Three Cantankerous Couplets for Consideration

Confronted by potholes and litter

My father in law became bitter.

The station was hopelessly dirty,

Th' attendants were both far from purty.

This tale has no moral or ending

Nor odor that might be offending.

An Ode

Potato chip,

You're lovely beyond words:
Soft, undulating ridges,
Beautiful gold skin,
Delicate as a china doll.
Will you be mine?

W.B.

Die-ku

One crawling spider
One sink defended by me
One flattened spider

Three Related Thoughts

Corn rustles.
It really does, I've heard it.
But I've never heard of corn rustlers.

The long, tall grass waves.
I look out the window and see it.
But it never comes crashing into anything.

Those clouds over there float.
But I can assure you, in all seriousness,
That there isn't even a scoop of ice cream up there.

To Have Grown and Shaved Is Better Than Never to Have Grown At All

I shaved my rockin' Amish beard;
I shaved it for my wife.
I'd hate for any facial hair
To cause domestic strife.
My love for her reigns high above
Such trivialities,
But surely I will try again
My beard festivities!

Beard

I grew a rockin' Amish beard

To impress my wife,

Who now, alas, thinks I'm weird.

She jeered

And said she feared 

I'd keep it.

Sigh.

Free Kitten!

Anybody wanna kitten?
Something feline for your house?
Little girls would all be smitten!
Maybe less, the family mouse.
Take one home and feed her tuna.
Give her love and make her purr.
Soon she'll be the big kahuna;
You, the stroker of her fur.

Talk to John.  He's got kittens!

Ow!

No salsa, no chips?
Apocalypse Now!
Almost as bad
As world without cow.
Much must be done
To restore the wow.
Like finding more chips.
And salsa.  And how!

Rain

Gentle, soaking rain
Falling on the swollen fields
Puddles on the grain
Washing, drowning, future yields
Filled up riverbeds
Flowing down to wreck and steal
Slow disaster creeps
Curs-ed rain with no appeal.

The Run On Sentence

At the service today
Because we wanted to
Confide in friends -
During the announcements and with great
Enthusiasm
For the topic at hand (for we are
Greatly taken by it!),
Having hardly thought of the exact words,
I told the congregation,
Jesus followers all, that
Kris Kringle would be
Leaving a present for us,
Making me,
Newly a father, a father again!
Oh my!
Praise God!

The Fields

On verdant fields in Ioway
The brown of seasons past has gone,
Or, rather, covered by the corn,
A swath of green has now been born.
The seeds were scattered in the soil
By tractor's path and farmer's toil
And rising up to catch my eye
Have captured me as I passed by.

(message for John of the Curtain)

Chez vous, at this moment
I can't seem to comment
It seems something's broken;
I leave you this token.

Post Facto Advice For Those Driving Near the Missouri River

There's a river floodin'
(Oh my my)
To the west, to the west
(Ain't nuthin' dry)
You had better beware
(Watch the troublin' sky)
'Cause you won't be winnin'
(Don't even try)
Just run away, child
(Turn and fly)

A Strange Moment

It's just the boy, the dogs, the cat
And me.
Nobody else is home, no one,
You see.
And every last one of us looking
At the door.
People are missing, gone somewhere.
What for?
And why is that so doggone strange?

Absence
Is a presence, heavy and thick.
Weighing
Considerably more than you'd think.
All of us
Feeling what isn't even here.
Not knowing
Why the moment is queer.

On Being a Dad

Daaden Aaden is my name.
I'm a father; that's my game.
I've a Hun I'm tryin' to tame.
Daaden Aaden is my name.

He crawls round and touches things,
Grabs at glasses and earrings,
Gives a shout and then he sings
He crawls round and collects bling.

He sees pups and gives a cry!
"Save me from the monster guys!"
Touching them would not be wise.
Least that's what I would surmise.

Daaden Aaden is my name.
I've a son I'm tryin' to tame.
Teaching Right, that is my game.
Daaden Aaden is my name.

Bacon Is Pretty Much the Crux of It

Drivin' through Macon,
But I've got no bacon!
If I were a bandit,
I sure would be takin'
The aforementioned bacon
From stores found in Macon.

What Might Have Been

Juan, Pablo, Ringo,
If they were Spaniards
With Jorge a-strummin'
Would have been great!
Escarabajos!
Ed Sullivan madness!
Can't buy me fiction
E'en though it'd be great.

My Day

Going to the chapel
And I'm officiating.

Going to the chapel

And I'm officiating.

Gee I'm really happy

Cause they're gonna get married.

Going to the chapel of love.

Fine Whiner

In reaction to a previous poem my wife called me a whiner.  This hurt my feelings greatly and so, after complaining a bit, I wrote this supposedly autobiographical poem in the third person singular.  Take take, wife. 

If you like, he can whine for hours,
Casting a critical glance on every last thing,
And summoning Midas-like powers,
Disparage them all exhaustively.  He's the king
Of turning upstanding milk sour.
Give him some random meteorological thing...
And moping shall result!  All dour
He will say, "This darn warm/cold/wet/dry/windy fling!"
Oy, what a whiny, windy bore.

i-fruit

Like a large, flat Tic Tac
With an apple on top,
Once bitten,  and a cord
Out the side like a tendril.
Cracked open, it glows
Like a pregnant woman.
And on the other half
Square seeds in a row?
With runes or some such.
Surely magical,
Weaving tempting spells.
And my eyes, transfixed
Tapping lightly on the seeds.

Loping

GRAHHHT-zee, MAre-sea,
Donkey-shoon.
Breezy days
Are quite the boon.
Blows the skeeters
Far away.
Keeps the stinkin'
Heat at bay.
Giving thanks
Is what I do
For nice comments.
There.  Thank you.

Ramble

Carpet on carpet,
Like frosting on frosting,
Is just too excessive
For my feet to bear.
Not that my feetsies
Have e'er eaten frosting
I'm just writing blindly;
I really don't care.

The baby is pushing
A chair that's much bigger
Than his little bottom,
But he's keen to dare.

I haven't made coffee
And now I'm just rambling,
Oh goodness, please stop me.
Please, don't grin and stare!

My Printer

The light blinks sometimes and little noises
Peep, pop, and burble; the ink well gurgles,
But nothing ever comes of it.  Ruses
By a dusty old printer.  Impotent.
Like some swingin' guy in a sports car,
"Hey babe," but having no horsepower.
My printer sits and can only hint.
Enough.  This is ridiculous.  Get bent.
That's right.  Let go of the cords and get out.
Your fizzling, tittering plastic's been sent.

Write About Things You Don't Know (Possibilities)

How does one write a fine wedding sermon?
What do you do when you're beset by vermin?
When storm clouds are brooding like doom on the land
Is it better to charge or better to stand?
Where can one go to get sleds in the Spring?
What kind of salad do you think I should bring?