Light Verse by Tim Torkildson

Economists

tim — Fri, 25 Jul 2008 15:41:24 +0000

Economists do not get sacked,
outsourced, downsized, or fired.
In fact the worse finances are
the more of them get hired.
They have no money of their own
but ours they can direct
to market shares for bulls and bears
’til we are derelect.
Don’t ever turn your back on one
or they will pick your pocket,
and in the name of research take
your watch and try to hock it.

Charity

tim — Fri, 25 Jul 2008 15:34:39 +0000

Charity begins at home
so do not be a slouch;
fill your pockets with spare change
and sit upon my couch.

Pioneer Dad

tim — Thu, 24 Jul 2008 19:09:41 +0000

I’m not sure if my family tree
ought not remain a mystery.
There was, I think, a cattle rustler
and recently a poolroom hustler.
A great grandad was called a vagrant.
The repute of most seems way too fragrant.
Poets? Soldiers? Scholars? No.
Not even a shill for the Chattaqua show.
Investigation might reveal
more slips than a bananna peel.
Into the past I shall not peer –
I’ll call them all just ‘Pioneer’.

My Watch

tim — Thu, 24 Jul 2008 17:36:32 +0000

My watch cost me nine dollars
when I bought it years ago.
In the dark both hands give off
an eerie greenish glow.
It does not chime or show the tides
or measure hot and cold;
I think the crystal’s plastic
and I know the case ain’t gold.
The band is phoney leather
and the buckle has some rust;
I doubt if it is waterproof
or tolerant of dust.
It tells the time and nothing more,
which suites me to a ‘T’.
I don’t need bells and whistles
to be told it’s half-past-three.
A new one might work better
and make me look up to date;
but really, I have reached that age
when no one cares I’m late.

The SUV

tim — Wed, 23 Jul 2008 15:36:45 +0000

I am glad the SUV
will soon be part of history.
The biggest thug upon the road,
now out of gas, it shall be towed
to museums, there to rust,
symbol of our fossil lust.
Everyone who ever bought
Detroit’s thirsty juggernaut
left a carbon foot print huge
and was OPEC’s willing stooge.
How I love to watch them squirm –
darn albino pachyderm!
All those big shots will look cuter
riding on their little scooter

Laptops, no way!

tim — Tue, 22 Jul 2008 18:29:06 +0000

Portable computers
are the wonder of the age,
but are not very practical
for someone at my stage.
Laptop you may call them,
but to me they’re like a slap –
an insult, cuz when sitting
I no longer have a lap!

Alpacas

tim — Tue, 22 Jul 2008 15:53:03 +0000

Alpacas are a woolly beast,
a cotton ball with feet.
Its fur makes sweaters that will sell
for prices awful sweet.
But if you really want your farm
to pay, then ditch alpaca
and plant your meadows, fields and yard
in nothing but tabacca.

Mother Never Wanted me

tim — Mon, 21 Jul 2008 19:47:03 +0000

My mother never wanted me
inside the house to play,
breaking all the crockery
and turning her hair gray.
And so right after breakfast
every single summer day
she would throw me out the door
and tell me: ‘Go away.’
‘Find your friends down at the park,
there’s sure to be a bunch
and don’t come back to bother me
until it’s time for lunch.’
Child abuse or gross neglect?
You’ve got it wrong, my friend.
Those were safer, saner times –
no harm to apprehend.
I’m sure my folks had worries, too,
back during Eisenhower.
But somehow they did not teach us
to hunker down and cower.
But maybe I remember wrong . . .
I know I am unable
to tell my grandkids how I let
their world grow so unstable.

Graphs and Charts

tim — Mon, 21 Jul 2008 16:02:34 +0000

When I look at graphs and charts
I can’t make heads or tails
if I’m seeing gross income
or longevity of snails.
The lines and numbers all gang up
to scramble my poor brain;
the longer that I look at one
the more I get eye strain.
A pie chart, whether apple,
pumpkin, or a tart gooseberry
makes me lose my appetite
because it is so scary.
I won’t admit to anyone
that these things make no sense.
I nod my head and just look wise
at graphical events.
Please take away your graphs and charts
and powerpoint statistics –
it isn’t fit for decent men,
just visionary mystics.

Chinese Buffet

tim — Mon, 21 Jul 2008 13:35:29 +0000

A Chinese buffet always serves
chopped vegetables and pork;
the first is always overcooked,
the second bends your fork.
The rice is stale and drier
than a sand dune in the sun.
The chicken is all stringy
and the beef is overdone.
Sweet and sour sauces
hide the blemishes quite well,
until you try the egg foo young
and bite into some shell.
Desserts are bland and soggy
and the fruit is drawing flies.
The only stuff they cook well
are the burgers and french fries.
Every time I eat at one
I swear I will abstain.
But hunger has no memory
and back I go again!
Perhaps I’ll find a buffet
where the standards are much higher . . .
perhaps the moo shu pork will grow
some wings and be a flier.