I've become a lazy reader,
dismissive and curmudgeony too.
Magazines or books? Not magazines--
Magazine readers are a different species.

So books it is. Let me take inventory:
Nonfiction. Sorry, just the occasional science book.

General fiction lost the war for my attention--
Do real people really have so many feelings?
So often and so detailed?

So I read genre fiction.
But bang, bang adventure has become tiresome--
after all how many times and ways can you shoot/stab/blow up/car chase?

Likewise, there are books that seem spend pages and pages describing clothes.
Even though Chaucer also spent many words describing clothes,
his best lines were about bare ***** hanging out a window.

All my favorite characters are now old, Harry Bosch, George Smiley.
To my regret, the Wall falling and the Cold War ending almost wiped out the thoughtful spy story.
Science fiction, a previous favorite, took a goofy turn awhile ago, and I’m done with it.
Let's see: fantasy now seems written for teenage vampire-witch wannabes. Just flutter away.

What's left? I think it's only Detective stories and Poetry.
I'm pulling for Harry Bosch and Billy Collins at 90, and, God bless him, John Le Carre.

Acolytes of yon ole Stanstead
Told him he's been mislead
Well tough, ya old curmudgeon
See ya never, has-been's has-been

1.  Learn forgiveness.  Then withhold it from everyone.
2. Avoid making enemies. Leave it to your friends to find you insufferable.
3. There is good in everyone. The trick is not to let it out.
4. Expect the worst. You’ll be right.
5. Never hurt anyone’s feelings.  Unintentionally.
6. Command an audience.  Then who cares if you loathe mankind?
7. Self-sacrifice ennobles the spirit.  But someone still has to clean up the blood.
8. Don’t dance.  Then no one will watch.
9. Don’t envy others’ success.  Intervene more forcefully to prevent it.
10. Life is short, but otherwise lousy.

Cranky gramps next door’s not well

Unwilling to listen, to mow his grass

Rumination’s ruination’s curb appeal from hell

Miserly, unfriendly, cussing and crass

Unwavering, a prejudiced old goat, jack ***,

Doltish Scrooge with no family left

Graying graveside his home unkempt

Eaves and chimneys and curtains closed, yet

Openly racist with his dragon’s breath.

Needs a bit of love to soften such deaths.

2016 wasn't that bad in my opinion
but this year is **** so far
a lot like 2015 was
maybe odd years aren't for me
i was born on an odd year
can't quite remember how that one
turned out though,
i'm guessing ****** (in diapers for sure)
and that picture doesn't look like you
maybe that's why you like it
but it's why i don't.

i wanted to say
beautiful things
but they got stuck
in my throat
so I choked them
back down like
***** in your mouth
and I forgot them
just like that-
fuzzy memories
of better days
and better ways,
but we'll always
have tomorrow
to waste, like today,
next year, maybe
where we're going,
where we've been
doesn't matter
because the fish
aren't biting like
they used to
but the beer
is still going
down smooth
and that's beauty
in itself.

You are that person everyone knows
Who ******* almost constantly
About everything that ever goes
Away from how you think it should be.
You have it worked out in your head
Who should get what and when
And how much is right or wrong
And exactly what kind of men
Should have luck and who should
Suffer a miserable fate.
And which people are no good
And which race is truly great.

Why do you take such joy
In making folks around you cry?
So much so that the best thing
They hear you say is goodbye.
Why do you choose hurtful way
To get yourself some attention?
Isn’t there something you can say,
Something nice you can mention
That will make people smile
And not run so quickly away
Then stay with you a little while;
Enjoy some of the things you say?

When did all this all nastiness start?
Is it something from your childhood
Made you take pleasure breaking hearts
Every single chance you could;
And if people are having fun
Makes you jump in and stop
The frivolity and joyousness
Like some kind of buzzkill cop.
Life might change for the better
If you returned the smiles you get.
You’re a big grump now, for sure
Be nice and people will soon forget.

The old man groans as he gets up,
Rising from the chair is a job.
He notices now he is getting older
His head is developing a bob.
Not quite Katharine Hepburn,
Not a nod as much as a bounce.
It’s not a palsy, more of a tic.
It’s not really that pronounced.

And stairs seem to be an enemy
They don’t match the cadence.
Between the risers and his feet
There just too much distance.
Or other times, they are too short
And rise up as an ugly surprise
Not coinciding with what he sees
With his own aging naked eyes.

The man complains about TV
How they are mumbling too much.
They seem to be whispering
Or using foreign words and such.
And when he turns the sound up
The action scenes hurt his ears.
A ***** trick to play on people
Who are a bit advanced in years.

The old man gets disgruntled
When people outside make noise
Like they are some kind of teenagers;
But they’re adults, not girls and boys.
Here it is ten o’clock at night
When decent people are asleep.
What kind of schedule is this
For decent people to have to keep?

What is he to make of the music
These young people like to play?
It has to be some kind of abuse
To use a guitar in that way.
In his day there was melody
And words you could understand.
The noise they make is like a collision
Between a dump truck and a sedan.

The old man grumbles in frustration
That things have not stayed the same.
He would write a letter to the President
If he could figure out who to blame.
But one thing sure, he always insists,
It didn’t use to be this way before.
Now a kind of anarchy seems to exist.