective.

I’m actually getting better with age
To illustrate this, here is my gauge
The spots on my skin – think of a young leopard
The cane in my hand – think of a young Sheppard
And now that I squint – think of a young Clint (Eastwood)
The grey in my hair – now I look debonair
Though my jowls droop a little I feel fit as a fiddle
And though I wear glasses, the gals still make passes
My six-pack’s matured to a tight mini-keg
And I could run miles (except for one leg)
There’s a skip in my steps like I’m dancing on air
(It’s just orthopedics – I now wear a pair)
And the creaks and the groans that you hear when I move
Is the gypsy in me getting down with the groove
When I look in the mirror I still see someone young
And my memory sticks on the tip of my tongue
Yes, I’m actually getting better with age
If I recalibrate what I use for a gauge

Mdailey 8/27/10

Age = Karma

This friend of mine posted a story of how she beat a bunch of senior citizens to the prescription counter in a CVS and how bad she fealt after she cut them off.

The bus pulled in the parking lot
The seniors all got out
Like a bunch of slow old turtles
They began to move about
They were headed into CVS
To get prescriptions filled
They were bound to slow me down no doubt
My own resolve was chilled
I tried to get around them
But I couldn’t find a path
If each one took five minutes
I mean – you do the math
So I took another isle
I knew they wouldn’t take
Greeting cards and pampers
So these old folks I did shake
I skidded into first place
At that prescription desk
I had beat those blue-haired ladies
With my medical request
And then it finally hit me
How shameful I had been
To make these blue-haired ladies wait
While I just butted in
So sheepishly I slunk away
Ahead, but clothed in guilt
And thought about the Karma
That I, myself, just built
How long until some youngster
His own story told
How he cut in front of me
Cause I’d grown slow and old

Mdailey 8/26/10

I’m Not That Old – Am I?

I had a friend turn 62 last week and she was bragging about how young she really was.

No cane or walker have I
No tank of oxygen
No grey hairs show upon my head
I don’t feel old – but then
I remember my last birthday
How the candles burned so bright
I think they counted sixty-two
I know that can’t be right
Then I look around me
As one often does
And see my kids are at that age
That I thought I still was
When I look into a mirror
See age I can’t surmount
There is still that one advantage though
I get a senior-age discount

Mdailey 8/26/10

Margarita or Cheeseburger

The Jimmy Buffett website posted a question - this was my response.
Margarita or a cheeseburger
What a choice to make
One will make your belly full
One your head to ache
One will tingle taste buds
One will tingle toes
One leads to another
So I’ll have two of those
One will go down easy
One will take some time
One I could write poems about
One I just can’t rhyme
Margarita or a cheeseburger
Which one would I choose
The one that’s paradise on bun
Or the one delightful booze

Mdailey 8/26/10


I have this friend that does not have good luck with seagulls at the beach.  I have not used his name in this poem as it might embarrace him.

I was with my girlfriend
One day down on the beach
When a flock of seagulls
Flew just beyond our reach
At first we didn’t see them
Then all at once one swooped
And when he was right above us
That nasty bird just pooped
It splattered on my forehead
It splattered on my shirt
It splattered on my self esteem
The embarrassment sure hurt
And then the very next day
Down on that same old beach
Again I saw the seagulls
Again I heard their screech
Again one flew right at us
Again one’s bowels let go
Again my shirt was soiled
My last clean one you know
So now when we go to the shore
I bring along three shirts or more
And when I see those fricken birds
I duck for cover from those turds

Mdailey 8/26/10


Dateline: 19 August, 2008 – Sun Times Headline - Man says 9-foot tapeworm came from undercooked salmon salad.  I am posting this as close to the anniversary of the event as I could remember.  These things come and go and everyone needs to be aware of the symptoms and sequence of events leading to their demise.

I felt the movement deep inside
And as it passed I almost died
To see a creature 9-foot long
Come out of me – it’s wrong – IT’S WRONG!

It came, I think, from Salmon Salad
I was sick for days and somewhat pallid
But the feeling passed, I carried on
Not knowing there was something wrong
Then a wiggle here, a wiggle there
Eating more and passing air
Then dizziness and vertigo
Cramps and colic and a need to go
Combined with weight loss, muscle pain
Brought it all back once again

I didn’t catch the tell-tale signs
Until at last my system binds
Nothing coming – nothing going
Until at last a tail is showing

I don’t know why it lost its grip
Or when it all began to slip
All I know is a tapeworm
Will lose its grip and start to squirm

I felt the movement deep inside
And as it passed I almost died
To see a creature 9-foot long
Come out of me – it’s wrong – IT’S WRONG!

Mdailey    08/20/08

Sunday, August 15, 2010

Long Hot Summer

Based on reactions I got from the last two poems - I felt obliged to write one more on the subject.  Maybe I should just do a whole booklet on the subject.  I think I have about a half a dozen poems on it by now.  What do you think?

The Doc says there’s no rhyme or reason
For my wife’s long “summer season”
It started many years ago
She fears it still has years to go
Her hormone levels are near normal
Her clothes at home grow more informal
With the AC blasting out cold air
She’s burning like a roadside flare
No matter what the time of year
When little beads of sweat appear
She picks up anything that’s flat
And tries to fan herself with that
So now her shoulder’s sore from fanning
She even gave up summer tanning
It’s hard to look cool and collected
While burning up like she’s infected
She says her thermostat is broken
In words that I have seldom spoken
She says I should be understanding
It comes across more like demanding
But even as I duck for cover
I can’t help but think I love her
So even if her temp gets steeper
I still think I’ll likely keep her

Mdailey 8/16/10

Hot Chick

After failing to write a poem on hot chicks as I did on the Menopause prayer below, I felt I still owed it to the challenge to really try to do one about the hot chick i live with.

When I lay down with this hot chick
Her reactions came real quick
She loosed the buttons on her gown
She threw the covers on the ground
I saw a glimmer in her eyes
That told me clothing was unwise
Don’t you know I was impressed
To see how quickly she undressed
She showed me how her body sweat
And I hadn’t even touched her yet
You know what I was thinking then
She’ hot – yea, she’s so hot again
Then we both knew it’s just because
She’s in the throes of menopause
So here I lie with this hot chick
And pray I get to sleep real quick.

Mdailey 8/15/10

Menopause Prayer

The discussion on menopause last evening left one gentleman to challenge me to write another poem on the subject.  It was supposed to be about hot chicks but it took a different turn right from the start.

Now I lay me down to sleep
I pray the Lord for no more heat
For if it comes, I’ll be awake
I pray the Lord, don’t make me bake
I’ll even get down on my knees
And pray the Lord “Lord, pretty please”
Please don’t turn my furnace on
My flesh is weak, my patience’s gone
I haven’t had a good night’s sleep
Since menopause turned on the heat
And it’s no good Lord, counting sheep
If into fire, Lord they leap
So Lord, please grant me this request
And take this fire from my chest
Let someone else be thusly blessed
And let me finally get some rest


Mdailey 8/15/10

My Face is Like a Furnace

We were at dinner the other day with friends and the talk came around to menopause.  and then someone ( I don't think it was me) said I had a poem on it so I had to dig this one out and share it with them.

My face is like a furnace
And so I start to fan
Then just when I am cooling off
The heat comes on again
I have buttons to unbutton
I want to take things off
Then I realize, I’m still at work
My co-workers all will scoff
So once again I fan myself
My arms now get so tired
I’ve explained this to my doctor
She said my warranty’s expired
As a woman’s age increases
The temperatures she’s getting
Fluctuates from hot to cold
And really is upsetting
So the covers I will kick off
And in private clothes are shed
To cool the raging furnace
That is not just in my head
We women bring life into the world
What does that privilege earn us
Hormones that with age break down
And a face just like a furnace

Mdailey     04/27/09

Broken Windows

We have a system of messages down here on the plantation where anyone can post a question or an observation that they think someone can address.  Well, this guy Nolan (who I don't know) posted a question on how to protect his windows as he had been in his house only two weeks and already had two broken windows from errant golf balls.  Local friends said it sounded like something worthy of a poem.  So I wrote it.

We built here on the golf course
For the view from our back yard
We couldn’t find a drawback
Though we thought it through real hard
And now that we have moved in
Our view, the fairway grass
We hadn’t thought of errant hooks
Or the fragileness of glass
Two weeks and now two windows
The victims of these hooks
Two weeks and we are flustered
And have dented our checkbooks
Has anyone an answer
Has anyone a fix
Has anyone yet solved this
We’d love to learn the tricks.

Nolan, here’s the problem
Golfers can’t hit straight
And windows on a golf course
Are simply left to fate
Some folks have tried a trellis
Some folks just hung a net
Some folks put plastic film up
That’s all I heard of yet
You could maybe add some bushes
Or perhaps a tree or two
That might stop the golf balls
But screw up your great view
I wish I had an answer
But my yard is ball free
My backyard is directly
Tween a hole and the next tee

Mdailey 8/14/10

Friday, August 13, 2010


I am not political by nature but some things lend them selves to poems.  I started this back when Bush was in power and ended it with all the good Barack has brought to the game of economy.

They say that with the surplus that Bill Clinton left George Bush
He was firmly planted on third base just waiting for the push
That would have him score the winning run – George Bush that run did squoosh

For the intelligence that got him there was gone without a trace
And George Bush had a brain storm that left him staring into space
Then George Bush thinking for himself, ran back to second base

And when the dust was settled and his plan had emersed
It was clear to all of us, these moves were not rehearsed
And then twas no surprise to us, George Bush stole back to first

So there he stands and so stand us
Not knowing who to hear or trust
With economy that has gone bust

Then up at bat now comes Barack
Who says Bush plan was just a crock
It’s now my game so watch we rock

And now Barack has had his day
He stepped right up into the fray
What do you know – a triple play!

Game Over!

Mdailey     08/13/10

Steve Slater / Jet Blue

I could not help myself.  This guy was all over the news and everyone was polorized as to what they thought of him.  I can see it from both sides but this one makes the better poem.

Just who is this guy – Steve Slater
You know the guy from Jet Blue
Who just had enough
Of their BS and stuff
And told all those travelers “F You!”

Now Trump says this guy is a wacko
To others a hero they say
He just made it clear
He had it “to here”
And just popped at the end of the day

Once landed and on the loud speaker
He gave them a piece of his mind
Grabbed some beer from the cart
And made his depart
Down the chute sliding on his behind

Jet Blue will now fire this attendant
For letting things get out of hand
For the chute he deployed
That got them annoyed
Will cost them at least 20 grand

Mdailey 8/12/10


I wrote this for a friend of mine when she posted something on facebook saying she needed a reality check.

Just how do you plan to check it
Reality, what’s it to you
The things you can touch
The things that you hear
The things that come into view
But you and I live different places
You and I lead different lives
So what’s real to you
To me just isn’t true
And there-in reality lies
Don’t worry – don’t bother to check it
Just sit back – enjoy the ride
You’ve youth and good health
And an good sense of self
Let reality simply subside

Mdailey 8/12/10

Where have all the good jobs gone?

The paper said that we can't fix the economy until we all get jobs.  So where are all the jobs today?  this was written from a women's point of view since they use a lot more products and the rhymes worked better from that perspective.
My Japanese Alarm clock woke me right at six
My Chinese coffeepot kicked in to brew my morning fix
And with a Hong Kong razor I deafly shaved my shin
Wearing my Sri Lanka skirt, my day could now begin
My jeans I got from Singapore, Korea made my shoes
My TV (Indonesia), gave me my morning news
In a skillet made in India, I cooked my morning bacon
With my GPS from old Taiwan, I checked the route I'm taken
I turn on my computer, Malaysian is my guess
To check the old stock market that's really quite a mess
I calculate my losses with a machine from Mexico
And check my Swedish time piece and see its time to go
Then in my German auto, filled up with Saudi gas
I slip on Brazilian sandals and leave the house at last
I listen to the radio - India made this one
And head out on my job search; my day has now begun
I keep up my appearance, my hair's cut by some sweet
With a catchy British accent, Vietnam gals do my feet
My purse from Costa Rica, my hat from Ecuador
My belt's from Puerto Rico or some other foreign shore
I've got an education and I'm not a worthless slob
But somehow I can't seem to find a good paying US job

I blame it on recession; I haven't got a chance
I drown my sorrow every day with wine I bought from France

MDailey     11/21/08

Wednesday, August 11, 2010


I just posted 6 poems written a couple of years ago - all related to baseball in one way or another.  I am sure not all of you are fans of the sport but if you are reading this posting, you are at least somewhat a fan of my poems so go ahead and browse through them.  If you have comments, I would love to hear them.


Can You Make the Game Tonight

The following is a series of short poems I wrote to the manager of our church league softball team.  It seems my daughter told him or showed him that I wrote poems and he challenged me to respond to his weekly request for players in rhyme.  I did my best to accommodate him each week.  Here is the colledtion of responses - - -

From:John [Softball Team Manager] Sent: Tuesday, June 10, 2008
Subject: Games Thursday
I am aware that you write poems. I would like your responses to come in the form of a poem for the rest of the season.

My Response - - -
Who told you that story – it must be my daughter
I’ll be at the games, come hell or high water
But writing a poem to you week after week
My daughter and I need to sit down and speak
Writing in rhyme sometimes is quite taxing
I’m not just sitting here all bored and relaxing
I’ve work to do and I’m earning my pay
Not writing poems for you day after day
Since you’re management, I’d like to do what you like
But writing you poems, we’ll just see (that’s all – Mike)
I’m just an old man from Ox Hill
Who’s lost speed but still has some skill
And you ask if I might
Play the games Monday night
If the good Lord is willing, I will
Last night it appears the Good Lord wasn’t willing
The wind and the rain that he sent was quite thrilling
It ruined the evening for barbeque grilling
Now we have to play Friday night games

But from what I have seen, the “NO” list is growing
There’s a whole lot of guys that are simply not showing
And I know how you hate on the game day not knowing
So count me in if there no rains

But maybe the other team’s hurting like us
Maybe these Friday night games are a bust
Call them and cancel the games if you must
But count me in if you need names
As an old man from Ox Hill I care
To play the game cleanly and fair
And to play all the games
Be it sunshine or rains
If the Lord will allow, I’ll be there
Miss a game with my buddies, well there just ain’t no way
No matter the stress or the strain of the day
Only Good Lord and traffic can keep me at bay
Count me in coach, I’m ready to play
But the game on the 7th – I won’t make the pair
Missing a game for me is quite rare
But I’m off on vacation – the mid-west somewhere
So I’ll keep the guys and the game in my prayers
When it comes to position, the coach has his picks
When it comes to pure hitting, I still have some sticks
When it comes to the lineup, don’t play any tricks
When it comes to tonight’s game, I’ll be there at 6
mdailey - summer of 08


Even Barry Bonds was in the news back then.  Will he ever be enshrined in Cooperstown?
If Bonds hits more homers than Hank
Who has he got to thank
Is it Daddy dear
Or that salve he calls clear
Either way his reps in the tank

Mdailey     01/09/08

Baseball Talks

I wrote this about the same time I wrote "Baseball at the Bat". This is more a dig at Congressonal hearings than at baseball.  As you can see, I was upset with both sides of this issue.
What’s this world coming to – with a war going on
And Congressional testimony going on for so long
Just talking Baseball and who’s doing drugs
Wasting their time with crooks, lawyers, and thugs
They’re worried about Baseball’s great mystique
With nary a word on the lives lost each week
Or how about the recession – folks out on the street
With no roof ore’ their head and no food left to eat
No, they’re worried about players and how they’re poor models
Getting their records through syringes and bottles
They fear that the message conveyed to their kid
That if records are set, it’s OK what they did
To smear on “the clear” and go out and play
And when they grow up they’ll opt for a shot
To let them get muscles that they haven’t yet got
But who really cares – I mean WHO REALLY CARES
If they’re taking steroids and they’re loosing their hairs
And they set all the records that can ever be set
It won’t impact anyone that I know I bet
But with congressmen wasting all of their time
On all of this nonsense making my blood pressure climb
I want them devoting their time to “Just” causes
Not wasting it all on sporting rules clauses
And now they want “Justice” to waste their time too
To determine if what they heard was all true
If maybe some players had lied under oath
Wasting more time, and this time by both
And what’s the role model they’ve taught kids to see
It’s not about ball players if you’re asking me
It’s how once elected you can call to the table
Anyone, any time and then put it on cable
And sit there all mighty and bask in the glory
Of breaking a hero down with his very own story
And maybe you get 15 minutes of fame
And on every front page you can see your own name
And one other thing its really good for
It makes Congress forget that we’re all in a war!

Mdailey     2/29/08


Back a few years ago, baseball was going through some hard times.  There were doping scandles, poor attendance, investigations from Congress and it did not look like the brains that ran baseball knew what they were doing.   So I wrote about it.  Of course I stole a little from Casey at the Bat but my heart was in the right place. 

The Outlook isn't brilliant in Cooperstown these days:
The score shows Congress leading and players all but played.
And with Bonds under indictment and Clemens soon the same,
A sickly silence fell upon the patrons of the game.
A straggling few got up to go in deep despair. The rest
Clung to that hope which springs eternal in the breast;
They thought, if only Baseball could make some sense of that -
We'd put up even money, now, with Baseball at the bat.
But Mitchell named Canseco and Canseco squealed on more,
Tom Davis and then Waxman said lets even up the score;
So upon that stricken multitude grim melancholy sat,
For there seemed but little chance of Baseball fixing that.
But Bonds stuck to his story, to the wonderment of all,
And Clemens, though its shaky has refused to take a fall;
And when the dust had lifted, and the men saw what had occurred,
There was Pettit safe in New York and Tejada playing third.
Then from 5,000 throats and more there rose a lusty yell;
It rumbled through the valley, it rattled in the dell;
It knocked upon the mountain and recoiled upon the flat,
For Baseball, mighty Baseball, was advancing to the bat.
There was ease in Baseball's manner as they stepped into the place;
There was pride in Baseball's bearing and a smile on Baseball's face.
And when, responding to the cheers, they lightly took their seat,
No stranger in the crowd could doubt 'twas Baseball they can’t beat.
Ten thousand eyes were on them as they blamed Radoenski;
Five thousand tongues applauded when they named Brian McMamee.
Then while Congress sat their cringing, their hands upon their hips,
Defiance gleamed in Baseball's eye, a sneer curled Baseball's lips.

And now the Congress questions came hurtling through the air,
And Baseball stood a-watching it in haughty grandeur there.
Close by old stately Baseball questions unheeded sped-
"That ain't my style," said Baseball. "Strike one," the Congress said.
From the trenches, black with people, there went up a muffled roar,
Like the beating of the storm-waves on a stern and distant shore.
"Kill them! Kill the Congress!" shouted someone on the stand;
And its likely they'd a-killed them had not Baseball raised a hand.
With a smile of Christian charity great Baseball's visage shone;
It stilled the rising tumult; it bade the talks go on;
It signaled to the Congress, and once more the questions flew;
But Baseball still ignored it, and the Congress said, "Strike two."
"Fraud!" cried the maddened thousands, and echo answered fraud;
But one scornful look from Baseball and the audience was awed.
They saw Baseball’s face grow stern and cold, as they all racked their brain,
And they knew that Baseball wouldn't let that chance go by again.
The sneer is gone from Baseball's lip, their teeth are clenched in hate;
They pounds with cruel violence at the questions on their plate.
And now the Congress holds the cards, and now they lets them go,
And now the air is shattered by the force of Baseball's blow.
Oh, somewhere in this favored land the sun is shining bright;
The band is playing somewhere, and somewhere hearts are light,
And somewhere men are laughing, and somewhere children shout;
But there is no joy in Cooperstown - mighty Baseball has struck out.

Mdailey     2/29/08

Yankee Fan

When I was working, we had a transplanted new Yorker who just loved the Yankees.  He kept us posted on who was pitching each game, who was hot with a bat and who was sitting the bench and why.  He watched every game he could - even going up to NY in the evening for a game.  Of course, he had to leave work early if he wanted to go from DC to NY in time for a game.
Who’s pitching tonight?
Him? – Oh he’ll do alright
His curveball’s so tight
Yankee Fan

Be it Clemens, Mussina or Meyers
Pettitte, Rivera, Villone
He’s willing to bet on his pitcher
Especially if pitching at home

Jeater – now he’s really something
And A Rod – no equal is found
They cover the left in the infield
And Boy! How they cover that ground

Who’s pitching tonight?
Him? – Oh he’ll do alright
His fastball is so out of sight
Yankee Fan

Pin stripes are high fashion to him
Even fat guys look kind of slim
With the pants ending just at shin
In fashion they always win

He’s been in the House that Ruth Built
He’d sit there though heat made him wilt
He’s loyal without any guilt
He’s Yankee clean up to the hilt

Team roster? He knows every man
The batboy? He’ll name him – he can
This isn’t some fair weather fan
George Steinbrenner – yea – He’s da man

Who’s pitching tonight?
Him? – Oh he’ll do alright
His slider is simply a fright
Yankee Fan

Sure there’s work to be done by this evening
There are papers to read and to write
And it’s early but still he is leaving
The Yankees are playing tonight!

Who’s pitching today?
Doesn’t matter – no way
Yanks are playing hooray!
Yankee Fan!

Mdailey     6/29/07

Rocket Man

With the talk about who just made it into the Hall of Fame and who still deserves or does not deserve to be in, I thought I would post a poem I wrote a couple of years ago on Roger Clements.  Is that how you spell his name?
He’s headed for the Hall of Fame
Cooperstown – America’s game
Then all at once we start to hear
He’s taken needles in the rear
All to make his muscles grow
When asked in court, he told them “NO”
But evidence was gaining speed
To lots of folks, that’s all they need
To keep him from the Hall of Fame
For disrespect to America’s game

Then just as this was dying down
Another flaw in him was found
This pitcher with the rocket arm
Had fallen for a young girl’s charm
She’s a singer of some note
There’s evidence of checks he wrote
He’s known her since she was fifteen
Statutory – some folks scream
She claims it all has been platonic
His downfall’s now gone supersonic

Others now are speaking up
He doesn’t keep it in his cup
The man with children numbered four
Ain’t all defense – sometimes he’ll score
It’s said he’ll leave keys in the lobby
For women friends to share his hobby
This talk is getting out of hand
This isn’t how he had it planned
He fears he’ll make the Hall of Shame
Not Cooperstown – the Hall of Fame

Mdailey     5/01/08

Friday, August 6, 2010

Tar Balls

I wrote this a rew weeks ago - I don't know why I didn't post it then.
The tar balls are coming
To a beach near you soon
They’ll float in on the tide
They’ll be sticky by noon
The marshlands and wildlife
Are facing their doom
The tar balls are coming
To a beach near you soon

This oil spill is big
They say bigger than most
The oil has spread out now
From pillar to post
They are trying to stop it
So don’t give up the ghost
But the tar balls are forming
Down in the Gulf coast

The when and the where
Is a factor of weather
The wind and the rain
Will soon come together
To scatter the oil spill
To who knows wherever
No fur coat is safe
No birds of a feather

I don’t know about you
Or just what your stance is
On oil from the land
Or off coast expanses
Let’s just hope soon
There’ll be drilling advances
Cause the way it now stands
We take too many chances

Mdailey 6/8/10

The Alamo

We have a History Club here on the plantation and the topic of last month's meeting was the Alamo.  I wrote a little poem that was sent out as a reminider for the meeting - just like I used to do when I was the XO at work and needed to remind the workforce of some coming event.
You’ve heard the story
You’ve seen the show
So you think you know
The real Alamo?
But it wasn’t exactly
As Disney portrayed
They took all the truth
And from it they strayed
You see, Texas back then
Was just North Mexico
Where riff-raff and restless
Americans go
And when they wanted out
From the Mexican rules
They needed a war
And political tools
The fight that took place there
Was just what was needed
The “bad guys” were ruthless
The “good guys” defeated
Sure there were heroics
But not all of them heroes
Some of them nothing but
Thugs, thieves and zeroes
Who happened to be there
When Mexico fought
To keep what was their’s
And America sought
If you care to discuss this
The who, what and why
Come to our meeting
On the 28th of July

Mdailey 6/24/10

My Blessed House

We just moved into our new house this past week.  Needless to say, things have been a bit hectic around here. 
I don’t know about your house
But I know about mine
I’m not all that religious
But I now live in a shrine
This wasn’t how we planned it
But when things got out of hand
My wife “God Blessed” everything in sight
I hope He’ll understand

Mdailey 8/5/10

Twenty-Six Cheerleaders

Did you ever wonder how many bodies it would take to overload an elevator - or what would happen if you did overload it.  Today is the anniversary of an event that happened at the University of Texas back in 08.

Twenty-six girls thought they would all fit within
Twenty-six girls both the fat and the thin
Twenty-six girls and there could have been more
But the twenty-sixth girl had to close the damn door

The lights were too hot so the girls said to dim it
But not before one of them read the lift’s limit
And using round figures they added up weight
But got to the answer a little too late

So twenty-six girls in a box fast descended
Till they hit the ground floor and their fall quickly ended
Shaken, not stirred, they all wanted out
But the door wouldn’t budge so they started to shout

Twenty-six girls in a movable box
They’re on the ground floor and the door somehow locks
They shimmy and shake till a cell phone appears
911 is soon called so they practiced some cheers

And the serious firemen all had to grin
Thinking twenty-six cheerleaders all crammed within
Twenty-six bodies pressed all to the wall
And all of this happened in old Jester Hall

Mdailey     08/07/08
Police free 26 cheerleaders from elevator at University of Texas' Jester Hall
11:19 AM CDT on Wednesday, August 6, 2008 - - - By RACHEL SLADE / The Dallas Morning News
Police and firefighters were called to the University of Texas' Jester Hall to free 26 cheerleaders who had crammed themselves into an elevator. A group of 14- to 17-year-olds attending Texas Cheer Camp in Austin decided to see how many girls they could squeeze into the elevator around 6 p.m. Tuesday, campus police said. The elevator successfully descended from the fourth floor to the first, but the doors refused to open. The panicked girls managed to wiggle a few cell phones free to call for help. But it took about 25 minutes before a repairman was able to fix the door, police said. “It’s dangerous actually,” said Rhonda Weldon, director of communications for the UT Police Department. "They’re lucky that that’s all that happened." One teen fainted and was treated and released from a nearby hospital. Two others were treated at the scene. “Take the sign seriously,” Ms. Weldon said. “There are signs everywhere: No more than 15 people or 3,000 pounds.” (those 26 cheerleaders had to average under 115 lbs to stay within the load limit of the elevator)

Tuesday, August 3, 2010

Catching Up - Again

I had to do a little catching up again.  With the move to the new house, I just have not gotten around to posting poems as I would like to.  So I added 4-5 tonight.  Let me know what you think of them.

Down on the Gulf

No explanation needed for this latest poem on the oil spill.

Down on the gulf
A storm is a brew’en
The pipeline is broken
The oil just a spwe’en
No matter the fix
Those folks are pursue’en
It doesn’t look like
They know what they’re do’en

Yea, down on the gulf
The boats aren’t a fish’en
The oil’s in the way
On the waves it’s a swish’en
So fish are all dying
And it ain’t from attrition
And cleaning the gulf’s
Now a world-wide mission

Yea, down on the gulf
The world is just waiting
While those in high places
Are simply debating
The blame for the spill
And what it’s creating
To tell you the truth
This is just so frustrating

Mdailey 7/1/10

The Osprey

We have an Osprey nest down by one of the club houses and I try to see what is in it every time I drive by.  just the other day, one of the parents flew down our street - maybe 100 feet off the ground - with a fish in its talons on the way back to the nest and the two young ospreys.

A regal
Sea eagle
The Osprey
Who builds their nest high in the trees
With a beautiful view
Seen by so few
As they rest
In their nest
In the breeze.

Mdailey 7/3/10

Obama Claimed Success

Just a little political note.  While I am not a very political person, I love to poke fun at those in office - no matter the party - when I see or hear about things that just don't seem right to me.  there was a headline in the paper the other day about how the econlmy has finally come around and Obama himself seemed to be claiming credit.

Obama himself claimed success
The economy’s fixed, no more mess
But most still have the fears
That it’s all smoke and mirrors
And this claim they can’t quite injest

With employment hitting new lows
What we earn, well it so quickly goes
If this is success
Then I must confess
I don’t know success when it shows

Mdailey 7/16/10

Gator Rules

The newest edition of the Ocean Ridge Newsletter just came out and it had an article on aligators sighted in OR.  It also had one of my gator poems in it.  But I decided that the newsletter did not tell the complete story on how to react to gators seen within the plantation so I wrote the following and had it sent out to all the residents via an internal distribution system.

Please don’t feed the gators
They eat enough as is
Though they may look real peaceful
They’ll gladly eat your kids
Save your crumbs for seagulls
Or turtles by the pools
But please don’t feed the gators
It’s so against the rules.

And golfers, while we’re at it
Don’t poke them with your clubs
That might just sound like fun to you
Ah, but here’s the rub
They’re quicker than you think they are
Don’t poke the resting giant
You might end up a mid-day snack
Come on guys, be compliant

Mdailey 8/2/10

Our New House

We finally completed the building of our new house and I wrote this poem about the experience.  Please keep in mind that I have adopted various traits of the poetic license I maintain.  some things are streteched - some are diminished.  All lines have a grain of truth to them but everything is written tongue-in-cheek.  This poem may not be completely factual.

If you’ve got a marriage
That you think is strong
Just build your own house
I mean, what could go wrong
Well, listen my friend
And heed my advice
That angel you married
Might not be that nice
There are so many decisions
That you’ll have to make
And no matter your choices
She’ll say that’s a mistake
Oh, she’ll tell you she loves you
And she values your thoughts
But will question decisions
As each thing is bought
It’s not that I’m perfect
There is room to improve
But I’m not second guessing
Each move after move.
She’ll ask does this counter
Go with this faucet – this sink?
Is this color too dark?
Dear, what do you think?
She’ll drag you around
To sub-contractors each day
But won’t really care
What you have to say
She has final control
Of what isn’t – what is
Then complains to her friends
“This house is all his.
Let’s put in shutters
No – let’s put in blinds.
Let’s change the colors
That’s dull – but that shines.
I think that the floor
Should be shiny – no flat!
And how bout this chair,
Does this go with that?
We have to buy mirrors
But your choice is too round
I went antique hunting
Dear, look what I found.
Let’s take that one back
Can’t you find the receipt?”
And day after day
It’s repeat and repeat
Now the house is complete
And I’m pleased as can be
But I don’t think my angel
Is speaking to me
Oh, I’m not that worried
And you too will find
She’ll come back around
Once she changes her mind


Mdailey 8/2/10

Male Rights

My former co-workers were questioning possible changes in me since retirement and stressing the need to maintain the evolutionary advantaages man has acquired over women through the ages.  I replied with "I get it" and this poem.

It's the male of the species
Whose rights we must address
He's lost so much of maleness
All under sheer duress
It's the female of the species
(The ones that wear a dress)
That have the rights once solely male
And poor man has got so less

We men must stand together
For this is not a game
Women's rights are all the rage now
And the government's to blame
If we let them harm the species
We should hang our heads in shame
Those rights through evolution
We must fight so they remain

Mdailey 8/3/10