Infatuation

Ahh, dear cupcake,
I long for you
Like a Canadian in summer
Desperate for hockey,
Like dust on top of a cupboard
Aching for a dust cloth,
Like a junkie moth
Addicted to the flame,
Like a series of addled similes
Longing for expression.
Come to me; I beckon thee.
Don't just stand there!
Oh dearest one, please!!!
.....
For the love of Pete,
Would someone please pass me the cupcake?

Golden Summer

It will be a "golden summer"
If the sun decides to shine,
If the clouds roll back
And give the light a chance.

It will be a "golden summer"
If the moisture packs her bags,
If the rainclouds head out East
For just a spell.

But days for quite awhile now
Have labored under moisture,
With sunshine living elsewhere,
Wondering where the warmth went,
Wishing for the summer.

Stop?

The bridge is closed for traffic.
No one goes over. 
Stop.

They say that it's too dangerous.
Someone might get hurt.
Stop.

But bridges are always dangerous.
They connect us to others.
Stop?

The Bad Attitude Ant

There was an angry ant,
Resentful of his work,
Who went about with blazing eyes
And acted like a jerk.
He barked at passers-by
And shot them nasty looks.
He went into the library
And made marks in the books.
And when the sun went down,
The wind swept down the street
Hunting for the angry ant
To have a meet and greet.
“You nasty little brute.
You whiny so and so.
You’re not a grouchy amateur,
But a grouchy pro.”

Just Plain Crazy

I'm sitting in a classroom
With Luth'rans all around.
Outside the rain is falling
Watering the ground.
A canister of coffee
Is sitting by my side.
Presently the day begins
A whoopin', holla time!

The Unbearable Chirpness of Birdies

Birds are imbued
With hammer and chisel
To peck at the temples
Of those who are near.
Noise is a constant
For budgies are talkers
Hamm'ring my head
Their chisels like spears.
Simile glut?
Poetically loose?
Perhaps it is so
And that's what I fear,
But jackhammer birds
And the aching they cause me
Get in my head
And summon up tears.
Gah, they're obnoxious!
Never relenting,
Chirping as if
They've got deep-seated fears
Of losing their voices,
Descending to muteness,
And so they chirp on
With incessant jeers.

Decision

While pondering droplets of new-fallen rain,
The red-breasted sparrow showed open disdain.
"Nary a seed nor a nibble to gain.
I shall wing elsewhere today."

Piku

The number pi is
Twenty-two over seven
Or three point one four.

Pieku

Dropping pie on floor
Breaks the heart of the heartless.
But dog doesn't mind.

Bricks Aspiring to Eternity

Bricks and mortar mock me,
Laughing to my face.
Holding both my hammer
And pry-bar in disgrace.
Scornfully they sit there
Daring me to swing.
"Curse you stubborn blocks and rocks
I'll smash you to nothing!!!"

The Platonic Wall Perhaps?

Upon the bloody wall,
Was light amidst the shadow,
Surrounded by a pall,
Of deepening dark and woe;
The images of form,
Grown hazy in reflection,
The norm to norm all norms
Suffering rejection.
We see these things but darkly
And understand but little,
The truth will rise and starkly
Break the shadows brittle.

On Poetry (part three)

Then
There are
Poems built
With architecture,
Leaving rhymes aside
Choosing words
Based only
On size.
Heh.

On Poetry (part two)

Waltzing is different for it steps in "threezies"
Spinning you 'round 'til you're queasy and green.
Austrian dukes are the guys to be blaming;
They were the ones who on 3 were so keen.

The technical term for this waltzing meter is "dactyl."  It's a stressed syllable followed by two unstressed syllables or long-short-short.

On Poetry (part one)

Poetry is a game.  It's fun because it has rules that you must follow.  Well, you don't have to follow them, but I find it's more fun when I do.  I think life is like that too.  Structure can seem like an imposition, but it's really a beautiful gift.

Metered verse is often pretty
When it flows with fluid grace.
Patterns set to rise and fall and
Leave your lips without a trace.

An Anniversary Poem for My Wife

One year ago today

I married my Cashew

And promised to my God

All others to eschew.

Smart move without a doubt;

No man has chosen better.

To both my mom and pop in law

I surely am a debtor!

More than that, of course,

I love my wife like mad

'Cause she's a curvy wonder

So good she's almost bad.

I love you dearest!!!  Happy Anniversary!

Snack Update

I ate a bag of Cheetos
And afterward I find
My fingers are bright orange,
The yummy, cheesy kind.

Still Life

Flowers are lovely,
I think you'll agree,
It's part of their self-definition.

Sunshine is comely,
Unanimously,
Earning much loud approbation.

Put them together,
With window and vase,
Soak up the magic
And give some applause.
Blessings are given
In so many ways.
Keep your eyes open;
Be ready to praise.

Chair

Just who is it that designs chairs?  Judas?  Mephistopholes?
Some cranky old guy who wants to undermine civilization
Because his dog has gout?

I struggle to understand
Why sitting should be so hard.
Mind you I'm not complaining
About hard chairs.
No.
It's these infernal cushions,
Killing me with "kindness,"
Great slobbering marshmallows
Of gooey, upholstered fluff.
Dagnabbit!
I want a chair that promotes righteousness,
A chair that declares itself for posture,
A chair that knows the law and does it
For the sheer pleasure of moral rectitude,
Not one that tempts my back to iniquity,
And whispers soft secrets of comfort.
Lies!  Damnable lies!

Give me a chair that would curl the lips
Of the slovenly.
Give me a chair that would repel
The "workers" of sloth.
Give me a chair to make angels sing
And saints sit straight.
Give me Plato's chair,
The ideal,
The very thing,
Just so.
Ahh.

Don't Overdo It

Coffee for breakfast is all fine and dandy
When it's not swallowed with sugar and candy,
But when they're consumed as a stimulant bomb?
You'd better be going to detox dot com.

Tomorrow

Today I planted a garden.
I have confidence in tomorrow,
Trust that rain will fall,
That the sun won't hide
That the blight won't drift
From upstate New York.

Today I lovingly placed
Tomatoes and peppers,
Basil and friends,
Stepping stones, into soft,
Combed-over dirt,
Because I trust.

Nature is wild and unruly,
Not to be trusted unduly,
But the God whose word upholds
It all? Him I trust.

Now That's Not Convenient

Where did the toilet go?
I really need to know!
Rather poorly timed I'd say
To up itself and walk away.
Right when I've got an urge to pee
The toilet bowl decides to flee!
Something's wrong, I do declare
Wish I had the time to stare,
But off I must to seek a place
Where I might find some bladder grace.

Hippoku

Lithe and lean hippos
Easing through the clear water
Majestic and bold.

The Power of Lime

I love to peel limes in the morning,
And set their scents free in the air.
For limes are much nicer than onions,
More bracing and "wowzuh" than pear.
A lime is a gift from the heavens
Which freshens the garbage as well;
It vanquishes day old banana
And makes rotting veggies smell swell.
I love to peel limes in the morning
And do my good deed for the day;
It makes for a good, strong beginning,
And keeps the foul odors at bay.

Not the 'Twain! Not the 'Twain!

There are days when I go to the office.
There are days when I stay at my home.
But rare is the day, in the dear month of May,
When hither and thither I roam.
Declining to make a decision
And wandering aimlessly 'twain
Is libel to make a guy dizzy and lost
And maybe caught out in the rain.
One or the other is better
This is most certainly true.
So see you tomorrow at home or at office
That is my promise to you.

Read it How You Will

Normal
Is not brutality
Is not one human using another
Is not defending the wrong for convenience
Is not savage ideology
Is not inhumanity
Normal?
 

The Bear

Here, my dear friends, is a bear,
A bear who stands sentinel there.
There by the place
Where the walker goes by
Stands a bear with a face
To make bear mothers cry.
"Needless insulting!"
Perhaps you will say?
But that is the story
He told me today.
"Momma once told me
That I was a brute,
An ill-tempered, google-eyed
Ursine galout!"
"Poor little bear," I near almost said.
But then the bear hit me!  And then I saw red.
"Doggone you bear!" I spluttered and raged.
"Ugly-faced bears, why they outta be caged!"
And that, don't you know, is not all.
The bear is there still standing tall!
Outrageous I know, but that's life.
And ugly-faced bears cause much strife.

Epistemological Sky

Brooding purple sky.
Rain is coming nigh.
People hurry by.
Rhymes are made, but why?

An Ode to a Turkey

There are few creatures
More noble in their carriage
And confident in deportment
Than a wild turkey.
O turkey!  Majestic animal!
You stride across the landscape
With aristocratic strut
And noblesse oblige.
The asphalt shines
In moist ebony paens
To your glory.
O noblest fowl!
O cause for thanksgiving!
O poultresque specimen!
You glory of my sight!
You turkey in the mist!

The Sunset After Winter

There's a sunset on the water
That once was solid ice.
Ripples softly cast the glow,
The circuit walkers to entice.
The single sun is doubling down
Now that Spring has come,
"Summer's coming in my stead,
With life replacing all that's dead."
The sunset on the water
Bears promise for tomorrow.
Icy cold has passed away
And one day, too, will sorrow.

Ode-ing Books

A book on a bookshelf
Is beauty to me.
Lined up together
For my eyes to see.

Hardcover volumes
Are better I'd say,
And age before beauty
I'd take any day.

Books stacked together,
A gorgeous bouquet
Of sweet smelling stories
To brighten my day.

The Beginning is Nigh!

My wife is very pregnant.
Her belly's getting round.
The baby's kickin' round in there
All movement, but no sound.
We're waiting for the day to come
When baby says, "How do?"
Then cries a bit  and belches up
And leaves a bit of poo.
My wife is very pregnant
The time is drawing near
When life will change and rearrange
And prob'ly get a little strange,
But we've nothing to fear
For happiness is near.

Anonymity Seeking Glory Seeking Anonymity...

To be known is at the heart of a man.
With all his unconscious vigor, he longs
For others to count him worthy. The songs
They might sing of him, flames he'll surely fan.
Set in those very same coals, concurrently,
Is a pleading desire, a firm resolve
To hide his myriad sins, unabsolved,
Beneath the smoke of anonymity.

Grump

I have a cudgel.
Be ye warned!
With whoop and grump
It is adorned.
When comes the moment
That I'm scorned.
I'll swing said cudgel
Be ye warned.
Curmudgeon I
Am wont to be
And find my best
Felicity
When left to ponder
Quietly.
So leave me please
I beg of thee.

--------------------------------------------------------------
I'm not really this misanthropic, but I do like to cultivate a bit of curmudgeonliness.  I want to be that old guy on the porch who shakes his cane at the kids and then laughs when they're not looking because I'm glad they're there.

Church

Out in the country
The church sat there, tired.
It was really only a shell,
Used as a barn
And a place to dump things.
(No, these aren't
Terrible things.
Jesus was born in a barn;
We're supposed to dump
Our baggage at church.)
Nevertheless it's sad
Because there were no people.
Church is people.

The Beast of the Books

When I was a lad
I always read books.
I read on the school bus
And sometimes got looks.
"Gosh that kid's nerdy"
Sometimes I heard,
Not knowing twas me
To whom they referred.
Didn't much matter
The stories were great
Though not long my hunger
Did manage to sate.
I gobbled them up
A ravenous beast,
Went searching for more
On which I could feast.

Winter Apples

Fruit rots, freezes, hangs
Given time, given Spring
Fruit thaws, stinks, falls

Promise unrealized
No, betrayed  Abandoned.
A kind of mockery

Virtue is picking fruit
Noticing provision
Being thankful

Beautiful Constancy

The golden orb is settling down
  for the night.
The tree stands sentinel
  over the valley.
The river down below
  doesn't mind.
It's the way things are.
Praise God for these motions
  that make sense.

Waiting

Oh where, oh were could my pizza pie be?
Oh where, oh were could it be?
I ordered it half of an hour ago,
But it's yet to come to me.

I'm sad because I am wasting away.
I'm sad because I've no pie.
The waitress is nice, but she has empty hands
And I am starting to cry.

Oh Lord, please give me some patience today
To wait for just awhile yet.
I thank you for sausage 'n mushrooms 'n sauce,
The pizza that I will soon get.

Guest

When a rat comes to your house
And makes herself at home
Is it best to shoo her out
Or just leave her alone?
And if the ladies like her,
Your wife and mum and sis,
Wouldn't it be better
To give that rat some bliss?

      {later}    

So have yourself ice cream!
And try a tater chip.
Wait a sec, there's one more thing,
The French onion dip!

Ice Cream Ramble

I like me some ice cream

When weather is sunny,

A cone by myself

Or a dish with my honey.

I like me some chocolate

Though sherbet is splendid,

But give me some Moose tracks,

I won't be offended.

Ice cream is nice 'cause it's

Creamy and cold,

Full of nice flavors

That never get old.

Except maybe mocha,

Though don't get me wrong,

I love me some coffee

Especially strong.

Crazy!!?

Is he falling
From the sky?
Or merely floating
By and by?
Is he crazy
As a hatter?
Soon to be
A human splatter?
Is he brave
And valiant too?
Mocking death,
Cold water too?
I don't know
I couldn't say.
But I won't try it.
Not today!

The Tower and the Moon in the Sky

If ever the moon, while in Paris,
Stopped for a time in the sky,
That space right above the grand Tower
Would certainly draw the eye.
They'd surely look like companions,
The moon and the Tower below,
And working their magic together
They'd cast forth a romantic glow.
Starry-eyed lovers at sidewalk cafes
Would look up and smile and sigh,
And count themselves lucky to bask in it all,
The Tower and the moon in the sky.

Easter Morning 4:30am

In the darkest depths of morning,
In the blackest reaches of mourning,
There, just a glimmer of light,
The most slender hope,
Shining dimly...

"What is this?"
"He is not here; he is risen."
Hope is dawning, light is coming.
Are those lilies in the darkness?
My God, I am overcome.

Good Friday

Why Do We Call it Good?
Of all days it’s the darkest by far.
Judas and Pharisees, soldiers and priests,
All of them coming with lanterns and spears,
Peter cutting off Malchus’s ear.
Why do we call it good?
In the night came a mob with vile intent.
In the night came a mob with vile intent.

Why do we call it good?
When a friend is possessed and betrays?
Judas, companion, disciple for years,
Overcome by the devil, betraying his Lord,
Leading this mob full of soldiers and swords.
Why do we call it good
When a friend is possessed and betrays?
When a friend is possessed and betrays.

Goodness?  What goodness?  I see only blood.
Injustice and hatred roll down like a flood.
Goodness?  What goodness?  I see only pain,
Wickedness pouring like rain.

Why do we call it good?
When they hustle him off for a trial?
In the depths of the night was no justice nor right.
Annas the priest was the first judge he saw
Soldiers were striking him hard on the jaw
Why do we call it good
When justice is lost in the darkness of night?
When justice is hidden for lack of the light.

Why do we call it good?
When a friend who is frightened denies?
Peter, impetuous, quick to make promises,
But when he’s confronted is quick to say “No,
I don’t even know him.  This man I don’t know!”
Why do we call it good
When a friend who is frightened denies?
Sits down in the corner and cries?

Goodness?  What goodness?  I see only lies.
While courage and justice are dropping like flies.
Goodness?  What goodness?  I see only hate,
The inexorable marching of fate.

Why do we call it good?
When soldiers were mocking our Lord?
They gave him a robe with derisive intent.
They fashioned a crown made of thorns
And made him the object of scorn.
Why do we call it good
That soldiers were mocking our Lord?
That soldiers were mocking our Lord.

Why do we call it good?
When the word, “Crucify!!” fills the air?
Clamoring priests all determined to kill.
“We have no king but Caesar,” they said.
“This man is a blasphemer and ought to be dead.”
Why do we call it good
When the word “Crucify!!” fills the air?
When the word “Crucify!!” fills the air.

Goodness?  What goodness?  I see only blood.
Injustice and hatred roll down like a flood.
Goodness?  What goodness?  I see only pain,
Wickedness pouring like rain.

Why do we call it good?
When they stretch him out on the cross?
They nail his hands and his feet to the wood.
Toss dice for his tunic un-torn,
While his mother stands there and mourns.
Why do we call it good
That our Lord is stretched out on the cross?
And his mother, dear Mary, watches.

Why do we call it good?
When he stopped breathing?
Nicodemus and Joseph took him down,
Dressed him with myrrh and a funeral gown,
Placed him in a tomb at the edge of town.
And walked away.

Goodness?  What goodness?  Our Savior is dead.
His body is broken and hangs there like lead.
Goodness is murdered and justice a joke
The world is in shambles, irreparably broken
And hope?  How can there be any hope?
Why do we call it good?

The Perils of Arriving Late for a Concert at the Green Mill Cocktail Lounge

Out on the rain-drenched sidewalk,
Caught in the jaws of wind,
We waited for an hour and more
Their ban on us to bend.
"Full to the gills" the man had said,
"The Green Mill's chock-a-block."
"We'll just wait then here in the cold."
And wait we did till the clock
Struck a slightly later hour
And several took their leave.
We walked in and the jazz did swing
While the folks inside, sleeve to sleeve,
Struggled for a breath of air
While tapping all their toes.
We're happy for the time we spent
Though we darn near almost froze.

Fire Escape

When fire comes
I'm sure to be ready
I'll leap out my window
And scramble right down.
The fire escape
Is wrought iron steady,
A marvel of science,
The jewel in the crown
Of any good building.
I'm sure you'll agree,
A beautiful thing
When you're trying to flee.

Ride On, Elmo!

Ride on, Elmo!
You're the man.
Member of
The Muppet clan.
Riding high
On dinosaurs.
Heading off
For distant shores.
Ride on, Elmo!
On your steed.
Wrecking havoc
Is your creed.

Libertarian Poem About Toys (or) Jumping the Shark With This One

In the city you see things you'd never expect
Like authorized dealers of Legos.
What does that mean? Does the city inspect
The toy stores and suspicious preggos?
"Ma'am, were you trying to buy half a bag?
I'm sorry, but that's 'gainst the law."
"No sir, well, maybe, but just for my son."
Good heavens, but isn't that flawed!?
Free up the market and let Legos loose!
Vive Laissez-Faire and all that.
Seize regulation and give it the noose,
Why live as a slave to a prat?

Wicked Dusk

The clock in the tower is ticking.
The hands on its face turn the screw.
Inexorable time's on the prowl again
And it's coming to feast upon you.
The last of the sunlight is fleeing
And darkness is brooding nearby.
You're doomed without doubt
So don't bother to shout,
No, don't bother to whimper nor cry.
The gloaming's run short of all patience
And pleads with its master to reap
"Hand over their souls
For to make them all ghouls,
For to drag them all down to the deep."
The dusk is a destitute maiden
Shriveled from hatred of light.
Hold on to the flame if you care to live on
If you dare 'gainst the darkness give fight.

Hard America

Down on the tracks I remember,
If only in my mind's eye,
A time when there was a future,
Chances for men to fly.
Grittier days, no denying,
And some got caught in the gears,
While others toiled and sweated
Losing the last of their years.
But they had the chance to endeavor
And many of them did succeed
To build up a country worth having;
They weren't fickle folks always in need.
Down on the tracks I remember
And mourn the loss of that day
While digging in heels to seek greatness again
And keep the soft sirens at bay.

Pool Playing Ladies

There are ladies who play poker
And ladies who play pool
And ladies down in Iowa
Who sometimes spit and drool.
But few and far between, I bet,
Are ladies in nice dress
Who shoot a shot behind their backs;
At least that's what I'd guess.
So count me happy to have seen
These fine ladies shooting.
I wonder if the ball went in?
For that I'm surely rooting!

Phooey

 The Congress gives us crap to eat
Or is it just pate?
Either way, it's rather rude
And makes me want to say,
"Fiddle 'round with your own lives
And leave us folks in peace.
You're just corrupt old hypocrites.
So stop it.  End it.  Cease!"

Best in Show

Wildflower
You are lovely
Growing on a
Hillside meadow

Blue and purple
Leaflets shining
Soft and gorgeous
Best in show

The Seaside

I want to go to the seaside
To feel the sand 'tween my toes.
I want to lay in the sunshine
And gather some hours of repose.
I want a chance to be lazy
And let my cares drift away.
I want to go to the seaside
Not next month, nor next week,
But today!

Rock Breaker (a truly awful poem!)

Rock is hard.
Rock is tough.
Trees are made
From softer stuff.
Roots from trees
Will find gap,
Grow therein,
Then thunderclap!
Trees bust rock
When given time,
Even rocks
In their prime.
Mess with tree?
You'll be sad,
Sadder than
A hangin tchad.

Crossed Eyes

1.When faced with almost pure white

2.Eyes will play curious tricks.

3.Crystals will come out pixels.

4.Depth becomes abstract only.

5.Closely watched, snow blinds a guy

6.A mere photograph of it

7.Sows confusion, crosses eyes.

Conversation with a Statue

Lo,

Last May,
In   twilight,
Walking along
On the boulevard,
Stood a spooky statue.
He
Brooded.
And he stared
Piercing and cold
Hatred of mankind.
"Wrong side of the bed, eh?"
"No,"
He said.
"I'm plain bored.
You would be too,
Bored to tears that is,
If  you  were  a  statue."

Gomez

I went to a concert on Saturday night.

The music was loud and the lights they were bright.

The drums were a-thumping and so was the bass

And three guitars screaming and filling the place.

I took out my camera to capture the vibe

Rollicking! Festive! A clamoring tribe.

Three cheers for Gomez, the band members all,

Ben and Tom, Ollie and Ian and Paul.

St. Martin Would Be Proud of this Limerick

There once was a church named St. Martin.

Its congregants always were fartin'.

The rector said "Lord,

This smell has me floored.

Send me away to Kiltartan!"

My Baby of the Citroen

 

My baby owns a Citroen;

She drives it 'round Pa-ree.

She honks her horn at cute old men

Not least the likes of me.

That car and she are cute as "Oui!"

Yes!  Easy on the eyes.

Push off my brothers, she's with me

My lifelong, dearest prize.

Bird in the Harbor

Some days it's enough
To just stand and gaze
As mist envelops
The known world.

Some days it's enough
To breath and wonder,
To wait and ponder
What's beyond.

Bird in the harbor
Just what do you know?
Or do you sit there
Blank?

Forgotten

In St. John's Wood the bodies hide,
Not far from where the people play,
'Neath leafy green and mottled sun
A world so close, yet far away.
They lay forgotten off the path
And one is pressed to wonder why
The memories of human kin
Are left in shadow, there to die.

Marshmallow Moon

Slender tendrils

Reach to the sky

To pierce the moon.

Or is it just

A marshmallow?

Reflection on a Reflection

I was lookin' at myself in an SUV,
And I noticed how the thing was kinda shiny.
So I whipped out my camera with alacrity,
Took a picture and I found my head was tiny!

My brother and sister, well you gotta beware!
Distortion's never farther than a whiff of air.
Maybe I'm just jonesin' and I shouldn't care?
But it look so dern crazy and to that I'll swear.

My Baby between the Glasses

My
Baby
Stands
Between
Four glasses.
Beautiful, yes!
Four glasses
All shiny,
Failing,
Falling
Short.

Sidewalk Sunset

A sidewalk sunset is a wondrous thing;
It shows up all the cracks, you see, and dirt.
The lawn clippings lay framed in western sun
While the stones look to the camera and flirt.
All kinds of imperfections that get walked
On during the day become, voila! ART!!!

Jesus: King of the Road

Salvation offered free
For sinners just like me.
No dietary laws,
Not living for applause.
Ah, but.. he paid a price so dear
That's, I think, pretty clear.
He's a man of God, he is God.
King of the Road.

(music here)

A Song for Mid-Afternoon

When you're feeling weary
And bags hang from your eyes,
Sing this little song so sweet
And I will harmonize....

Rock-a-bye intern
Trying his best.
Some days get longer
Than he would have guessed.
Not that they're bad,
Because that's not true.
It's just that young interns
Get sleepy too.

Recovering from Solstice

In winter there's less light;
People complain of it.
Tepid sunshine
Is on offer.
Weak.

But,
As winter
Lingeringly drags,
Rays gird themselves
And take to the field again.

Administrative Banality

The Technorati gave me a code;
They said "You must use it or die!"
I avoid death like the bubonic plague.
So here it is guys. Want some pie?
KXYUT9K542FN

Banality with a Twist (a limerick)

There once was a man from Judea.
He was Jewish, not Sunni or Shia.
On vacation one day,
While he was away,
He drank a small glass of sangria.

Nuts!

I eat my peanuts split in two,
And never undivided.
Bifurcated nuts are great!
(Though sometimes they're derided.)

A Propos of Sainthood

Curious
That the team
Called by the name
Of Saints with a capital S
Hails form a city
Know for sin
Nawlins

It's like
Rome fielding
A team with a name
Like "Mighty Lutherans"
Slight disconnect
Theological?
Nope

Death Is Mistaken

I'll sometimes write poems for the church newsletter. This one was for the New Year.

Death is an ogre with vile intent.
Death is a feeling of malcontent.
Death is a hope that’s been killed in the womb.
Death is a life that lies down in a tomb.
Death loves to borrow, but never to lend.
Death likes to say that it is the end.
Death feels a warmth from a funeral pall.
Death thinks it’s lord and the master of all.

Death has been conquered and turned on its head.
Jesus took death and he killed it ‘til dead.

In the Dungeon (an ode to the juicer)

I'm goin' medieval on veggies.
I'm putting the fruit on the rack.
I'm using a high-powered juicer
And going out on the attack.
I no longer have any mercy.
I'll slay 'em and drink it all down.
Watch out, you vegetable matter!
There's a new boss in this here town.

'Christianity Lite' - Kathryn Jean Lopez - The Corner on National Review Online

'Christianity Lite' - Kathryn Jean Lopez - The Corner on National Review Online

Mischievous Frost

I park my car outside.
Where frost is always lurking.
I come back the next day
And find the frost there smirking,
Clouding up my windows
And slowing down my day,
Until I take the scraper out
And make it go away.
I wonder why it does that,
Does frost think it's funny?
"Just you wait, you lurking plague
Until it's warm and sunny!"

Winter's Gone

It's not really winter anymore.
Trucks bring oranges at my whim.
Airplanes take me south, then north again.

It's not really winter anymore.
I've never even owned a horse,
But have a decorative fireplace, of course.

It's more gentle and through a lens,
Allusions to other times, same land,
When cold and death walked hand in hand.

No, it's not winter anymore.
But there's a picture on the wall
With Grandma's home-knit winter shawl.

Snosh

This refers to the Christmas storm of '09.

When snow and slush are mushed
Together, gooiness ensues.
For a time.
Then falling mercury hardens
The soft into cruelty.
Pastries become anvils.
Shovels become broken.

The Inevitable Destruction of Stuff

The water heater's leaking
The oven door is broke.
The handle on the microwave
Sure ain't okey-doke.
Entropy is surging,
And smashing left and right.
That's why I put a seat-belt
On my bedroom light.

NPR Romps in the Sewer

National Public Radio has no self-respect left. Using a sexual slur to defame a large group of concerned American citizens is just vile. They pretend to be cultured, but they have sunk very low. Their taxpayer funding should be withdrawn.

Acute Observation

On the awning, in the dark
A dozen wee icicles
Hang there like bumps on a log,
Except they're upside down...
And a good deal colder.

Don't Eat the Yellow Slush

I looked outside the house on Christmas morning
And lo, what was it that I soon did see?
A pile of slush that reached up to the awnings
White as white and wetter than the sea.
The weathermen were all sorely mistaken
For lovely, fluffy snow never did come.
I think I'll go outside and make a slushman
And add some lemon syrup and eat some.

White Elephant Wish

White elephant gifts are so groovy;
They're better than butter on toast.
I hope that I don't get a movie,
But I'd sure love a seven pound roast!

Simple

I went to the gym
And now I feel sore.
Seven plus one equals eight.

We borrowed some cash
And now we are poor.
Finances just aren't that great.

So let's not be dumb,
Pretend it's not clear,
When really it's clear as a bell.

We made decisions
And they weren't so wise
Now the country is going to (need some changes).

Pieku

Latticed covering
Layed over fruit filled
Center. Glorious.

A Pie Haiku

Give me some pie please.
Cherry or apple or peach,
Mincemeat or pumpkin.

The Form of Thanksgiving

This Thanksgiving poem might seem a bit on the cynical side, but it isn't meant to be. Really, I was looking at myself and thinking about how I have sometimes looked at Thanksgiving, especially the idea of gratitude on a certain day of the year. In the end, thanksgiving is a year 'round kind of thing and it's pretty imperfect, like the cranberry stain on the linen. Imperfect, yet an "ingredient" that transforms all of life. And that's something that's worth standing for.

Thanksgiving takes the form of a list,
Often if not always. "I am thankful
For A,B,C and a portion of grist!"
"Tick", "check", "yup" and "Oh, me too!" we answer.
List completed, we toss and move on.

Thanksgiving takes the form of reproach
For the pure who want you to know it,
Using words like, "really" and "truly" and
"You aren't thankful enough (you little git)."
Pat, pat, pat on my back and move on.

Thanksgiving takes the form of a rite,
Genuflections before old recipes;
Some families make room for a fight,
Football and mass sofa napping.
Carve up the leftovers and move on.

Thanksgiving takes the form of a life,
Imperfect and American round here.
It shows like cranberry on white linen.
Or like the secret ingredient? "Dear
God, I hope so. Every day. Stand there.

Reading Between the Lines

I'd like a little health care
For free if you don't mind.
It's better far for you to pay
And really much more kind.
!

Syringomyelia

Back when my grandfather was young,
The father of two girls, four boys,
He got a pain in his back.
No big deal in the hubbub and noise
Of his Lutheran parish.
Weren’t there many suffering worse?
Didn’t he preside at funerals
And send folks away in a hearse?
He didn’t have time to even know
What the pain was, or even what
It would become, that it would grow.

But with years, the pain started to cut
And scrape his very nerves, it seemed.
So he paid a visit to his doc.
“Syringomyelia” he said,
After much looking through rare books.
“You will experience increasing
Pain for the rest of your life.
And I have a question, does your wife
Work? She’ll need to soon, to support
Your family. You’ll have to retire.”

“What?!” grandfather said, “I can’t do that.”

“This rare disease will conspire
Against every remaining day
And sooner than not, steal you away.”
“I’m so sorry” the doctor said.
“But in a few years you’ll be dead.”

Thirty years my grandfather said “NO!”
And my grandmother with him,
Til mercifully the lights dimmed
And Syringomyelia let go.

The Tale of Horace 3

"I require your presence at lunch."

Beltran turned around, expecting to see his friend Horace. No one else would talk like that, after all. But all he saw was Horace's backside as it loped around the corner. Not being a man of much vim, nor vigor, Beltran contented himself to let his furtive friend escape without questioning. "Why must he always be so melodramatic?" was on his short list, however. Beltran offered a tepid "Whatever" just to finish the aborted conversation. He finished changing out his books and headed to class.

"Beltran!"

Wishing not to be pestered, but unable to ignore the commanding tone, Beltran turned.

"Beltran, what in the world is up with your friend? Horace stood up on his desk first period and started ranting and raving. Something about Gandhi and Chay somebody or other. I have no idea. Anyways, then he sat down and refused to talk to anybody. Mr. Penwhistle-Frist didn't know what to do. He started huffing about making Horace taking a time-out. Then he realized that Horace was already taking one. Weird."

"I don't know what to tell you Ricardo. Horace is just weird I guess."

"Well duh. I was just wondering why. Did he get dropped or something? Did his mom make him sniff glue? No, wait a second. Horace never does anything; he just talks all the time. Something is definitely up."

"Nah. I mean, he reads books and stuff. He was probably just acting out Shakespeare or something."

"Yeah, weird. Well I gotta get to geometry."

Ricardo turned on his heel and walked off, leaving a suddenly pensive Beltran in the hallway. Just what was Horace's deal anyway? Acting different was normal, but standing up on desks? He'd known Horace for a long time, but he'd never troubled himself to act; he just talked incessantly. It was all vaguely disquieting and Beltran really didn't want to think too hard about it. He reassured himself with a "Whatever." Leastwise, he tried.

Drrrrriiiiiiiinnnnnnggggg

"Dang, I'm gonna get a tardy slip" Beltran whined to himself. "Oh, whatever."

The Tale of Horace 2

(part one can be read here)

Beep, beep, beep...
Whack
...
Beep, beep, beep...
Whack
...
Beep, beep, beep...
Whack

"Oh for the love of all that is good and true, why must I be beset by this infernal cricket in my ear? This electronic nag, this insistent ear-grater? God help me, I've got no cows to milk! Do you hear me? NO COWS!"

Horace was not accustomed to rising before being driven from his bed by pangs of hunger and the lure of cold pizza. At this hour, 6:18AM, the sun had not yet penetrated the heavy black curtains of Horace's window, nor even lightened the periphery. All was dark save the glowing numbers. He was too tired to even be hungry yet. And he was befuddled. Somewhere in the back of his mind, hidden under blankets, was a reason for this invasion of unwelcome sound. Muffled memory told him there was something, but he didn't care to know.

"Drat and foolishness!" A recollection dawned in him. "I'm to be made a slave of the state today, a slack-jawed, drooling yes man for various adult mediocrities. These ludicrous excuses for maturity, these knuckle-dragging toadies, these chalk-choked unionistas and soft-hearted fascists are going to hold me in their perverse hands, trying to mold me and shape me. Their pudgy fingers will grope about and try to make me one of them. My God, they are going to eat my brains! No, I'll have none of it! They may drag me to school by force, but I refuse to let them lay a hand on my mind!"

However high-minded Horace may have sounded in his opposition to public education, the reality was that his desire for personal liberty was rooted in sloth. Teachers were always after him to DO things. And the things in question were never worth the bother, he was certain of that. They were like happy little gnomes serving as functionaries in a Kafka novel. He didn't understand it. Why were they so enamored with his potential, having been so little interested in their own?

"Humbug" he fumed, dressing himself in the darkness. "I declare this day that these self-appointed do-gooders shall be made to pay for their impudence. I, Horace, will be decidedly and persistently unhelpful. Sullenness will mark my demeanor like leprosy. I will be a stinking corpse, a baneful scarecrow, a malevolent toad in their classrooms!"

This path of non-violent resistance decided upon, Horace actually started to feel excited about the first day of school. He imagined himself to be a kind of Neo-Ghandian with meat on his bones. He would thrust himself forward as a leader of men, a valiant fighter for freedom. Horace Pickwick would give them what for.

Thirty minutes later, Horace trudged to school with something approximating joy in his heart.

Education

Tax levies for education,
Conveniently scheduled for off-years,
Are a smelly abomination.
They deserve only "NO" votes and jeers.
Throwing around cratefuls of cash
Is a foolish and wishful waste.
Kids don't need money that is rash,
But parents, and time face to face.

I get so sick of public schools coming to beg for more funds year after year. "If only you give us more money we will do a better job" they say. Not true. Spending more money does not improve education. There's empirical evidence to the contrary. But everybody wants to be on the side of kids and their well-being. Here's my thought: education will improve when adults realize that they can't improve it by throwing money around. You improve education when parents have the time and inclination to be involved, the more the better. Spending money is just an opiate.

A Red Door Is....

A red door is... striking.
A red door is bold.

A red door will beckon you

In from the cold.

A red door gets opened

When you've got the key.

But it isn't much help

When the key is with me.

A red door takes mail

On the days that it comes,

And sometimes graffiti

When found in the slums.

But this door is special,

Whate'er it appears,

Because it's my Granny's

And has been for years.

Eating a l'anglaise

Bangers and mash in the morning.
Ploughman with pickle at night.
Follow 'em both up with custard
And life will be goin' alright.

London Graffiti

I said to my soul, "Be still."

For the rattle of the train

Carved a headache on my skull,

Stirred my stomach, made me ill,

And throbbed my hurting brain.

I said to my soul, "Be still."

Since incessant pigeons flocked,

Strutting 'bout the feet of men

Bobbing heads and pecking bills

Taunting our footfalls and socks.

I said to my soul, "Be still."

For crowds of business suits

Surged past my shoulders, faces

Blank. Empty window sills.

A deafening chorus of mute.

I said to my soul, "Be still."

My God I need your peace.

The world is whirling all askew

My own falls flat, give me your will.

Lead unto your quiet place.

"Back Pain" or "Poetic Quality is not Inherent in this System!"

I have a throbbing back ache.
I think it's pretty clear.
I wish that a pro bono
Masseuse would now appear!
But those folks all charge money
And wallet's looking lean.
I think I'll just take Advil
And vent a little spleen.

Pop and Fizzle

I have a can of soda pop;
It's full of Cee Oh Two
It's prob'ly gonna warm the world.
Just kidding! That's not true.

A Rube Ode

The Yankees are so scuzzy.
The Yankees are so yuck.
I'd like to think my Twinkies
Will run over them like a truck.
The odds are long, I know this.
The chances might seem thin,
But all the Twinkies have to do
Is WIN, WIN, WIN!!!!