Monday, February 27, 2006
Mike TFA - GETTING IT WRONG
It’s never too late to discover ones flaws,
Related to certain behavior and the underlying cause.
When going through papers from Sunnydale the other day,
I found a report that hinted as to why I went the wrong way.
I admit that some of my classmates are just smarter than me,
Just look at their grades, it’s plain to see.
But, misunderstanding the rules can be a handicap,
So instead of a crack you have a huge gap.
Marilyn, Kay, Brenda and Charles just to name a few,
That always did well when their homework was due.
They put their minds to work on every assignment,
Following the rules with perfect alignment.
I on the other hand was operating from the wrong rule,
It caused me to struggle and not do well in school.
You see, for one reason or other,
I thought you “always judge a book by its cover”.
So I created a cover, the best ever made.
All the while visualizing a wonderful grade.
The teacher of course was not swayed by the show,
And graded the content super low.
Sunday, February 26, 2006
Mike The Folk Artist
WHERE IS SLO-MO?
Memories fade and blur as time goes by,
Some events just don’t come back no matter how hard we try.
Other things have clarity with all the details in just the right places,
For me it is SeaFair and the Hydroplane Races.
Now don’t get me wrong, I can’t give you the facts,
It’s only the feelings that are left intact.
On a Sunday in August with the sun blazing down,
We are at Lake Washington along with everyone else in town.
It’s the beginning of the 3rd heat and the competition is tight,
Every driver is planning how to hit the starting clock just right.
Bill O’Mara is building the tension for the big show,
Wait a minute, where is Slo-Mo?
The boats are now aligned and heading out of the north turn,
20 seconds to go; there is no time to burn.
We are jumping and crying and having fits,
Slo-Mo is still sitting in the Stan Sayres pits!
Fifteen seconds is all that is on the clock,
For all we know Slo-Mo is still sitting at the dock.
Every eye is turned toward the floating bridge,
With one last hope Slo-Mo will emerge.
10 seconds to go and the crowd starts to scream,
Slo-Mo’s roster tail now can be seen.
She is catching the pack and she is at full speed,
A few more seconds is all she will need.
Five second to go, will she miss the gun,
Our hearts are pounding; this really isn’t fun.
There goes the gun and they’re on their way,
Slo-Mo in the lead and that is where she will stay.
1938, the year I was born;
Ivor opened his fish bar door,
At the foot of Madison Street on Pier 54.
We laughed at his commercials as we drove in the car,
Listening to our favorite songs on KJR.
We stood on the sidewalk alert for the nod,
To holler our order for chowder and cod.
It was usually cold, windy and raining,
But it was worth every minute, there no was complaining.
We would go inside when we had a big date,
But the food wasn't as good when served on a plate.
I still go to Ivars and join the crowd,
Standing on the sidewalk hollering my order out loud.
Time changes things, it always will,
But at Ivars Acres of Clams time has stood still.
Editor's note: Upon the advice of counsel (me), Mike wishes to state that:
1. The fish on his wall was not stolen from Ivars;
2. The fish was stolen by somebody else; and
3. He does not, and never did, have the alleged fish.