You silly Slurp/cat
Cluttering up our logfiles
With all your IP's 

Didn't like at first
Had airline mix when flying
Developed a taste 

You go and have your fun;
You're young, and that's what young is for.
I'm old and mostly done;
I don't belong here anymore.

I've had my day; it was,
It seems to me, a better day.
But have your fun, because
I haven't got the words to say.

If I could speak, I'd start
With how we did it way back when,
When mothering was art
And smoking was a deadly sin.

I'd talk about the poise
That's fitting for a Baptist girl;
How rowdiness and noise
Disgrace her like the pig a pearl.

I'd talk about the way
A girl was treated like a rose
Before it was passé
To fancy pretty smells and clothes.

When I was young, the men
Wore pleated slacks and crisp white shirts.
The girls were pretty then,
In stockings, blouses, scarves, and skirts.

With dreams of marrying
And raising happy families,
We didn't care a thing
For business cards or Ph.D.'s.

We learned to cook and clean;
Today they learn to run a plant,
But I can make a mean
Fried pie, and these days most girls can't.

The world has shrugged me off;
The TV makes a joke of me.
They giggle and they scoff;
Things just aren't how they used to be.

So go and have your fun;
I surely don't mean to impose.
I know you've got to run;
I'll stay here with my pretty clothes.

It's such a busy life
Young folks are living anymore.
It seems so very rife
With things that make me feel a bore.

I don't know what it is
To listen to an empy-three,
But everyone's a whiz
At listening to them but me.

I have the Internet
In my computer (so I'm told).
Its biggest function yet
Is to remind me that I'm old.

I do not have a phone
To carry with me ev'rywhere,
To act like I'm alone
With someone else when you are there.

But I won't interfere
With all the fun your gadgets bring;
I'll just keep sitting here,
Retreating and remembering.

Now go and have your fun;
I'll be around when you are free.
My daughter and my son
May spare some precious time for me.

It isn't quite as hard
To bridge one generation gap--
They still have some regard
For when to doff a baseball cap.

Two generations out,
I'm lost as you are lost with me.
What could we talk about?
I've never heard an empy three!

And anyhow, your speech
Is almost more than I can bear:
I do not mean to preach,
But is there no shame anywhere?

There's nothing sacred now,
It seems, to hear you children speak,
But, well, I guess that's how
They do things now, and I'm antique.

So go and have your fun;
I'll stay here looking somewhat hurt.
I guess that youth has won,
But age can still enjoy dessert. 

I also plan to make a post sometime that isn't silly fluff,
But currently I'm busy, so I hope for now this is enough.
 

I plan to add a bit of code to make the comments slicker,
Like locking files and caching counts to make the loading quicker. 

Today I made a comment I'm beginning to regret,
And now I see I wasn't wise to make it on the net. 

I don't know what I'm doing here;
I don't know why I've come.
I've got a spitball in my ear;
My shoe is stuck in gum. 

I love the smell of pine indoors
So fresh and strong clears your pores.
I'd cut a tree down every day
If home could always smell this way.
(Nah, too much work; I take that back.
It's poetry. Cut me some slack.) 

I cut its trunk in two, you see:
I killed it very rootlessly. 

It never did a thing to me,
And still I killed it shamelessly. 

Today I killed a harmless tree
Without the least apology. 

I used to think that spinach made you stronger,
But when I learned that Popeye wasn't real,
I didn't care for spinach any longer.
The forearms must have been the main appeal. 

There never was a creature as unique as the opossum.
It dangles from its tail and eats the melaleuca blossom. 

I think it would be pretty good
If every jacket had a hood. 

I think it would be bad
If everyone wore plaid 

Sometimes a bunch of poems go together,
Like tasteless female pop stars go with pleather.
For these next four, the order is reversed:
Sequential posts display from last to first. 

"Hey, you've somewhat broken meter,"
Said the language-loving pair.
"We'll have none of that in our disputes:
We have rules, and we play fair." 

"You remind me of my cousins,"
Said the rhubarb to the friends.
"Let me tell you, I have dozens,
And the rhubarb never ends." 

"You remind me of a rhubarb,"
Said a disenchanted Al,
And it seemed so mean, Sue's face turned green,
And she socked her former pal. 

"You remind me of a penguin,"
Said a friend of Al one day,
And poor Al was taken so aback,
He just waddled, sad, away. 

Pianos came from Italy,
Where Bartolomeo,
Who christened them so wittily,
Had made his homeo. 

Sometimes we rot, but God has some good purpose.
We don't know why, but that's because we're little.
It's like we're helpless babes and God must burp us:
The patting seems so harsh until the spittle. 

This song is only posted here
Because I feel obliged to post;
It will not please the poet's ear
Or win a theologian's toast.
What's worse, it lacks the old defense
That it is but a rhyming joke:
To me it makes a bit of sense,
But likely not to other folk.
In any case it is not meant
To preach some universal law,
But merely serves to document
A blessing of the Lord I saw. 

How long will cheesecake last, refrigerated?
I know that in the past, it's been debated.
At two weeks, better safe, I think, than sorry:
Why lose it in the kitchen sink tomorry? 

Enough of this; it's time to talk to Jesus.
(When we are being lazy He still sees us.)
 

Poo on all this fluffy rhyme.
If I had a bit more time,
I would write a piece of real,
But for now I'll have to deal. 

It says neither. That's because it
Shows the starting time--or does it?
I was doing other stuff, so
Treat that time as rather rough, yo. 

Though of course Blogger
Will show that as eleven
For some odd reason 

Midnight and I'm still awake.
Posts galore, for goodness' sake!
This should tide me for a while,
Maybe make good Matthew smile... 

Well I'll say one thing:
You've got a bit of word spunk.
But can you Boggle? 

Maybe she pines for
A nice Christian guy with whom
She can be herself. 

Grandma braved the ice tonight to get to Bible study.
Saturday we'll Christmas shop if it is not too muddy. 

My shoes are the comfiest shoes on the block.
Today I wore boots, though, to shovel the walk.