Wednesday, November 30, 2011

The Secret Medical Lives of Celebrities

There was nothing to be done.
Big Bird just endured.

Tuesday, November 29, 2011


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.

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).

Monday, November 28, 2011

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.

Sunday, November 27, 2011

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.

Friday, November 25, 2011

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!


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.  ;-)

Wednesday, November 23, 2011

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.

Tuesday, November 22, 2011

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."

Monday, November 21, 2011

A Wonderful Handful

'Twas the morning called Monday when all through the house
A poop-bottomed baby was starting to grouse.
The diapers were ranged 'neath the table with care
Next to the wipes, the giraffe and the bear.

"Wipe off my buns for they're starting to hurt
And why don't you give me new pants and a shirt?
I've peed through these last and they're getting quite smelly.
Look at this button that's stuck to my belly!"

The father induced him to lie on his back.
He opened the diaper and let out a "Gack!"
Then working with purpose he started to wipe;
Left bun and right bun, they each got a swipe.

With wriggling legs and an outflow of babble
The baby broke free from the fatherly rabble.
He fled 'round the house singing liberty's song,
A melody sweet as a dad's day is long.

Saturday, November 19, 2011

Friday, November 18, 2011


Cars are fine feats of art,
Modern sculptures,
At least in part.

Curvy lines that flow...
And pounce!
Far be it for me to denounce them.

But, (and the existence of but is curiously secure)
There is something amiss.

Cars, in all their finery,
Are drab creatures,
Lacking an important feature.
Color.  Color!!

Moving sculptures should growl and purr
And capture your eyes in a flurry of wow.
But they've all been washed together
And have come out uniformly drab.

Our roads are a Soviet rainbow.

Thursday, November 17, 2011


Where does the dust come from?
Does it ooze up from any stationary surface?

Or is it some kind of airborne crumb?
A molecular secessionist?

Maybe it's the gnomes who bring it?
Though how they don't leave footprints stumps me.

Or maybe it's an amalgamation of small creatures that flit
And then rest and rest and rest, eternally?

Wednesday, November 16, 2011

Leaves Are Not Bitter

As I look out the window,
The last tree, the holdout,
Has nary a leaf to show;
The wind won in a rout.
And so the leaves skitter,
Skipping across gravel,
Not seeming too bitter,
Happy to travel.

Tuesday, November 15, 2011


Cups of tea,
Joy for all
These are things
That rate quite high,
Right up there with
Fresh baked pie.

Warty toes,
TV shows,
These are things
That rate much worse,
Less like blessing
More like curse.

Monday, November 14, 2011

In Praise of My Babe (a limerick)

There once was a baby so cute
The bards sang his praise on the lute.
     "His chub and his grin
       Both add up to 'Win!'"
Such truth would be hard to refute.

Friday, November 11, 2011

Thanks to Those Men

Liberty is a painstaking business
Earned by some and enjoyed by others.
It doesn't depend on one man's fitness,
But hangs on the thread of some men's druthers.

And yet, to endure, more men must do battle
Against their dull boredom and sad apathy,
Raising bright colors for everyday freedom,
Striking a blow for the present to be.

Thursday, November 10, 2011

On Escaping Death According to the Law (2 Limericks)

Your life is a bad thing to waste.
So why live with excessive haste?
Better be slow
And on the down low
Lest all of your years be erased.

Trying to hold onto years
Will leave you enslaved to your fears.
Then, death will say, "Hey!"
And then you'll away.
Life's maxim?  This all ends in tears!

That's a rather dim view, isn't it?  Certainly. You will die and so will I.  And there is no hope to avoid that fate.  Such is the Law.  Such is life lived before the gospel arrives.

I imagine the first limerick to be the human desire to cheat death and the second to be Psalm 90, written by Moses, the great bringer of the Law.  Come, Lord Jesus.

Wednesday, November 9, 2011

On the Vanity of Earthly Greatness

The tusks that clashed in mighty brawls
Of mastodons, are billiard balls.
The sword of Charlemagne the Just
Is ferric oxide, known as rust.
The grizzly bear whose potent hug
Was feared by all, is now a rug.
Great Caesar's dead and on the shelf,
And I don't feel so well myself.
It's not too often that I pass along a gem of a poem, preferring to regale you with my own, er, candardlies;  But I read this diamond by Arthur Guiterman this morning, pointed my finger at it and said, "That's what I want to do!"

Monday, November 7, 2011

Three Short Poems on a Missing Word

In Western England, old and fair,
There lies a town of Roman times.
It bears a name to make boys laugh
(One hopes the least of boyhood crimes).


A bird, feeling the need to loiter a spell,
Can alight in myriad places, do tell.
On branch or statue, (beware his wrath!)
Or even there, right in a .....


Epsom salts, when used in water
Good for son and good for daughter.
Great for every living being.
Gives sensations that are freeing.

The Requirements of Polite Company

When just a little milk gets left
To dry there on the bottom of the glass
It creates a predicament
Or rather, a crust.  It's nas-ty
And difficult to reach and remove.
In polite company it would behoove
One to rinse it.  

Friday, November 4, 2011

'The Calling' or 'The Boy and the Book'

Stretching up for the book on the table,
Caught in something more than curiosity,
The young boy paused.  .... . Then,...  picked up the book, slowly,
Touched it as gently as he was able.
He didn't yet know how to decipher
The drawings on the spine and on the cover
And upon opening the book, with due wonder,
He saw more.  Symbols from here to forever.
The boy wanted to know what it all meant
Longed for mysteries.  Thirsted for clues
With which to know he knew not what, To lose
Himself in a world to which he knew, somehow, he was sent.

Aphorisms #4

  • When scaring your child, don't try too hard.
  • Don't trust a light and fluffy pancake farther than you can throw it (against the wind.)
  • Waffles and Pancakes are different.  Technically.
  • When your wife is difficult, blame it on your mother in law.

Thursday, November 3, 2011

Aphorism #3 (Or really just a factually preposterous statement that is aphoristic only in comparison to this needlessly long title.)

Upon reflection, a country mile is actually shorter than a city one.  Believe me, I've experienced both and there's really no contest.

Wednesday, November 2, 2011

Consumer Report (Terse and Metaphysical)

Take a piece of plywood
Lean it 'gainst a tree.
There, you've made a lean-to.
What ability!
Making crud is easy;
Quality is tough.
Best to know the difference
When you're buying stuff.

Tuesday, November 1, 2011

Just One of those Things

A solitary shoe
Doesn't get you very far.
And a planet doesn't do much
If it hasn't got a star.
Leaves without trees
Are the bee without his knees.
And that's just one of those things.