Thomas Dolby, Oct. 14, 1958
Thomas Dolby, born
Thomas Morgan Robertson,
This date, ’58
Synth pop rode New Wave
He blinded us with science,
Went hyperactive
But beyond tight hits,
Techno chops, he could compose
With depth, emotion
Melodies moody
Or bright, alluring layers
Of sound and story
Constructed a world
Nostalgic, futuristic
Timeless voyages
So happy birthday,
Mr. Dolby. After cake,
You’ll create anew
Our lovely daughter
16 today — yesterday
Seems so long ago
Yesterday she was
Just a little girl, precious
And so precocious
Yesterday she played
Without a care but to choose
Which crayon to use
Yesterday she drew
Pictures, some larger than life
As big as her dreams
Today she’s 16
Tasting, what? Love? Confusion?
She’s not telling me
Today she’s 16
On the threshold of it all
Perfect — Just ask her!
We love you, sweetie
Though now you’re so hard to hold
Harder to let go
“You have a nice voice”
Louis Simon told his boy
That was all it took
“How terribly strange
“To be 70,” Paul wrote.
Now he is, today
In between, he blessed
The world with so much music
The world loved him back
With childhood pal Art
He turned folk music into
Magical soundscapes
“El Condor Pasa”
So perfectly exotic
To this Kansan’s ears
And “For Emily”
I think there never will be
A more perfect song
“The Sound of Silence”
Was his first hit; I wonder
What will be his last
Perhaps his most played,
“Bridge Over Troubled Water,”
Still soothes many souls
Solo career soared
But it was more than just hits
Decades, deeply felt
Been around the world
To Graceland and back, Elvis
Without all the fuss
Such a good man, Paul
He’s shared so much of himself
His pop would be proud
Posting stuff from celebrity birthdays and deaths earlier this year, B.B. (Before blog.) There will be lots more like this when I get into musicians. I think Al Green’s the only musical type lumped in here.
Jan. 24, Jack LaLanne dies at age 96. This plays off the sportswriter Jim Murray’s comment when Casey Stengel died that “God is getting an earful tonight.”
Goodbye Jumping Jack
God is getting a workout
This morning for sure
March 23, Liz Taylor dies at age 79.
Goodbye Liz Taylor
Violet eyes to die for
And you could act, too
Goodbye Liz Taylor
Others tried to look like you
But no one else could
Goodbye Liz Taylor
You looked good enough to eat
In “Butterfield 8”
Goodbye Liz Taylor
Blue Ribbon child acting:
“National Velvet”
Goodbye Liz Taylor
In “Cleopatra” you ruled
As only you could
‘Bye Liz Taylor, “Who’s
Afraid of Virginia Woolf”
Was frighteningly good
Goodbye Liz Taylor
We’d crawl ‘cross a hot tin roof
To sizzle with you
Goodbye Liz Taylor
A road sign for your lovers:
Danger, curves ahead
Goodbye Liz Taylor
You were the marrying kind
And proved it eight times
Goodbye Liz Taylor
We hope you’ve finally found
A place in the sun
April 13
What a birthday day
Don Adams, Al Green, Al Butts
— Scrabble’s creator
Adams’ Maxwell Smart
Brought us the first cell (shoe) phone
And Cone of Silence
Mel Brooks, Buck Henry
Were the big comedy brains
Behind spy buffoon
So Max Smart was dumb
Sidekick “99” was smart
And both made us laugh
“CONTROL” fought “KAOS”
Eventually, good guys won
But first chaos reigned
Belated wishes
Would’ve been better for Smart:
“Missed it by that much!”
Righteous Rev. Al Green,
Yeah, “I’m Still in Love With You”
And will be always
“Let’s Stay Together”:
Al, you sing; I’ll listen;
It’s better that way
The Scrabble man made
Special rule, always gave Green
Triple points for “soul”
Alfred Mosher Butts,
Architect, built legacy
Out of words instead
The Scrabble man says
The best resort for a spell
Is Dr. Webster’s
So what’s in a name?
You might ask if yours was “Butts”
Or your game struggled
“Lexico” became
“Criss Cross Words,” groped frantically,
Then scored as “Scrabble”
Rest is history:
One hundred fifty million
Game sets sold worldwide
“Will my ‘x’ work there”?
“What can I spell with this ‘z’?”
Games go on and on
Butts, at 93,
Put “finishe-” in front of “d”
Used up his letters
June 3, marking the deaths of “Dr. Death,” Jack Kevorkian, and James Arness of “Gunsmoke”
Terminally tasteless haiku:
Had a killer joke
To tell Dr. Jack; guess he
Heard it already
Get central casting
With Dr. Jack gone, ask who’s
Gonna play God now
So where do they keep
Jack Kevorkian’s body?
In a hemlocker
Guess they’ll have a wake
Guy on TV keeps saying
“Remains to be seen”
Sorry to make fun,
Dr. Jack, but I prefer
Injecting humor
Last roundup haiku:
Goodbye James Arness
An American classic
Like your show, “Gunsmoke”
‘Bye Marshal Dillon
For 20 years the perfect
Two-fisted lawman
‘Bye Marshal Dillon
Boys all wanted to be you
When we played cowboys
Goodbye James Arness
It was finally your time
To get outta Dodge
“Gunsmoke” meets “The Office” haiku:
To Miss Kitty says
Chester: “I like your Long Branch”
Matt: “That’s what she said!”
June 24, Peter Falk dies at age 83
Goodbye, Peter Falk,
Assembled one of the best
Dissemblers ever
But just one more thing,
Peter: How did Columbo
Solve all those cases?
Halting, grimacing
The world’s most rumpled raincoat
And no-go Peugeot
Always seemed clueless
I guess that was his secret
Bad guys dropped their guard
He wove a great web
And when it all was in place
Said, “Just one more thing …”
Falk had just one eye
But he saw exactly how
To play detective
Goodbye Peter Falk
Thanks for showing us things are
Seldom what they seem
Aug. 6, Google puts up some “I Love Lucy” clips for Lucille Ball’s 100th birthday
“Having a Ball” haiku
Lucy’s 100
Check out Google’s fun tribute
To comedienne
Ricky says if you
Didn’t love Lucy, you’ve got
Some ‘splainin’ to do
Lucy’s century
It’s been almost as wacky
As she, hasn’t it?
Fog in and around my neighborhood this morning reminded me of this batch, written Feb. 16, a really foggy day this year:
Haiku rolling in
Blotting out any hope for
Some good poetry
I feel a kinship
With the fog rolling in as
I too am quite dense
I am so foggy
I can’t remember when it
Last was this foggy
In NYC, sure,
But strange to be in KC
When that foghorn blows
And forget the knife
Better get out the chainsaw
To cut this baby
Like the fog, cliches
Can be as thick as pea soup
This kind of weather
We’ll have our breakdown
Right here, thanks; no need to get
To Foggy Mountain
Stevie Nicks could dig
Witchy, misty atmosphere
Fit for a Welsh bog
Like a shot of hootch
Fog makes many things blurry
Around the edges
“How’d you like that wrapped?
“In guilt? Confusion? Some angst?”
“No, I’ll take the fog”
Most glorious fall
(Complete with juicy apples)
Since Adam bit in
Full moon, windshield mist
Cross the line from crisp to chill
Autumn’s first shiver
Country Club Plaza
Folks suntanned, sinewy, blonde
KC’s fat free zone
Preacher: Paul, do you
Take Nancy to be your wife?
Sir Paul: Yeah! Yeah! Yeah!
Moments on the couch
Intimacy can shrink if
Overanalyzed
This must be a day
To tap into, for twice it
Goes to eleven
John Prine, born Oct. 10, 1946
Friend of mine saw you
Singing in San Fran last month
Improving with age
So tough, so tender
65 years of laughter,
Heartache, textures true
Today’s birthday band:
John Entwistle, Jackson Browne
PJ Harvey, too
BoDean Kurt Neumann
Beautiful boy Sean Lennon
Someone Sean misses
Imagine no guns
John Lennon, 71
Living life in peace
John Mellencamp, Oct. 7, 1951, Seymour, Indiana
Standing up for us
Mellencamp, American,
Farmers and Main Street
Singing out for us
Small-town hearts, pain, and struggle
Telling our stories
Making art for us
60 birthdays now and still
Restless, striving, strong
Growing up with us
Surprising, celebrating
Rock on, John, rock on
Four Oct. 6 birthdays, probably all deserving more than a quick hit. But here goes.
Millie Small, my first
Taste of pre-reggae “bluebeat””
“My Boy Lollipop”
Matthew Sweet, a fave,
Hot power pop, guitar rock
Hangs with Bangles, too
David Hidalgo
A mainstay of Los Lobos
May the wolf survive!
Tommy Stinson, bass
In Replacements, G ‘n’ R,
Soul Asylum, too
Cheers, luv! Cheerio!
It’s Poetry Day, U.K.
Wonder what that means?
Because over there,
Lift means elevator, not
“Boost to your spirits”
Speaking of spirits,
The Brits get pissed, but that means
They’re drunk, not angry
If you’re pissed you might
Need both AA’s — the Brits’ means
Accident Assist
And liquor means broth
I guess that’s why the chef said,
“This chicken is stewed”
Crisps are chips and chips
Are fries, and biscuits are sweet
Much like our cookies
Lemonade’s fizzy
Not flat like ours — and you sleep
At your flat, if tired
And sex, OMG:
Hookers play rugby and knobs,
Well, they’re not on doors
And if someone’s there,
Ahem, banging on your door
They say you’re knocked up
Beaver means “man’s beard”
Don’t wanna know how they parse
The term “splitting hairs”
Chagrin seems built in
Lavatory means toilet
Not sink, so don’t drink!
And pants are undies
Best not to ask about pants
At second-hand shops
Averse to a verse?
No! Line ’em up, Anglo-phile,
For Poetry Day
Greg's Hack-u 