50 Years Later

Back in 1995, my parents flew out to Dad's 50th high school reunion in Whittier, California. Before they left, I wrote Dad this poem.  (He made copies and shared it with his friends.) They had a great time and came back with lots of stories.  Sadly, most of those mentioned in the poem have now passed on, but in 1995 they had quite a party!

THE 50^th REUNION

Copyright 2012 by Roger B. Stone (with a nod to Dr. Seuss)

Way out in the West, right next door to L.A.

The Whittier High gang has called it a day.

All night long they’ve been acting like kids at a bash,

But it’s fifty years later – they’re ready to crash.

Tommy Mattis was there and Bob Lassleben too,

Mike and Conley and Sherf added to the Who’s Who.

There was Roger "the Coop", and ol’ "Stoney" Bob Stone,

And they all still had crushes on Marilyn and Joan.

“So what you been up to these last fifty years?”

“Oh not much – how ‘bout you?” they began between beers.

But they soon got warmed up and began reminiscing,

About good old days with the friends they’d been missing.

They talked about cars, and they talked about bars,

And they talked about fires on the beach ‘neath the stars.

They recalled some old songs, and an old drinking bout,

And the lies that they’d told about who’s making out.

They spoke of their lives and their loves (in hoarse voices).

They told of careers full of good and bad choices.

And in just one short night full of laughter and tears,

They managed to cram in the whole fifty years.

They remembered their teachers – some lousy, some dear,

Then they toasted old friends who are no longer here.

And they all celebrated just being alive,

With the Whittier class of Nineteen Forty-Five.

Way out in the West where they have perfect weather,

A half-century's gone by since they last got together.

They’re sleeping right now, but tomorrow they’ll say,

“What great memories we have – seems like just yesterday!”

To Bust Or Not To Bust?

I'll admit this one is just plain weird.  During his Birthday one year, my Dad had just undergone hernia surgery and was still recuperating.  So of course I had to write about that. Was it a wise choice?  I dunno.  But it sure was fun!

ODE TO A GUT

Copyright 2012 by Roger B. Stone

We've read lots of poems about love and despair,

There are tributes galore about beauty and hair,

There are songs to blue eyes, and to ruby lips, BUT,

No one ever has written an “Ode to a Gut”.

There are ballads to ships, and about Easter bonnets,

Hell, even the Portuguese have their own sonnets,

Nantucket’s a limerick devoted to smut,

So why not a sensitive “Ode to a Gut”?

Now you’d have to agree it’s a noteworthy part,

Both Rodin and Renoir glorified it in art,

And babies are nurtured inside Mama’s belly,

Even ol' Santa Claus has a gut full of jelly.

It has many uses we tend to ignore,

It’s a wonderful place for a kitty to snore,

It keeps a book open, remote-controls near,

It’s even a great place to set down your beer.

And it’s oft overlooked as a symbol of fun,

But I have a memory that’s second to none,

Of wrapping my legs 'round your gut in the pool,

Then you'd dive to the bottom – now talk about cool!

So just for a while, you must treat yours with care,

Like a trusty jalopy, it’s under repair,

But pretty soon now you’ll be out of this rut,

And always remember your “Ode to a Gut”.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY 1998!

(and get well soon)

Naughty or Nice

Another one for Dad.  This one's just plain silly.  And a little naughty too.

WHAT'S IN A NUMBER?

Copyright 2012 by Roger B. Stone

You've reached that certain age now

When maturity's expected.

Your knowledge and experience

Are traits to be respected.

Your dignity is legend,

Your compassion's world renown,

Your terrific sense of humor's

Recognized throughout the town.

Your intellect's amazing,

Your philosophy sublime,

Your morals and your ethics

Have withstood the test of time.

And so at your age how can it be,

Whatever does it mean,

That the number sixty-nine

Still makes you giggle like a teen?

 HAPPY 69th BIRTHDAY!

Justice? You Want Justice?

Do you remember what happened on my Dad's birthday, December 8, 2000? That's the day the Supreme Court, in a 5-4 decision, picked our next President. Yup.  On Dad's birthday, the Supreme Court decided to make George W. Bush president of the United States.  And the rest – is history.  So that day I cobbled together a quick verse to mark the occasion.  Sadly, I've been unable to heed my own advice.  Not that I'm still bitter....

THE HANGING JUDGES

Copyright 2012 by Roger B. Stone

So who woulda thunk it, way back in November,

That here we would sit, so far into December,

Awaiting the outcome of courts so Supreme,

With Demo’s and ‘Publicans building their team.

And then on your Birthday the word would come down,

Making pachyderms smile while the asses all frown.

We’re Bushed from the process and Gored all to tears,

And now we’ll be saddled with four bumbling years.

He’s misunderstated, his pie built so high,

He resignates energy up to the sky.

He’s clever and witty (so much like his Pop),

And he’s always prepared with a quick malaprop.

So as we remember the day you were born,

It’s time to be gracious and stop all the scorn.

Let’s focus on you now, the world’s greatest Dad,

And try to forget about each hangin’ chad!

HAPPY BIRTHDAY 2000!