Category Archives: Poems

Birthday Boy!

Today is the birthday of our dear leader Dale!

We’ve talked here over the years of the gift that Dale has given us by starting the blog and setting a tone that we all appreciate.  Now let’s make a list of what gifts we would like to give Dale.

Here’s a poem for Dale’s birthday – although not quite up to the standards of Poet Laureate Tyler Schuyler Wyler.

You’re honest,
decent, lovable,
and truly are first rate.
You’re charming,
and clearly pretty great…

You’re dignified,
gracious, sweet,
and kind.
You’ve got a lot
of talent
and a wit that’s
hard to find.

You’re cleaver, cool,
and clean up really nice.
You’re worldly wise,
and wonderful
and full of good advice.

You’re fun
and entertaining,
not to mention
very smart.
You’re altogether awesome
and you’ve got a lot of heart!

What gift would you give Dale?

Sweet Spring

Today’s post comes to us from Barbara in Rivertown

In honor of it finally being April, and spring being so much more believable, I have rediscovered a favorite poem, taken from the Good Reads website:

                                                                   Sweet Spring            E.E. Cummings

sweet spring is your
time is my time is our
time for springtime is lovetime
and viva sweet love

(all the merry little birds are
flying in the floating in the
very spirits singing in
are winging in the blossoming)

lovers go and lovers come
awandering awondering
but any two are perfectly
alone there’s nobody else alive

(such a sky and such a sun
i never knew and neither did you
and everybody never breathed
quite so many kinds of yes)

not a tree can count his leaves
each herself by opening
but shining who by thousands mean
only one amazing thing

(secretly adoring shyly
tiny winging darting floating
merry in the blossoming
always joyful selves are singing)

sweet spring is your
time is my time is our
time for springtime is lovetime
and viva sweet love

Do you have a favorite poem, or a favorite poet?  (Doesn’t have to be well-known.)


Party Envy

The president’s obsession with the crowd numbers for his inauguration makes sense when you realize party turnout is a crucially important status marker for 12 year olds.

My party was bigger than Barry’s.
It was better than George’s or Jack’s.
Every guest loved the cake.
And they cheered when I spake.
That’s the truth because I made the facts.

Everything that I did was tremendous.
All my bunting and streamers were best.
All the boys I out-famed
felt a little ashamed
by my better-than-everyone’s fest.

Every party through time’s been less super
than this best-of-all parties I threw.
The invited said “yup.”
No one didn’t show up.
except whiners and losers like you.

The attention I got was amazing!
No lame gifts that you wear or you read.
Celebrated for days.
I got love, I got praise.
It was almost as much as I need.

Best party you’ve ever thrown?

Oaf of Office

Header image via Creative Commons under CC 2.0

Tomorrow, Donald J. Trump will take the oath of office and become the 45th president of the United States.

The official oath is very simple: I do solemnly swear (or affirm) that I will faithfully execute the Office of President of the United States, and will to the best of my Ability, preserve, protect and defend the Constitution of the United States.

This could be an awkward moment. Our next president is famous for going off-script.

Actually, that’s a lie. It suggests there’s a script to begin with.

He is known for saying whatever comes to mind. And because his brain is so unique and excellent, he has little experience in following anyone in a repeat-after-me situation. I don’t expect him to be intimidated by the chief justice of the Supreme Court. Trump will want to say it his way.

To offer a little assistance, I’ve re-fashioned the oath into what I think is a passable example of Trump-speak. And it has the added bonus of rhyming, so he could sing it if he wants.

I solemnly swear!
My swears are so solemn
they’re top of the charts
in the solemn swear column

I will execute faithfully
this lofty post.
I’m as faithful as Jesus
and a better Host.

The office of President!
I’m so well suited.
No office will ever be
more executed.

As for my ability,
you be the tester.
when we’re talking ables
nobody’s is bester.

And the Constitution!
You kidding? Forget it!
I’ll preserve and protect that
like someone who’s read it.

I promise this oath
it’s a pledge that I’ve spoken.
I’ll honor it like
all the others I’ve broken.

Wah hoo! Haters? SAD!

How are you at keeping promises?

The Flooding Room Scenario

A new projection suggests that if carbon emissions continue unabated, massive ice melt and expanding oceans will threaten coastal communities on a global scale.  I’ve you’ve been paying attention to this, the advent of a new  prediction that there is a huge climate calamity on the way is something that could have totally been predicted.

The relentlessly regular release of dire news into our environment makes me think of that Hollywood movie scenario where the heroes are trapped in a sealed room that is slowly but inexorably filling with water.

When I mentioned this to Trail Baboon’s resident poet, the relentlessly rhyming but terrifyingly simplistic Tyler Schuyler Wyler, he immediately retreated to his frosty garret. Within hours he had calved off a chunk of doggerel so massive, it could support its own family of penguins.

The doorway clicked shut. There was no pathway out
For the windowless chamber was small.
With a single intrusion. A lone data spout
trickled estimates out of the wall.

Global temperature readings dripped into the room,
Dire missives of gases and soot.
As more studies leaked out of this pipeline of doom
I began to think we were kaput.

There was rapid decay in a glacial ice sheet.
caused by currents a fraction too warm.
As the science gushed in I was swept off my feet,
treading data in silent alarm.

As I floated and flailed in this wave of research
it rose quickly with every new proof.
Not a foothold or ledge. Not a grab bar or perch.
Just my head, and hot air, and the roof.

How I prayed for a hatch or a door or a drain.
A release valve to lessen the flood
of alarming insights swirling around in my brain
of a someday submerged neighborhood.

So the moral is “think harder while you can choose
to do things that will lessen the tide.”
Don’t get trapped in a room filling up with bad news
That you wish that you were not stuck inside.

How do you manage your intake of discouraging news?

Revelers Beware!

Today’s high temperature in the Twin Cities is expected to hit the mid-60’s.

A seasonal giddiness warning has been issued, effective all day and doubly so during happy hour.  We are on a 24 hour recklessness watch.

Gloomy realists will note that when Spring arrives, the dividing line is usually not drawn so sharply.  For every mid-March warm spell, there’s a St. Patrick’s Day blizzard on the way.

Sometimes it’s good to look in the record books for proof – thus today’s Baboon blog redux.

During what  passed for the Spring in the year 2013, America’s Singsong Poet Laureate, Schuyler Tyler Wyler, climbed into his drafty garret to produce a May Day Ditty that, this year, is more appropriate for March.

Embrace the May, but be a cynic.
Mother Nature’s schizophrenic.

She brings us air so sweet and mild,
and then a freezing zephyr wild.

She’ll green some grass, hey nonny nonny,
then kick your ass a little, honey.

Drape floral garlands ’round your feet,
then fill your face with freezing sleet.

Get out and do your May Pole dance,
but put some hot sauce in your pants.

Though May bringst bees and buds to flower
Conditions changeth by the hour.

What will you do to enthusiastically but realistically accept the gift of an early-season warm day?