We’re winding down our challenge and soon it will be back to the grind. So let’s escape in a big way. It’s our end of summer party. We’re kicking off the festivities with the next song on our playlist: Jimmy Buffett’s Margaritaville.


Nibblin’ on sponge cake
Watchin’ the sun bake
All of those tourists covered in oil
Strummin’ my six-string
On my front porch swing
Smell those shrimp hey they’re beginnin’ to boil

Wastin’ away again in Margaritaville
Searching for my lost shaker of salt
Some people claim that there’s a woman to blame
But I know it’s nobody’s fault

I don’t know the reason
I stayed here all season
Nothin’ to show but this brand new tattoo
But it’s a real beauty
A Mexican cutie
How it got here I haven’t a clue

Wastin’ away again in Margaritaville
Searchin’ for my lost shaker of salt
Some people claim that there’s a woman to blame
Now I think
Hell, it could be my fault

I blew out my flip-flop
Stepped on a pop-top
Cut my heel had to cruise on back home
But there’s booze in the blender
And soon it will render
That frozen concoction that helps me hang on

Wastin’ away again in Margaritaville
Searching for my lost shaker of salt
Some people claim that there’s a woman to blame
But I know it’s my own damn fault
Yes and some people claim that there’s a woman to blame
And I know it’s my own damn fault

So of course we’ll party responsibly, know our limits and kiss this bad boy adieu! And write a poem about your own Margaritaville or a facsimile thereof! What’s your idea of paradise? Is it a nice place to visit, but you wouldn’t want to live there? Your title will be (YOUR NAME)VILLE. Sell us on your destination! And remember, it’s your own damn fault!



    Wastin’ away ain’t nobody’s fault but time.
    Not some woman’s or the sun or mine.
    We drank to summers time brought on;
    we said no to sponge cakes come and gone
    and as for strummin’ this here guitar:
    I was a beach bum, not some star.

    Wastin’ away I embraced all that glee.
    A strappin’ Adonis, now Chicken of the sea.
    Where once my tan belly rippled in the sun,
    now it jiggles like Jello. It just ain’t no fun
    bakin’ on the beach and bitten by flies,
    sleep interrupted by gulls’ cawin’ cries.

    Wastin’ away it’s hard rememberin’ when
    a salty Margarita was my favorite friend,
    but allow me to make it perfectly clear:
    no girlfriend’s to blame in those bygone years.
    And as for that tattoo I wore on my chest,
    What it once was I can hardly guess.



    Lime slice wetting the rim of a margarita glass
    Wet rim dipped in a puddle of low-salt salt
    Ice to the brim and then add the low sugar mix
    No alcohol in this baby
    Gave that up long ago

    Juicy turkey burgers and all beef frankfurters
    Sizzling on the barbeque wetting appetites
    Bug eradicating candles lit ‘round the patio
    Trying to do their job
    Failing in their attempt

    Bring out the potato salad and baked beans
    Grab your buns and line up at the barbee
    Let’s all stand around and talk of days past
    Such stories we have
    Let’s share our memories

    Retirement isn’t for everyone, don’t you know
    For me, however, I welcome it with open arms
    Make yourself comfortable in Retirementville
    You earned your place
    Let’s live it up

    © Earl Parsons


    Swinging, gently undulating
    in the rhythm of a summer daze.
    Peace bleeds through the open
    fields of thought bringing a calm
    that envelops. Ice melts in cool
    rivulets of condensation from tumbler
    to side table. Flags in rapid flutter
    seem to whisper in patriotic tones;
    loyalty traverses their every breath.
    Birds in audition, warble and twit,
    congruous and unpretentious.
    Butterflies pursued by wide-eyed
    children in wonder. And under
    the overhang, hornets gang en mass
    protection to a point. On the front porch,
    wiling away the day in uninterrupted thought.
    Walterville, a great place to stay!

    © Walter J. Wojtanik


    Da Vinci declared
    that within the we
    are included
    those who see,
    also those who
    see when shown,
    living among
    their very own.
    it is also true
    that, in addition
    to these two,
    there are those
    who can not see.
    Keep the first and second.
    Lose number three.


    Lullabies, Classical, Blues and Scat,
    Be-bop, Jazz, Funk like that.
    Country. Bluegrass, Rock and Roll,
    Opera, Calypso, Rap for the soul.
    Afro Cuban, Orchestral, New Wave,
    Honky Tonk, Broadway, Ska for the brave.
    It don’t matter what form it might take
    Life without music would be a mistake


    Wasting away in Poetryville
    Looking for my lost fickle muse
    Rhythm and Rhyme are in hiding
    Singing the poetry blues

    Wasting away in Poetryville
    While summer fun goes on around me
    The land of diction, meter and feet
    Have somehow trapped and bound me

    Wasting away in Poetryville
    Where figurative language is king
    Time ticks away on the face of the clock
    Till my muse returns and takes wing


    Massive lawn and a sumptuous shade
    Hanging baskets and ivy lead parade
    Rustic buildings and a vintage race
    Welcome visitors to slower pace
    Choose a book and your favorite chair
    Sundry flora and fauna greet you there
    And when I have said my last goodbye
    Angels will escort to my home on high
    Surely my mansion will have no walls
    Instead trees nestled by waterfalls

  8. Saraville

    Do you need to have mood swings
    just to shake up things?
    Yes, we have that.

    Sunny, breezy seventies,
    storms, restful rain, if you please?
    Yes, we have that.

    Does whooshing of ocean enthrall,
    pristine pink sand, sunflowers tall?
    Yes, we have that.

    Violet twilights that will bring on
    full moon and stars to wish upon?
    Yes, we have that.

    Making love to jazz and blues
    ‘neath a sable sky if you choose?
    Yes, we have that.

    Peek inside your heart’s desire,
    at Saraville, we aim to inspire.

  9. Robioville

    While Robville
    is quite a grand place
    to raise kids,
    enjoy life,
    spend time with my lovely wife,
    time is not our own.

    Time is spent
    working and schooling,
    in traffic
    on other people’s schedules;
    slaving to a grind

    We escape
    to Robioville,
    a more chill
    state of mind,
    a mobile vacation land
    made for relaxing

    where we have
    more face-to-face time,
    less FaceTime,
    less Facebook,
    more outdoors, more fires, more s’mores,
    more fresh air to breathe.

    Days are spent
    hiking nature trails,
    some bear trails,
    and wine trails,
    exploring towns we’ve not seen
    and their local eats.

    Cuppa Joe
    early, on a deck,
    no rushing
    to get dressed;
    the agenda’s day to day;
    Board games, card games, or no games
    with coffee at night.

    Time slows down.
    Earlier to bed,
    but not so
    to rising,
    and still get more exercise
    than hitting the gym.

    Robville’s great
    as a place to live,
    but we love
    to take trips
    to restfully active peace
    in Robioville.

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