The Ol' Snippety-Snip

Amos the kitty was absent last night,
A-gittin' his testicles "done."
Seems he was fightin' and comin' up short;
Well now he just won't have a son.

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We had to take him in for the second time in just over a month for a wound that left him unable to put weight on a leg.  The vet told me that the ol' snippety-snip should take care of the fighting thing, so Amos is "gittin' 'er done."

The intention was to spend no money on this cat.  It seems I am a weak-willed softie.  So help me, if he wants cosmetic surgery I will say NO!

Implicit: (Potent Toots)

When baby don't poop

Ain't nobody happy.

Talking Dogs

A pig says "oink";
That's all he'll say
And every horse
Knows only "neigh."
Consider ducks
Who "quack" each day
Or cows as well,
On "moo" they'll stay.

But dogs have depth,
A repertoire,
Myriad ways
To speak with pow'r.
Dogs "bow wow;"
They "arf" and "bark."
They often "howl."
When it gets dark.
Dogs, at times
As is their wont,
"Growl" at folks
A canine taunt.
Finally, when
Contentment's here,
Dogs say "woof"
And scratch their ear.

Bony and Nervous

The nervous squirrel, he looked at me,
Then skittered up a nearby tree.
He paused a sec, and looked back down.
I thought a saw a furry frown!
"Go on," I said, "You've naught to fear.
You're far too thin.  I fancy deer."

Your Humble Poet Laureate

Perhaps I should mention that the newly elected mayor has just named me Poet Laureate of The MOB.  What is the MOB?  It is the Minnesota Organization of Bloggers.  (Technically I now live in Iowa, but rules aren't stringent.)  In the wake of twitter and other e-fads, the MOB isn't what it once was, but it still is a means for bringing folks together and I like that.

Is this a great honor?  Why yes, of course it is!  And it is also pure tomfoolery of the best sort.  In that spirit, I will have to write some laud or ode to the Mayor.  But not today.  This prose just takes it out of me.

Beware Grandmothers Bearing Sleds

My son was a-sliding this morning
Upon the slick crust of the snow.
He got a strong push from his grandmim
And into the flagpole did go.
It's alright, his head wasn't broken,
Just badly bruised on both sides.
She says she is sad,
(Though she's quite clearly bad,)
And is itching to give him more rides.

Narcissism

The beautiful sunrise I missed
Was boring as boring can be
For I didn't see a darn thing
And really it's all about me.

Angels

When a bell rings
It might be a number of things:
Someone's at the door,
A boxer's on the floor.
An angel got her wings?
Well really, that's a bore.
Sure, some angels fly
Like those who flew in Luke,
But what of all the others?
This thing must be rebuked.
Wings and angels go together
Like Indians and feathers.
Some have 'em; okay that's great.
Others don't, and are still first rate.

Bah

The humbug is the insect

Of the body politic.

"Ha, ha, ha," he explained.

In he swooped with reckless wind,
Old man winter living large.
Asked by many to rescind,
He just laughed.  They said "Argh."

Don't Taunt the Winter

Old man winter wasn't dead
But lying quietly in bed.
Now he's roused and eating brunch.
Next he comes for you for lunch.

Abigail and Esther

In the space of twelve hours a birth and a death,
The giving of life and the taking of breath,
Joy in the wonder that's finally beheld,
And grief that one loved will now be withheld.

The Snow of Stereotype

On the Midwestern plains a light dusting of snow

Does stereotypical things: it swirls and blows.

Rarely does it rise up and smack you on the face

Nor play poker with the dawn, trumping with aces.

It's rather like an old school character actor;

Predictably playing his role, not much of a factor.

Historic Nursery Rhymes

This little piggy went to market

This little piggy stayed home.

This little piggy liked Carthage.

And this little piggy liked Rome.

And this little piggy went, "Gah!  Alaric and his barbarian invaders!!!"

Abigail Rose (born 1/14/12)

The first one came, a lumbering boy,
Who had no hurry in his bones.
One day crossed o'er into the next
And then another he condoned.

This baby girl now born today
Came thund'ring fast, her mission clear.
Her mother gasped, and cried aloud
For there she was, our daughter dear.

An Exhortation

Ahem.

Socks are best when worn in twos

So take good care you do not lose

Them.

Walnut

A walnut is an unstately thing,
Awkward and hemispheric
Like a small, edible brain.
Care for some walnut?

Many Ways to Wait

Wait
Wate
Ouate
Wayte
Ouayte
Whaite
Whate
Waite
Wheyte
Wheytte
Waitte
Ouaitte
Ad almost infinitum (it seems)

Compare and Contrast

Apricots
Tasty and orange
Always dried
-
Oranges
Tasty and orange
Never dried

Human folk
Creation of God
Very good
-
Human folk
Creation of God
Big stinkers

Fly-ku

Dormant or dead flies

Don't buzz around nor pester.

Long live Wintertime!

Some Days the Tired Just Catches Up

Fatigue had found him from far-flung places
Heavy burdens bearing down
Like big-boned monkeys lacking social graces
All of them out on the town.
What weariness - winsome clubbing of his head.
Sighs descended from his lips and fled.

Unitary Seasons

There's Summer this Winter;

There's spring in my toes.

And if there were water

It wouldn't be froze.

Lacking this ice

I'm unlikely to fall.

And mostly I'm thinking,

"This ain't bad at all."

The Twelfth Day of Christmas

John Bonham
Keith Moon
Nick Mason
Ringo Starr
Charlie Watts
Ollie Peacock

To find a dozen drummers drumming
Don't go looking in my mind.
I can only conjure six,
That's halfway there.  Who more to find?

I give up.

The Eleventh Day of Christmas (A Carpenter's Envy)

Back on the job site

Winter days would break my skin

Howling winds would slip right in

Whether dark or light

All the carpenters 

Bundled to keep the frost off

Hands cracking, painfully rough

Break time 'round heaters

Walls and roof complete

In walk comfy pipefitters

No need for jacket critters

Now ain't that a feat?

Pipers in leisure

Happy and deliberate

Lacking much -if any- grit

Their work all pleasure

The Tenth Day of Christmas

The census in this fair country

Reveals a total lack of lords,

Dancing or otherwise.

Christian confession yields but one, 

Arisen.  Again to arise.

The Ninth Day of Christmas

When Esther and Mildred and Gertie and Fran
Have all their sights on the hand of one man
Chaos ensues on the floor of the ball
Punches are thrown and the police are called.
These ladies, dancing, all elbows and knees
Are jealous as wildcats, but eager to please
Wishing to polka and two-step and twist
Looking for gentlemen them to assist.

The Eighth Day of Christmas

Cows these days have it rough.

Once there were maids to empty their udders,

But now just machines, cold and tough.

No doubt, in darkest cow dreams, there are shudders.

The Seventh Day of Christmas

To write a poem about swans is an impossible task for me
For Yeats has proffered his work.  To call it good would be a travesty.

The Sixth Day of Christmas (The Generosity of Geese)

On every golf course that I've ever seen
Six geese a-laying, and many more,
Have deposited gifts both brown and green.
Generosities laid down by the score.

The Fifth Day of Christmas (Every kiss begins with blech)

The feeling of jewelry on my skin

Evokes skeletons in dank prison

With manacles on wrists, holding them in,

An uncomfortable feeling, a frisson

That turns sideways into a knot

And makes me not want what I've not got.

One ring only, the promise from my wife;

Not one band more for the rest of my life.

The Fourth Day of Christmas (4 Name Calling Birds)

#1-"Robins are worm-eaters, simple as that."

#2-"You corpulent goose!  At least I'm not fat!"

#3-"Stop it you warblers, enough with the snit."

#1&2-"Can it yourself, you old white-bellied tit!"

#0-"Why do you name call with such hateful glee?"

#1,2,3&4-"Why don't YOU stuff it?  You dumb chickadee!"

The Third Day of Christmas (Tough Economic Times)

Poultry in France isn't nearly so bad
As beef cattle living in Deutschland.
Hens lay their eggs and they sell them for cash
But these days the beef's all been canned.

The Second Day of Christmas

When God created things
Some animals turned out strange.
Turtles?  Normal.  Doves?  Just fine.
But turtle doves are deranged.
Is it that they fly slowly?
Or, in their shells, coo softly?
Who knows?  Not I!
But turtles don't fly.

Carol

On Christmas Eve,
"The Day Before,"
We gather in
To sing your praise.
Our carols old
And well-adored
We sing to you,
Our voices raised.

I'm Dreaming of a Brown Christmas

At all points of my yard

The earth is brown and hard.

The snow is somewhere north,

But here it's not come forth.

It soon is Christmas day

Perhaps I'd better pray?

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Actually, it would be a good idea.  We've had very little moisture in the past six months.  Aesthetics aside, we need the precipitation.

Fruitcake (A Husband's Bad Idea)

Fruitcake for Christmas
Yum, yum, yum!
Gonna have to get her some.
Get me a chainsaw
Or Ginsu knife.
Cut a divine dessert
For my wife.

Ho, Ho, Ho!
She will just glow!
Ho, Ho, Ho!
She will just glow!

Fruitcake for Christmas
Scarf, scarf, scarf.
Hope my dear angel
Will not barf.

(Is it my imagination or is this particularly awful?  Don't say anything; I already know.)

Essentials

A scone without tea is a shame.

Fall without football is lame.

So when Christmas comes 'round

With no snow on the ground???

It's okay because Jesus still came.

Just a Pondering

As a boy I wanted to travel time:

Live in medieval monasteries,

See the Sahara before it grew huge,

Catch a glimpse of what was there before.

I was skeptical that today was best.

It wasn't really cynicism, but

Some sense that the world was much bigger

And that I only knew the half of it.

Only half!  Ha.  But I wanted to know.

I still labor under the dual thoughts

That I know a great deal and not much.

Not sure that I'm wiser.  But still curious.

Ack!

Green Bay lost.
Alas.  Alack.
I deeply weep
For the one loss Pack.
I'm hearing lots
Of snidely flack
From nasty folk
I'd like to whack.
Well, not really.
I take that back.

Omelet

Cracking twelve eggs,

Beating them all together,

Unity by force.

Mr. Entitlement

There once was a van on the road
Which due to the traffic was slowed.
The driver cried out
And started to pout
As if, being special, he was owed.

War In the Air

Old Glory pulled taut

Iowan winds are whipping

It's war on the plains.

The Secret Lives of Cows (a plot)

The night was foggy, dark and cool,
With folks ensconced behind their walls.
The cows, meanwhile, as cows are wont,
Were sending signals with moo-calls.
"At half past three in deepest night,
When all is still we'll leave our stalls
And gather out there in the fields
Aside the pool, above the falls."

And so they did, those sneaky beasts,
They skulked and crawled and lurked and crept.
They gathered there beneath the fog
And planned rebellion while we slept.
They planned to take our homes and kids;
They planned to take our big TVs;
They planned to order magazines
And cruelly leave us with the fees.
There never was in all of time
A plot so dastardly and low.
Thank God that there, amidst the gloom,
Was spying the most noble crow.

This stately bird, he took to wing
And raised a warning on the wind.
"Ca-CAW!" he called with all his force
"Beware the cow and all beefkind."

The Wolves of Ellis

Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses,
Yearning to breathe free.

I will put these fine folks
In dark morasses,
In captivity.

Here, let me help you.
Your kids need free passes,
Some compassion, see?


     A Land of the Free
     With victim peddlers
     And grievance mongers
     Salivating openly.
     Oh the woe of it all.

The Secret Lives of Trees

Pure unremitting boredom.
That is my life, I'm afraid.
I stand here, unmoving, dumb.
Only sound I ever made
Was a bit of rustling once.
Made me feel like a dunce.

The Battle of Winter (a sonnet of sorts)

In the battle of snow and sun
The latter always seems to win.
Little flakes their courses run,
Wreak havoc, making Jack Frost grin.
Like Russian soldiers of old days,
Merely fodder for the cause,
Falling there on paths and ways,
Eliciting hushed oohs and aaaaahs.
The sun will catch with deadly ray
And end the mischief of that day;
The flakes will surely melt away.
But one more time Jack Frost will laugh
At this, the sun's presumptuous gaffe.
For he has "ice" who works on staff.

Simple

Diamonds are sparkly
And rainfall is wet.
Chocolate is tempting
And easy to get.
Icicles hang
Till they tumble and fall.
Babies don't run
Till they first learn to crawl.
Sardines are fishy
And crammed in a tin.
Offing your neighbor
Is surely a sin.
Life is sure easy,
I'm sure you'll agree.
Simple as Latin
And trigonometry.

On the Nature of Poetry

A popular poem
Is better than milk.
It's better than butter
Or things of that ilk.
It's better than cheese,
Either cheddar or mozz.
"What's with the dairy?"
"I like it a lots."

A popular poem
Cheers all the masses
It tastes kind of sweet,
"Like icky molasses?"
"No!"
"Oh."

A popular poem
Is real hard to find.
It hides up in fruit trees
All covered in rind.
"So, then it's a fruit?
Like an orange or lime?"
"Oh goodness, just stop.
You're wasting my time."

A popular poem
Is often unsung,
Even regarded
As something like dung.
Til, lo and behold,
The verse strikes a chord
And then that dear poem's
No longer abhorred.
"So what are you saying
With all of these words?"
"That hopefully something
Will come of these turds."

A Thought on Prepositions

A preposition means nothing by itself,
Though it might possibly hint.
     "With."
A mysterious word that tells nothing.
But there's a relational tint.
Or maybe not at all:
The hermit wore a splint.

Words can mean very little,
But only because they can mean so much.

The Secret to Marital Bliss

Big toe goes wonky.
Doggone!  Another bunion.
At least wife has work.

The Moral Battle of the Early Morning

Pine trees try to keep sunshine out,

Corrupt old denizens that they are

Of the cemetery o'er yonder.

They think bones are better buried.

The sunshine is less interested

In playing this game of the ages.

Every surface is of interest.

"Stand aside and I shall reveal."

What's In a Name?

Ol' Augustine of Hippo,
He wasn't really large.
Joan of Ark liked horses, sure,
But not stuck on a barge.
And Rick the Lionhearted,
Not even once in jest,
Asked to have a kitty's ticker
Stuck into his chest.
Names are oft misnomers,
Clues that lead astray.
Just inquire of that old mage
Cause Gandalf wasn't grey.

The Talkative Ninja

My baby's dressed in ninja black,
But stealthy he is not.
He's always talking, forth and back,
A right loquacious tot.

!

I'm waiting for a good Advent movie.

Gimme Just a Sec...

When walking in mid-Tennessee
A doppelganger of me
Walked up and said, "Hi!
Am I you or you I?"
I said, "Well, I'd have to agree."

The Secret Lives of Cats

A cat, all alone,
When he knows none are watching,
Will talk on the phone.

The Secret Medical Lives of Celebrities

Jaundice-afflicted.
There was nothing to be done.
Big Bird just endured.

Calling

I went when I was called
To duty, sacred, well enthralled.
I thought the best of what was known;
Cast doubt away like worthless stone.
I went when I was called.

He went when he was called
To follow blindly, conscience-mauled.
He didn't see the facts quite plain;
He shut his eyes, turned off his brain.
He went when he was called.

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I was thinking of how easy it is not to see and, likewise, how easy it is to judge another for not seeing.  As Paul wrote, "We see through a glass darkly."  We humans, even in doing our best, can miss so much, not least the opportunity the show some charity (v2).

The Mysteries of Words

Pronunciation's rather odd;
It's often left me kind of awed.
The spelling's meant to cause me pain
Like punching out a window pane.
I'm scared to think, if I were foreign,
What I'd do to keep from roarin'.
Oh well, I guess I'll do my best
And thank the Lord that I am blessed.

The Dangerous Pill

An older man, whom I'll call Bill,
While swallowing his nightly pill,
Threw water in right past his tongue
Directly into his own lung!
This caused, of course, some consternation,
A wracking cough from medication!
Bill was peeved, without a doubt.
For taking meds was worse than gout.

All Year Through

O Lord our God, through all this year,
In Winter's chill and darkness drear,
In Springtime's rain and windy blow,
In Summer's heat as crops did grow,
In Autumn when the harvest came,
You are our God.  You stay the same.

The Winter wind, it froze our face;
     Icy roads made our hearts race.
     Soil laid dormant under snow
     And darkened days drug on so slow.

     Yet you cheered us every morn.
     On Christmas day your son was born.
     With joyful alleluia greeting,
     In this season our God meeting.

Springtime wind, the constant blowing,
     Muddy fields and then seeds sowing,
     Rivers rising, then the flood,
     Newborn cattle chewing cud.

     In this life and chaos swelling,
     You, our Lord, were always dwelling.
     Raised victorious Easter morn,
     Thus your children are reborn.

Summer heat and dry conditions
     Aphids on destructive missions,
     Straight line winds that bent the crop,
     Cloudless skies without a drop,

     Yet through these you brought us through.
     Lacking rain, the corn still grew.
     Ever faithful you were there
     In pardoned sins and answered prayer.

Autumn came with combines churning
     Wayward sparks and fires burning.
     Yet we brought the harvest in
     And put it safely in the bin.

     Likewise, God, you gather us,
     Though we can be an ornery cuss.
     So hallelujah, praises sing!
     Lift thanksgiving to our king!

O Lord our God, through all this year
You've been our hope and strength and cheer.
Your mercies given new each morn,
Baptismal pardon for newborns,
Assurance for our loved ones dying,
Comfort for us in our crying,
Lord your goodness has abounded.
Let Thanksgiving praise be sounded!

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This was delivered as a Thanksgiving Eve sermon and is based on events in our countryside this year.  All except for the newborn cattle chewing cud.  Apparently they drink milk.  ;-)

Thanksgiving Expectations

The poor, lonesome turkey was walking that day
Back in the woods 'midst the fog from the frost.
Ruffling his feathers, then starting to say,
"Looks like another Thanksgiving is lost!"
You see, the poor turkey was orphaned at birth
And hadn't a friend in the whole of the wood.
Thus was it daily he longed for some mirth,
Longed for companionship he could call, "good."

Then parting the mist with a gun and a smile
A puritan man, looking bony and gaunt.
He invited ol' Tom to his house for awhile,
Precisely the thing that the turkey did want.
And so they walked off through the fog shrouded wood,
The both of them happy for what lay in store.
The man for the meat that would soon be his food,
The turkey for friendship ne'er tasted before.

The Corpus of Beverly Cleary as It Relates to Monkey Typists

A barrel full of monkeys,
When they're not feeling bleary,
Can type the works of Shakespeare
Or better yet, Bev Cleary.

Baboons writing "Ribsey"
And chimps "Ramona Quimby"
Mind you just for paperback
So they're liable to be flimsy.

"A Tale of a Fourth Grade Nothing"
Alas, is just too much.
Luckily, with ample time,
They'll type out "Superfudge."