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WRYMED WISDOM
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http://hometown.aol.com/drwryme/WRYMES.html
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The wit and wisdom of DrWryme...
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Gerald Bosacker is a prolific poet and tale teller who is minimally known to the paying public but lavishly displayed pro-bono on the internet. Unemployed, he exists by charging 'tasting fees' to grocers, and 'comfort-rating' assessments to his landlords.
This existence tactic resembles editors imposition of reading fees on submissions.
Destined to become a crusading journalist or witty editorialist, Bosacker abandoned
his night class studies at the University of Minnesota, to become first a printer, then salesman who successfully migrated upward, propelled by serendipity coupled with
his love of choosing just the right words, to eventually become Senior Vice President
of Sales for a large international chemical company. Promoted much beyond his ambition and capability, Bosacker jumped to early retirement, first chance. Now living among his aging peers in a Florida retirement community winters and his fishing shack on Whitefish Lake by Glacier Park summers, he has resumed his first love , weaving words into prize winning poetry and surprising tales that borrow heavily from the fascinating people he met in his world-wide travels. That writing is fortunately offered in his books, right here! Volume discounts available for fans.
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Today's ignored bit of wisdom....
GEORGE
Leaders named George are ripe to rule,
and seem our nation's legacy
and our first George was only cruel
to Brits and his Dad's cherry tree.
Our second George soon found his niche
and practiced secret diplomacy
that made his partners very rich
but failed to help low folks like me.
Our third George would serve his friends
while dismantling our democracy
Just his rich peers reap dividend
from war that bear his recipe.
The first George, I’m sure, was great.
Successive ones grow worse, I see.
We risked disaster, tempted of fate,
when third George brought us lunacy.
gerald bosacker 2004
(Quote at your own risk!)
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DON’T SERVE ME GRITS
There are few foods, that I don't like
and there are few that don't like me.
Yet, grits deserve my hunger strike
and all food critics should agree.
All through the south, this tasteless grain
comes on a fried or scrambled egg.
“I don’t want grits!” you might complain,
but they still comes unless you beg.
I don’t know why they turn good corn
into this gooey wallpaper paste
that even my passive gut will scorn
so grits scoot through, a total waste.
Gerald Bosacker 2004
MONTANA FIREFLIES
In May, persistent sun does charitably glance
through larches to warm molted mountain snow
in wallows where the luminescent beetles dance
indecent pirouettes. The marshy meadows glow
from fertile bugs, skirts upraised, begging for romance,
rushed by impending death to never say no.
Gerald Bosacker 2004
Some folks sure know what's good for you
and they are a pain, when they must explain
just what you must or should not do!
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Gerald Bosacker Books, from ESP Whitefish MT
FINALITIES @ $8.95 A collection of thirty twisted short tales, all with surprising but with understandable endings.
THE EMBERS READER @ $9.95 Twisted tales, revisited . Five minute reads.
WRYMES @ $11.95 Poetry, mostly rhymed yet with clear messages.
The Wit and Wisom of DrWryme @ $7.99 Witty and clever verses, meant to only amuse.
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HELP ME PUBLISH at ESP Do you have an unwritten book?. I will help you get it polished and published.
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WHEE! WE’RE GOLDEN AGERS
We’ve grown quite old, you must agree,
our Golden Age has come to be
with handicaps that bother me,
like needing teeth for me to chew
but I still love to nibble you.
My mirrors all have wrinkled glass,
my image lost its muscled mass,
which wound up fat around my ass.
No longer handsome, that is true
that’s why I’m glad I still have you.
I rise to pee three times each night
need glasses now for any sight,
my thinning hair is all snow white.
I must work out and pray I do
stay spry enough to pleasure you.
The passing years went by so fast,
but I still sense those moments past,
that built a love destined to last.
I guess you must consider too
that I am still in love with you!
Gerald Bosacker 2004
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RAZOR SHARP
Biff the blade was hexed with hate,
and feared, by all who knew him.
Flaunting Maude, his new bed-mate,
bragged her up to his friend Jim.
When she met Jim, Maude left Biff’s bed,
Who woke alone and stormed outside
and found them in his garden shed,
engaged in sex, they did not hide.
Biff swung his blade, in just one sec,
through faithless Maude’s exposed throat
so quick her head stayed on her neck.
“You missed” Maude did gleeful note,
a bit surprised she had not died.”
“I never miss, you’ll know you’re dead,”
old Biff the blade so quick replied,
“First time you try to turn your head”
Gerald Bosacker 2004
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On the road or in bed, BE SAFE!
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Or join my group to exchange poetry or help your compatriots with their words.
Be a buddy. Reciprocity work, and improves everyone write better.s...
TO SEE THE HOME CAGE OF DR WRYME
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Some wives need a recipe book, but ponder this important clue.
Far worse than wives who cannot cook is having those who can’t but do.
A houseplant is a relaxed pet, they don’t make noise and never poop.
Just give them sun and keep them wet, since they won’t ask, instead they droop
and if they die when you forget, just hide their bodies in your soup.
We have two ears but just one tongue which should warn the old and young
that they should listen twice as long or prove their grand designer wrong.
I saw a man fishing in one of his hats, which seemed so exciting, I queried, "What's biting?" He said, "Mosquitoes, chiggers and gnats!"
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IN BETHLEHEM
Enraged Jews and Arabs compete,
and bleed on their ancestral street.
Jews secure their bequeathed State,
while Arabs react with hate;
“You kill me once, I’ll kill you more,
with suicides, pre-empt your score.
You do the math, guess who will lose
when bombs go boom on prime time news.'
A wizened Jew, once said to me
let's cut in half, our victory.
If they kill ten. then five we’ll do.
We laughed at his outrageous view.
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PICKING
You can pick a wife or a rose, the right card, your teeth or new clothes,
a guitar, a friend or your foes,that icky stuff between your toes,
the garden weed that stubborn grows and your butt when no one knows
but it’s not nice to pick your nose.
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