ODE TO BEER
by L. W. Neitzert
A song to you nectar renown
That has brought grown men down.
A cold and bubble brown delight.
That warms and lengthens the night.
The juice of the barley and the malt
Makes the mind vault
To that lofty foolish realms
Where saints and madmen dwell.
There to view the world with clarity,
And our questions answered with certainty.
But wisdom gained from this night,
Will fade tomorrow with morning light.
A sultry mistress is the beer
That causes me to utter without fear,
Among the carousing and the fun
“Just one — and then I am done.”
One turns to two, and two to four,
And soon I cannot find the door.
The feet are magic, the tongue is quick
Where did I acquire such sagacity and wit?
So while the dollar holds and we can stand,
Let us justify God’s ways to man.
The grave’s a fine and quiet place
But there is no beer there to taste.
Now I do the things I could
And take the door to yellow wood.
If the innkeeper throws us out
The jailers will receiver us without a doubt.
Yet the eternal question always remains
That mixes with the alcohol in my brain.
I wonder how the brewers of this heavenly treat
Make it so well and sell it so cheap.
To Be A Philospher
Thoughts from Henry David Thoreau
To be a philosopher is not merely to have subtle thoughts, nor even to found a school, but so to love wisdom as to live according to its dictates, a life of simplicity, independence, magnanimity, and trust. It is to solve some of the problems of life, not only theoretically, but practically.
Secret Service in Columbia
The recent controversy with the secret service in Columbia seems to be another example where a liberal sensational press has taken hold of the American mind and filled it with lies and half-truths. Why even Sarah Palin could see that these young men are dedicated and loyal agents protecting the President and the American way of life. They were looking for TERRORISTS!
A terrorist who has been fed the Koran or the Communist Manifesto will not be standing on the corner with a sign –“I’m a terrorist.” They will have a clever disguise. They need to be ferreted out so our safety will be assured; an agent trained in counter-intelligence with be able to see through these disguises. High heel shoes means an al-Qaeda member – a mini-skirt will house Hezbollah, and lots of make-up with flaming red lipstick another member of Hamas. Should an agent miss these signals, he can always rely on cleavage and fishnet stockings to indicate that here is a terrorism that is opposed to House Wives of Orange County or American Idol.
Of course, one cannot interview terrorist on the street. You should take them to a room for interrogation. That the agents signed them into their hotel room is a clear indication that “serious interrogation” was about to begin. (No need to sneak around like you was a fascist agent!)
Once in the room, why not slip them a drug to loosen up their tongue so that they would reveal what despicable plan they have in mind for President Obama – a screwdriver, a Manhattan, or Margarita should do the trick. And the agent needs to join them in the drink just to prove that this in not a lethal drink the terrorist is being applied with.
Then the most dangerous part of the interrogation – are there weapons present? A brassiere could be holding a Soviet made AK-47 or the latest James Bond weapon. You need to strip search them.
After the interrogation, the agent must pay the informer. (All you have to do is watch one episode of Law and Order, and you realize that the police pay their informers.) I think that Congress and the Tea Partiers would be ecstatic that the secret service was saving the taxpayers money by only offering $40 for information, rather than $800. This is just good sound fiscal policy, and one I would hope more government employees would adopt with the obscene national debt we now have. (If it had been a member of Congress “interrogating” a “terrorist,” they would have surely paid ten or twenty thousand for the “information.”)
Sent home in shame – disbarred from the secret service – these noble and loyal Americans should be given the Presidential Medal of Freedom. They were seeking out terrorist who would destroy our way of life – people who do not believe that there should be a Starbucks and Wal-Mart on every street corner of the world, and who have never tasted a Big Mac. These terrorist/prostitutes probably even believe that there are too many reality shows on television and have never seen Dancing with the Stars or Oparah Winfrey.
Washington October 1969
When I was “young and easy” I journeyed to Washington D. C. Life was composed of a bottle of beer, a pretty girl, and a hateful war in Vietnam. My life stretched endlessly before me. I knew all the answers – just ask me any question, and I’d tell you the answer!
WASHINGTON OCTOBER 1969
by L. W. Neitzert
Eastwardly along the Turnpike
Move rhythms of a changing time.
Protestors move to a different rhyme
And beat, like bees to the comb
They bring sweet change to D.C.
Pittsburgh, Somerset, Breezewood, PA,
We ain’t goin’ tomorrow or today.
Hancock, Hagerstown, Frederick, MD,
We ain’t goin’ across the Sea.
Along the streets that once
Swayed to swing time,
Comes a new beat and rhyme.
A new vibrant beat beats here.
A passionate rhythm
That drives a melody of
The Times They are a Changing.
Kate Smith’s God Bless America
Now plays with long hair,
Tie dyed shirts, and blue jeans.
Marchers march along the Avenues
Singing and chanting,
All we are saying,
Is give Peace a Chance.
And the beat goes on.
And the beat goes on
With a syncopated pace.
Protestors move to the rhythm
Of their own time, while
Lombardo and Miller play
Their sad old rhymes
From the House and the Hill.
But there is no thrill
From that old raggedy rag,
Moaning and groaning
A dull and disjointed line,
With a dying beat and a dying time
The Killer — Jerry Lee
The Killer — Jerry Lee Lewis has married for the seventh time. Lewis, 76, married Judith Brown, 62, on March 9th in Natchez, Mississippi. Some how she is related to the Killer — but it is too complicated for me to understand.
Way to Go Killer — keep trying until you find one that is worth keeping. It is spring in the South and old Cupid is about — watch out he may get YOU!
A little doggerel verse for Jerry Lee:
Spring has arrived
And quicken the pace.
And the Louisiana Killer
Wants some Chantilly Lace.
Now old Jerry Lee wants
Some lovin’ — not for hire.
He’s got his seventh wife.
Goodness gracious, Great Balls of Fire.
Now in their bed there is
A Whole Lot of Shakin’
Let’s hope that they ain’t
A new Baby a makin’.
HEMOPHILIA
HEMOPHILIA
by L. W. Neitzert
How fragile we are.
Even the strong like fragile glass.
We are bleeders who
Care silently.
We are sensitive,
And we silently
Open our caring blood
Because we feel.
Light a cigarette,
I shrug my shoulders.
“It does not matter.”
–except to me.
For Whom the Bells Toll
Yesterday In Hawaii there was a memorial service for an uncle, Max Botticelli. A remarkable man who had an infinite capacity for laughter and love of family. Although he was 80 he appeared to be in excellent health, and I looked forward to several meetings with him in the coming years. Meetings in the last 30 years had always been delightful and insightful — filled with laughter and joy. A sudden heart attack dropped him, and he was gone.
I will miss him greatly. He leaves behind an incredible legacy as doctor and teacher. He also leaves an inedible family that is a sterling example to his love and wit. I am reminded of John Donne’s 1624 poem — “For Whom the Bells Toll.”
No man is an island,
Entire of itself.
Each is a piece of the continent,
A part of the main.
If a clod be washed away by the sea,
Europe is the less.
As well as if a promontory were.
As well as if a manor of thine own
Or of thine friend’s were.
Each man’s death diminishes me,
For I am involved in mankind.
Therefore, send not to know
For whom the bell tolls,
It tolls for thee.
