The Fat, Snuggling Poet

If I were a poet of girth

Known for romantical worth

I'd snuggle a rhyme

Then, after a time,

This verse to a poem'd give birth.

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My wife informs me that the first iteration of this poem was actually very naughty.  Somehow I missed that.  Sweet naiveté, I guess.  In any event I edited a bit.

Geography

To the west of dear Iowa
Stretches a plain,
Rich in its greatness
And packed full of grain.
Also there's cattle
And don't forget sand.
And rocky-type mountains
That really are grand.
And going west further
If further you goes,
You end up with water
A-tickling your toes.

Just Nonsense. Just Because

Rest is often deception
Promising relaxation,
But not delivering.

Pizza, on the other hand,
Does exactly what it says.
It, um, pis.  And it zas.

The Home Front

He had a bowl of Grape Nuts.
He drank a glass of juice.
He talked a bit at table,
The domesticated moose.

Algebraic Breakfast

One scrambled egg

Two pieces of toast

Three little sausages

Four cups of coffee, no cream.

(First word's value) + 3 = syllables

Here Lies A. Dormer: He Got Tired

Weary old headstones
Lazy, leaning epitaphs
Bleary-eyed bon mots.

Severe Thunderstorm

Rendered blind by a falling wall of water,
Knocked aside by a wind as strong as Thor,
I'm still standing with my arms up to the heavens,
"Give me more, mighty rainstorm, give me more!"

(Just kidding.  I ran as fast as I could to get inside and went to the basement.)

"The Immodesty of Law" or "The Sly Humor of Irony"

In future there will be a law
That rules must exist without flaw.
But irony lurks
Gumming the works,
Saying, "Law without flaw?  Ha, ha!  Bah!!!"

Motion

Wind-rustled grasses
Cars rushing by in all haste
Motion by motion

Affliction (and a glib response to it)

Do you know how, in northern climes,
Your car gets surrounded, covered
By salt and dirt and snow-booger slime?

Or how, in more tropical places,
A guy gets bug-bit and sweat slathered,
Overcome by a miserable stasis?

Some days discomfort will hunt you down,
Smear you with honey and pepper,
Try like a devil to make you frown.

Wash your car.  Get A/C.
Take a shower.  Smile.  Be free.

Throwback Thursday

I found this haiku in the comments section of something else.  It referred to my gassy daughter.  She's better now.  A bit.

On the Southern Front
Mustard gas was daily used.
Chemical warfare.

My Boy

Sometimes in the morning
My boy brings me coffee.
If I would have slippers
He'd bring me those too.
He's eager and willing
To serve and be helpful.
I need to make lists
Of the things he can do.


[I write this in a jesting kind of way.  But I really do need to remember to give him things to do.  I don't just want him NOT doing things, but taking joy in serving and being helpful.  He's already a natural.  I just have to help cultivate his God-given impulse.]

Squash

In a garden, the squash seems compelled

To flee from itself, so it spreads

And passing its borders it melds

With all in the garden bed.

And it ends up squashed.

Anxiety and the Possible Responses

The anxious guitar string just snaps.

The care-laden fingertip taps.

When one's feeling stressed,

Being put to the test,

Better by far to take naps.

Letting Go Is Hard

The small grey mouse was a thinking type,
A philosopher of a modern stripe.
He pondered problems every day
And how to make them go away.

Alas, this burden grew quite heavy
(A right big altruism levee!)
He grew so tense with anxious thought
It seemed so clear that he was caught.

"I really must, for my own well-being,
Doubtless my shrink would be agreeing,
Ask the question, "How to let go?"
Though how... it's hard to know.

The snake, in whom the mouse was swallowed,
Chuckled softly and then followed,
"Mouse, it's harder than it seems.
But go ahead, follow your dreams."

Apart

A bowl of egg drop soup
And a sharp knife
Are great and useful things.
But not together.

And fresh paint
And a brand new dress
As well.
But not together.

Sometimes apart
Is how it is best.

"Issue Definition as Incessant and Unnecessary Commentary on Existence"...or..."The Moth"

The moth I saw had patterned wings

With colored scallops, two-tone rings,

And varnished highlights here and there.

But it didn't care.

Of its ornament on display

Unchanged e'er since the moth's first day

Not one was chosen for its meaning

Nor to reveal a political leaning.

But Facebook pages 'cross the land

Are full of righteous reprimand

And earnest truths are there tattooed -

Quite often rude.

We seek, it seems, to justify

Ourselves, (or have an alibi!)

To prove we know the wrong from right -

And choose to choose the light.

But all we do is pound our chests.

Or with the wisdom we possess,

However shallow, howe'er mean,

We show, then vent our spleen.

Well... bollocks, fiddlesticks and fie.

There's but one thing to catch the eye:

Lives of beauty, quiet, free.

Would that will be me.  

A Poem's Necessity

A poem requires something concrete
Or even a skeleton if it's discrete.
This one is made of a simple idea
And the image of somebody's feet.

A fellow named Robert walked out in the wood
Walked with more clumsiness than he should.
He was a man with only no feet
And he didn't actually walk to the wood.

Let's try it again for the fun of the play
And ponder abstractions the length of the day.
Think of a potter with wet, dirty hands
But no wheel.  And also no clay.

He mainly just sits with his hands in the air
Fondling emptiness, the nothing that's there.
When he has finished there's nothing to see.
Of his pot?  Not a soul who could care.

Noodling

Oh my, how the days pass and shift
Not solid like something of earth,
But gauze and sound and mist.
Abstractions and attempts.
Of great importance, yes, but not
Solid enough to know they've not been missed.
To parent, to pastor, to husband
Is to have projects always unfinished.
There can be no drinking from those wells,
But only from the one marked,
    Child of God
    A Sheep of his pasture
    A Sinner of his redeeming.

The Way Spring Works

The breeze is cool
Only because the window is open.
The window is open
Only because it's getting warm outside!

Temperature

The temperature 

   Dove,

      Dove,

         Dove,

             Down.

                 Deeply

                     Discouraging.

Going Soft

I saw hope tonight and last:
In a possum on my doorstep
He was nibbling on the cat food
And I didn't seem to mind.
Last autumn when he did that
I went to fetch a broomstick
To curse him and to poke him
But now that seems unkind.

The Fall of the Republic

What could be sweeter than suckers for supper?
What more delicious than warm rotting meat?
What could be faster than cars without pistons?
And warmer in winter than thin cotton sheets?

What is more just than a fool being lauded?
What is more fitting than joy in a hearse?
Foolishness happily dances its victory.
And we're all lined up for a spin with this curse.

Stand on your head for a walk on the sky.
Go to the pasture to purchase a pie.
Or if you are conscious and have some heart left...
Then ponder the damage and cry.
Sit yourself down and just cry.