Monday, July 20, 2009

Chuckie by Karen Brockway

Chuckie 07-2009

I love my little brother
though it's taken sixty years
It must have been my teasing
'bout those glasses and those ears
He's wreaked revenge upon me
it wasn't undeserved
I've always felt it was his fault
for being such a nerd
(I mean LOOK at that yearbook photo!
Case dismissed!)
He paid me back in punches
my arms were purple kissed
bear hugs that squeezed your life breath out
he'd grin, "Nice to see you, sis."
Feeling good in that new hair-do?
"What HAPPENED to your hair?"
Proud of that mosaic pot?
"You missed a spot right there."
But one day engine oil appeared
in the gas tank of my mower
Blue smoke filled my backyard like fog
and who drove all the way over?
Without complaining, I might add
but I know he felt the glory
regaling clerks at the parts store
with his hilarious sister story
And even though he'll rip this ode
with heartless literary criticism
at my poetry reading he and Lynn
showed up to sit and listen.
My brother still looks youthful
and he's mellowing with age
but hopefully he'll keep his edge--
some things should never change.
~Karen Brockway

Friday, January 9, 2009

The First Hole

Tee it up, check the height,
check the wind,do it right.
I really want a good hit for a start.

Check my grip and my stance,
don't leave anything to chance.
I know this is the easy part.

It's going straight towards the green,
thats the best I've ever seen.
Didn't know that i could golf that good.

Hit the next one fat, caused a popper
not very far, a little hopper.
Didn't go where I thought it should.

I just love these little chips,
son-of-a-gun, I got the yips
didn't go very near the cup.

Need a putt that's soft and easy,
but my stomach's getting queasy,
keep going ball, shucks, it just gave up.

Lined up the putt with practiced eye.
it looked in as it went by.
It was really close, but no cigar.

Well, two more putts and now its in.
Really seems a mortal sin,
to settle for a bogie on this little three par.

~Karl W. Jansen 1/9/09

(and one week later - an explanation)

That golf poem Mother sent to everyone
I wrote just to have a lttle fun.
I expected a sharp retort
I made a travesty of a royal sport,
I led you down the primrose path.
Read it again and do the math.
I might tell a little lie to the unwary
If to make me look good, I felt it necessary.