Know your onions and hit the nail on the head

How many turns to make a good spin

One too many and big trouble you are in

On the wagon just have one for the road

Stay the course and lighten your load

Sold down the river or left on the shelf

On the straight and narrow you rediscover yourself

If you miss the boat just hit the sack

So far so good I got your back

Under the weather and bent out of shape

By the skin of your teeth its a narrow escape

Speak of the devil its a piece of cake

It might be the last straw if you make another mistake

I saw the elephant in the room straight from the horses mouth

Due to the snowball effect it can quickly all go south

If you burn your bridges you might go down in flames

Just weather the storm and stake your claim

Under the weather its always darkest before dawn

Is that checkmate or just another pawn

Time is money like riding a bike

Run like the wind or get your second wind if you like

It takes two to tango like peas in a pod

Put on your bravest face when you face the firing squad

Just wing it

when it looks really bad

try to hold on

just wing it

its your karaoke song

but you forgot the words

just wing it

making her a romantic dinner

you lost the recipe

just wing it

now its all going south

try to make things better

just wing it

at the wedding  breakfast

they ask you to speak

just wing it

you got the job

no idea what they expect

just wing it

if you are really not sure

and you need to move on

just wing it

your phone just died

no more sat nav

just wing it

life can be tough

so many decisions to make

just wing it

Are you able to enable the memory of Mable

Shopping in Coral Gable

With her best friend Mable

She sticks to a strict timetable

Lingering in the aisle marked vegetable

Enquiring if its available

Carefully reading the label

Verifying it is sustainable

Is the packaging totally impermeable

Did the shipment have a green waybill

Checks the ingredients are stable

Buys as much as she is able

It will go well with the everything bagel

Serves it on her table

Uses her antique ladle

With the invaluable appraisal

That she found in a stable

Hidden behind some old cable

Its true its not an old fable

You can verify with Mabel

Even if she is a bit unstable

Her memory you can enable

By stimulating her nerve that is vagal

Suicide jumping toast

I like toast in the morning

With butter and jam

Washed down with a hot cup of tea

Real comfort food

Reminds me of my childhood

There is however one problem

Mornings are often rushed

Dashing between rooms to get ready

Plate in hand with toast

Inevitably the toast slides off the plate

Like a suicide jumper from a high rise

The toast always somersaults mid dive

So that it lands butter and jam side down

He usually lands on the carpet

Making more mess that a human suicide jumper

My hungry stomach cries foul

I yell a string of obscenities 

Jam oozes deep into the carpet fibers

This drama has been going on for decades

I decided it was time to end it

After hours of inventive thoughts

Lots of googling research

And many failed kitchen science experiments

I finally solved this age old problem

I put a piece of kitchen paper on the plate

Before laying the hot toast on top

Thanks to the laws of physics

The toast can no longer slide off

No more toast suicide jumping

It worked great the first few times

I enjoyed my toast while getting dressed and checking emails

Multitasking big bites of toast without even looking

But suddenly the toast tasted really weird

The leaking butter had glued the paper to the toast

I was chewing paper towel stuck to my toast

Back to the drawing board

The suicide jumping toast lives and dies again

No bars on my kitchen window today

I opted for a healthy breakfast today

the oatmeal was thick and steamy

coating my shiny spoon like glue

it tasted rather bland

not exactly the breakfast of champions

my mind wandered to others eating oatmeal today

jail time in England is called porridge

in honor of the unsavory oatmeal dish served behind bars

imagining the inmates morning ritual

overcrowded cells reeking of stale sweat

I took another spoonful of my porridge

it tasted distinctly unpleasant

my next spoonful of porridge was my get out of jail card

I was back in my kitchen as a free man

it did not work for long

Soviet dissidents are fed prison oatmeal called gruel

how apt that it rhymes with cruel

with my next spoonful of gruel

I could feel the biting cold of a Gulag hard labor camp

my muscles ached in sympathy for the overworked political prisoners

my next mouthful of lumpy gruel tasted bitter

how do I escape from this Gulag

a spot of time travel was called for

my mind wandered to ancient times

skilligalee is an old Anglo Saxon oatmeal dish

I plunged my shiny spoon into my skilligalee

imagining those who ate exclusively with wooden spoons

living a simple life off the land and seas

I could see the rolling hills of England

green fields and cloudy skies

my last spoonful of skilligalee tasted like English rain

I checked outside and the sun was still shining

thankfully there were no bars on my kitchen window

The swearing vicar and the model sailing ship

my first job was in shipbuilding 

on the banks of the river Mersey near Liverpool

they employed thousands of workers

all with different skills organized into trades

they ranged from highly skilled technicians

to unskilled laborers who basically carried stuff

workers were grouped in teams 

assigned to stay with a build until completion

it was fascinating to witness a ship being built

large sections welded together on the slipway

the empty hull being launched into the river

machinery installed while floating in a basin

I was put with a team of ten guys

they had a small hut for tea breaks and lunch

a place to shelter from the raw winter

they told outrageous tales and made fun of everybody

one guy in the hut was nicknamed the vicar

not because he was particularly religious

a satirical reflection of his devotion to thievery alcohol and porn

the vicar never failed to put a swearword in every sentence

the vicar was addicted to stealing from the shipyard

one day producing a block of wood

lignum vitae which was used to make shaft bearings

the vicar announced he was making a model f***ing boat 

after many weeks of carving it was time to sail it

a perfect replica of an old sailing ship

we all gathered with excited anticipation

the vicar lowered his beautifully carved model into the water

it sank straight away 

to howls of laughter

the vicar swore a thousand different curses  

all the other guys knew that lignum vitae does not float

Covidosity

covid here 

covid there

wear a mask

everywhere

wash your hands

for twenty seconds

if you do not

then covid beckons

get the vaccine

both shot one and shot two

best get the booster

it will help you and others too

stay indoors

watch the news

no more travel

cancel that cruise

stay super safe and on high alert

if you let your guard down

you might get hurt

coronavirus is here to stay

waiting to infect you

on any random day

live your life freely

but be aware

we are all living

in a virus lair

the longer this goes

the more surprises it throws

variants emerge

headlines splurge

travel bans proclaimed

bat eaters blamed

its just a minuscule virus

desperate to get inside us

to perform its reproductive cycle

now that really takes the Michael

a viral orgy inside your body

open warfare with your antibody

once its had its wicked way

you might live a virus free day

unless it kills you

failed escape

He closed the door

Not looking back

Walking briskly 

Well before dawn

Big strides

Cold night air

He was leaving his wife

While she slept

Without a goodbye

Or an explanation

Tired of arguing 

Too many fights

Time to escape

To a better life

He left his stuff

Tainted possessions

Relationship baggage

Too painful to carry

Drove away purposely

He was only ten minutes away

He felt liberated

Stopping to buy food

Reaching for his wallet

He could not find it

Remembering where he left it

He rushed back home

Tip-toed into the house

Avoiding the creaking steps

Stealthily into the bedroom

Picked up his wallet

Looked at his wife for one last time

She was still sleeping

She looked so peaceful

He felt remorse

Giving her one more chance

He undressed

Slipped back into bed

Fell asleep beside her

Dreaming of his next escape

She woke him with a kiss

He decided to stay

Maybe things would work out

She went to the bathroom

He was hoping for some snuggle time

But she came back seething

Complaining how untidy he was

Said he needed to clean up more

Accused him of being a lazy slob

Then they started arguing

He decided to leave tomorrow morning