A Message from the Next Dalai Lama.


I’ve had this funny feeling lately that reincarnation

Will make me Dalai Lama for the coming generation.

The current Dalai Lama’s getting on in years, you know;

 When he kicks the bucket I believe I’ll get his glow.


No need for monks to go to sacred lakes or dream their dreams;

I’m the boy they’re looking for, without undue extremes.

I’m the 15th guru, and to Zhu Weiqun I’m stating

I’ll wear the yellow hat without your frivolous debating.


My reign will be a peaceful one, with colored sand design.

Prayer wheels will keep rolling inside ev’ry Buddhist shrine.

The Communists can rant and rave about my blessed state;

I’ll simply smile upon them as I start to levitate.   

(Inspired by an article in the New York Times)

The Defective Defector.


(Inspired by an article by Choe Sang-Hun)

The USA has always welcomed those with lurid tales.

Of torture for no reason in abominable jails.

Our jaded media wants blood and gore in ev’ry byte;

Paying beau coup bucks for all those ready to recite.


We want to be diverted from abuses here at home

Worse than anything they used back there in ancient Rome.

And so when some escapee from a prison camp abroad

Comes to us with wagging tongue we never call him ‘fraud’.


Encouraged by our appetite, the refugee may pander

To our lust for outrage with a lack of total candor.

Can you blame him for his ebullient exaggeration,

When we will ignore him if he uses moderation?


China’s Grand Design.


If FDR were living he would give a mighty shout

For the hefty projects that the Chinese are about.

Bridges that span chasms of a mile or more – routine!

Sewers so elongate they make Bazalgette turn green.


Funded by the government, these mega-projects show

The spirit of the Manchus wants to raise the status quo.

It will take a century to build all that they plan;

This is make-work on a scale that beats the stone Tien Shan.


I wonder at their impudence in trying to compete

With another nation that has never met defeat;

I mean, of course, that state that is the universal nexus

Of the biggest, fastest, largest – also known as Texas.

Santa’s Contraband.


Santa, with his pack of toys, came down the chimney quick,

Loaded with such nifty games and dolls and licorice stick!

Just as he began to spread the gifts beneath the tree,

Consumer product safety agents grabbed him suddenly!


They frisked him as they took his pack to look for contraband;

For Rolex knockoffs or perhaps a smuggled thyroid gland.

The DEA then confiscated ev’ry candy cane,

In the hopes that each one was made up of pure cocaine.


When they were done poor Santa’s bag was empty and in shreds,

While agents captured sugar plums around the children’s heads.

The reindeer were impounded to be tested for the mange;

For bus fare to the North Pole Santa panhandled spare change!


Let this be a lesson to the kiddies and their folks

That imports are a danger, or at least a shabby hoax.

If you want to celebrate the patriotic way

Make sure your presents all are stamped: “Made in the U.S.A.”




This holiday post is brought to you by FAO Schwarz.  Their toys are the stuff that dreams are made of!



The Old Goat & the Young Lamb.


First you lose your parents, then your spouse decides to drop.

Friends you’ve known a long, long time begin to close up shop.

Whether in Japan or Keokuk or Timbuktu,

The elderly grow lonely while Father Time is counting coup.


A little bit of kindness or romantic tete-a-tete

Is welcome as spring tonic when the time is running late.

Since no one else seems in’trested in your diminished life,

It seems a decent pleasure to take on a younger wife.


King David in the Bible was allowed such liberties.

Surely I can do as much, or more, if I so please.

I have provided for my new and frisky little bride.

(I only wish her omelets didn’t reek of cyanide.)




This cynical little ditty is brought to you by the Bank of American Fork.  They know how to earn your trust, as well as earn interest!

Lepidium meyenii


The maca root is grown high up upon the Andes range.

It’s kinda like a radish or a turnip, touched with mange.

Peruvians have cultivated it for many moons,

And mooshed it into porridge and then eaten it with spoons.


It’s not a tasty item that you find on shopping lists,

Looking like it does – a mass of yellow brownish cysts.

That is, until the Chinese said as aphrodisiac

It gives a guy that certain something that he just might lack.


So now the market’s crazy – maca’s flying off the shelves,

And Santa is retooling, and retraining maca elves!

Another ugly vegetable becomes a sexy fad,

And no one can afford it if they don’t live in Riyadh.




This bracing blog is brought to you by Zions Bank.  They know you in order to serve you!

A Poet Ponders.


I sit in a recliner bought real cheap at the DI.

I use a rhyming website, though I often wonder why.

I rise before the sun so I can scan the new-mown news.

I write a line of poetry – or is it just a ruse?


My readers – and I have them – like to text me “lol”.

My editors – well, only one – say poetry will not sell.

My ego, like a squeezebox, now expands and now contracts.

My wallet is so empty cartoon moths it sure attracts.


You are not to think I do not ponder modern life;

I think of it more constantly than of my own ex-wife.

You who look for artists to rear up upon their shanks –

I wish you luck in sorting real McCoys from mountebanks!




This inscrutable blog is brought to you by Zions Bank.  They want your trust first, and then your business.