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.

---------------------------------------
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!

---------------------------------------------------------

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."

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.

Snoop Dogg the Weatherman (in private)

For sure, my dear.
The weather is drear.

Snoop Dogg the Weatherman

Fo' shizzle my nizzle
The weather be drizzle.

Drab

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.

Dust

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?

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.

Bifurcation

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

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

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.

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.

On Escaping Death According to the Law (2 Limericks)

Proposition
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.

Response
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.

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!"

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.  

'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.

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.

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.

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.

Contemplation on a Windless Night

The flagpole is a beam of light
Proudly straight and standing strong.
It breaks the dark of autumn night
Immobile for however long.
It seems to watch the graves below
And without comment stands its guard
A pious sentry of the dead,
A light, a beam, a holy rod.

Dancing With Daddy (and Peer Gynt)

The little guy, while hearing Grieg,
Did ably dance and happ'ly swing
While fleeing tickling daddy trolls
In Halls of dreadful Mountain King.
The trolls they shouted for his blood
But up I scooped him and away
We ran both laughing 'round the room
And held the murd'rous trolls at bay.

Apologies to Billy Joel

In the middle of the night
I go scrounging in the fridge
Through containers of food
For a tasty little smidge
I must be lookin' for something
Something tasty I lost
But the fridge is bare
And I've already flossed
In the middle of the night.

Home Life and Chips

I am the one,
The committer of crimes
And the writer of rhymes.
I have the fun.

I ate the chips.
In vinegar and salt
And crunch I exult.
Spare me the dips.

My dear wife was peeved.
She'd hoped for a bite,
But the previous night
My magic I weaved.  [That's a euphemism for gittin' all piggy with the chips.]

Ads

There's something just a bit off about everything.
Can a man take seriously the products of today?
Googling can't possibly be an adult occupation
But apparently it is, and holds deep fascination.
Apples all start with eyes! aies! ayes!  lower case all
Even if they are at the beginning of sentences.
Apparently Miller Lite is manly - and has flavor.
But one can be forgiven when trust begins to waver
In the face of just brute crass dumbness, no, stupidity.
Something dumb would at least be silent, not woodpeckerish.
I don't want any of it.  I don't want to be a slave.
Throw it all in the firepit and burn it right quick to save
A great many wasted hours and dollars and your soul.
It's all made to draw you in, suck you dry, exact its toll.
Good grief and by golly, though, I'm as enticed as anyone
Seeing too much of the world through the prism of fun.

Not Random

Candle offspring:
Drippings &
Smoke &
Light.

Coffee offspring:
Grounds &
Stain &
Buzz.

From everything comes something more
Which makes you rich or makes you poor.
It's best to choose those things so true
That you'll be constantly renewed.

Don't Touch!!

The boy in the jammers was walking one morning
And looking for trouble.  So he got a warning.
"My baby, don't touch that; Hey sonny, watch out!
Touching that warthog will cause him to shout.
And touching rhinocerii leads to some hurt;
They may be thick-skinned, but also quite curt.
And touching a lion?  Dear boy, that just foolish.
(Though thinking of outcomes might get a bit ghoulish.)
Suffice it to say, oh dear firstborn of mine,
That touching the things?  No, that isn't just fine!

Minnesota Gophers Football Limerick

When Huskers from Lincoln go forth
And meet the poor Gophs from the North
The latter will lose
And destruction ensues.
For Gophs, very little are worth.

Verbosity That Hasn't Run Amok

The End.





----------------------

I think it's funny how artists say "profound" things with art.  Like I could say that this poem means that the end is really a beginning or some such nonsense.  But that would be a big, fat lie.  I just got nuthin'.  My wife and baby are home and poems are somewhere else.

That Darn Cat

Once upon a time, there was a cat.
This cat was scoping out a deck
In some other cat's yard.
No worries.
For the other cat was small.
Oh yeah, a dish full of kibble.
Yum.....

[didn't eecummings say something about fog
and little cat feet
and creeping owner's of small kittens
and...]

HOLY TABBY!!!!
Run!! oh my,
Head for the cornfield!! oh my,
Please no shotguns!!! oh my,

[for out of the door, screaming and bellowing,
came not a fog, nor e.e. cummings,
But W.B. Picklesworth.]

Take that you thieving cat.

Almost There

Her absence is soon to be done

And with her I'll then see my son

     Our young family

     In felicity

Will hug and will kiss just a ton.

--------------------------------

And the boy will say, "Hey there, enough with the kissy stuff.  Chase me around or throw me up in the air."

Alas!

Dearest wife,
When you're away
I feel the sky
Has turned to gray
The grassy lawn
Has gotten brown
And all the birdies
Seem to frown.
The gophers cry
And raise lament;
My heart is heavy
Like cement.

--------------------

I hope my wife won't mind me posting this here.  On a side note, it bugs me when people bad mouth marriage or, more specifically, their spouse.  I hear that kind of thing at wedding receptions when people are trying to be funny.  Words matter.  Talk about your spouse with love and respect, no matter what.  Could someone give me a hand off of this soapbox?

Where's That Darn Wife? (For She Must Save Me From Myself!)

My wife is pregnant, that is sure,
But still has the look of a pixie.
And bless her heart, she's gone away,
To go to the land of Dixie.

It seems there was a wedding there
For this m'dear was required.

And so I sit in Ioway,
Ensconced (and maybe mired)
In Oreos and tater chips.
Good golly, I'm inspired.

The Law

The thin and bony fingers
Of trees outside my window
Naked now for autumn
Naked 'gainst the wind
Will tremble for what's coming
Shiver in the breezes
Take the frigid punishment
As if the tree had sinned.

Alarm Clocks

There are all kinds of alarm clocks:
Little things that tinkle, great bells,
Cubes that wake you with music
Buzzing contraptions straight from hell.
Personally, I use a baby.
He's pretty regular, so to speak,
But now I'm left in the lurch
Because my boy is gone for the week.
What am I supposed to do
To return from the Land of Nod?
Maybe I'll just sleep in, leaving
Those early morning hours to God.

Gene Kelly, Feel Free to Roll Over In Your Grave

I'm gleaning in the fields

Just gleaning in the fields

What a glorious feeling

With 165 bushels an acre yields....

Ode to Wisconsin?

If I didn't have oatmeal
     My life would be fine.
The lack of the mush
     Would not leave me cryin'.

If I didn't have walnuts
     I'd handle that chore
By eating more almonds;
     That's what they're for.

But life without bratwurst?
     Now there's a bleak thought.
What would I do then?
     What could I plot?
Perhaps I'd be forced
      To sit there and rot?
Oh perish, oh perish
     Oh perish the thought!

Good Grief This Is Bad

What a fearful image there
Atop the water tower.
Seems an artist got a thrill
From painting someone dour.
There he was, in black and white,
Clint Eastwood looking sour.
Least it wasn't Sonny Bono
Decked in flower power.

The Reply

"Jesus was a socialist" I heard a hippie say.
"Yes he was" I quick replied, "And rainbows oft are gray.
Snowy fields are burning hot and horses love to fly
Babies all play basketball and snoops don't love to pry.
Jesus was a socialist if words mean other things.
But Lenin's not an astronaut
And pigs still don't have wings."

Preparing for Baby

Abigail, our little girl,
Who's coming this Noel,
Is having clothes picked by her mom
(They're pink, oh can't you tell?)
And then there's bibs, and books, and hats
So much to give our dear.
But love's the thing and kisses too
(But very little beer.)

Death

This harvest time
The wind blows strong,
And earth lies hard
And sun shines cold.

A man is dead
For whom we long,
And though it's true
That he was old,

Yet death is never
Welcome here
With its dread gifts
Of hurt and fear

Death is still
Our enemy,
Fruit of wickedness
You see.

And so we mourn,
And so we cry
That our dear friend
Has had to die.

----------------------------

It seems to me that we rush past death and fling ourselves at comfort.  Or worse, those who mourn have tawdry bits of comfort flung at them.  What is wrong with mourning?  What is wrong with living through a rare moment when everything isn't going to be okay and the world's foundations quiver?  We live life half in a dream, hiding and escaping from so much that is true.  We put lipstick on death and pretty dresses, pretending that we are choosing it because of its salutary qualities.  Steve Jobs said that death was the best invention because it cleared out the old and brought in the new.  Which is all well and good if death is taking anonymous lives to renew abstract life.  But it is not so.  Death tracks down those whom we love, one by one.  The wretched fruit of Eden tracks them down and taunts us, "Put a pretty bow on this if you like.  I am devouring the one you love.  And one day I will come for you too.  Just you wait."

But what about the comfort and hope of the resurrection?  What about death as servant of eternal life?  To this I say that Jesus didn't leap from the grave on Saturday.  The miserable weight of wickedness and judgment hung heavily around their necks for a time.  They felt the reality of what is true: death steals and destroys and punches you in the gut so hard you don't know whether or not you'll be able to breath again.  When Jesus rose, the message was not, "See, death isn't so bad."  He did not tell us to make our peace with the age old enemy.  No, he brought the fight down into the depths of hell and he killed death.  And only then, after death's defeat, was he raised.  Death, therefore, has no power over those who have been joined to Christ's death.

So what do we do on days like this?  What do we do when death has claimed another?  We certainly do not pretend that it is okay, as if death might be endured.  No, we mourn as if death has stolen all that is good and right in this world.  We mourn because our father or mother or sister or brother or husband or wife has been taken from us forever.  And then, we go and we hear the promise.  And then we listen to the promise death has been swallowed up in victory.  This promise makes no sense when we have hidden death in lipstick and dresses; it makes no sense when we have told ourselves that death is a good thing; it makes no sense when we lie to ourselves saying that grandpa is playing cards in heaven and watching us with a smile.  To those who have neutered death to avoid feeling the horrible weight of it, this promise of Jesus Christ makes no sense.

And so this is why we shouldn't leap towards comfort.  No, let dreadful death and its effects have their say.  Let death speak to you about how all life ends in death.  Let this wickedness speak its name.  And in the midst of this awful reality Jesus Christ arrives.  And with him, and in his name, rebuke death itself.  Don't dress it up and make it your friend.  Rebuke it.  "You have no power over Earl.  For he has died with Christ and he will surely be raised with him according to the promise.  You will have no power over him.  Go back to Hell."

"Absolute Gibberish" or "The Darn Room Was Hot and I Like Fun Words"

When one is ensconced in a room with some others,
These others some dozens, all tightly packed in,
One wonders what wont would want heat to continue
Not cool the room down so that comfort might win.
Perversity surely, if not a malfunction
Of freon based systems intended to cool,
Perhaps it is better I speak with compunction
Lest HVAC professionals think me a fool?

Fry-ku

I like mine twisty

With dollops of horseradish.

But golden aren't bad.

What Would a Bogey Be?

When driving along in the car,
With places to go that are far,
     The crux of the matter
     Is Benjamin's chatter.
Enduring is more or less par.

Bear Thoughts

If I were a grizzly bear, nasty and mean,
Growling and snapping and venting my spleen,
Ulcers would probably plague all my days
Making me cranky and even more crazed.
Were this the truth I would hate to be me,
Hate the unhappiness, yearn for some glee.
Thankfully I'm not a bear of that kind!
I'm just a Kodiak; pay me no mind.

One of the Many Advantages of Marriage

She makes tea
For me
For free.

My Favorite Things

Hot cappuncinos and whipped cream on mochas;
Chilled Dr. Pepper and iced Cola Cocas;
Corvette convertibles, red without dings;
These are a few of my favorite things.

Packers from Green Bay and books without pictures;
Lawful inhabitants, days without strictures;
Steak that is rare with a side of some wings;
These are a few of my favorite things.

When the Dow drops,
When the Prez talks,
When I'm feeling sad,
I simply remember my favorite things,
And then I don't feel so bad.

Jimminy Cricket!

When you wish upon a star,
Which is very, very far,
Best to send that wish with speed
Like a rocket-powered steed!
If it fails to reach its goal,
Like a hobbled, gimpy foal,
Don't give up.  Just send one more!
Watch it fall flat on the floor.

--------------------------------------

Astronomical oddities aren't worthy objects of faith.  Not that wishing is faith.

Seasons Crashing In

When broccoli heads abandon their leaves
And let them fall down to the ground
You know Autumn's coming and not long thereafter
That whistling wintery sound.
So gird up your loins and retreat to your couch
Envelop yourself in a quilt.
Winter is coming and with it the cold
Gone is the time for the kilt.

Amos -The First Week

Amos the kitten was yowling one evening
Even before he was named.
W.B. was ignoring the pleading
Wishing the wildun' was tamed.
Next day brought clarity unto his thinking
When thin little kitty he saw.
"My!  He's a cute one and maybe worth feeding.
Look at the stripes on his paw."
Now's been a week and the kitten's been eating
'Nough so his ribs are less clear.
Wouldn't you know it?  The sweet little feline
Has started becoming quite dear.

Flies Beware

Here's the deal:
There's a fly
In my home.

My baby?
He just hates
When flies roam.

Baby swats
And he swings.
He get mad
And he brings
The hurt.

So beware
Little fly.
My baby
Ain't shy.

-------------------------
Seriously.  The baby swats at flies, slamming the table with his hand and yelling.  And he goes around practicing.  It's only a matter of time before he kills a fly.  We just hope he doesn't eat the carcass.

Cookin' from the Garden

With twelve jalapenos
And sugar galore
Some salt and some pectin
Then sugar some more
I made up some jelly
To brighten my bread
A spicy concoction
To get this guy fed.
With great expectation
I swallowed a bite
And found that this jelly
Was full of the fight!
Zippy and skippy
And kickin' some butt
These jars fully of jelly
Will add to my gut.

Classical

Cellos on tiptoes
And flutes on the wing
Trumpets a-tapdancing
Oboes that sting
Put them together
And what do you get?
Glorious earfuls
I'm willing to bet.

Butter

"I like butter"
The man muttered.


Butter on the plate?
Life is great!


Corn on the cob?
Better have butter!


"You ask, what is our policy? I will say: It is to wage war, by sea, land, and air, with all our might and with all the strength that God can give us; to wage war against a monstrous tyranny never surpassed in the dark, lamentable catalogue of human crime. That is our policy. You ask, what is our aim? I can answer in one word: It is butter, butter at all costs, butter in spite of all terror, butter, however long and hard the road may be." 
-Winston Churchill

Communication (prose cleverly masquerading as poetry)

The woman on the phone
     made her point
   abundantly clear
again
     and
       again.
And then
     she reiterated
For the first five iterations
    had, no doubt,
  fallen short
(Failed)
What was the point?
   
I don't know.
I stopped listening
     and started counting.

Stray Cat Aria

There's a feline on my stoop
Who is yowling to beat heck.
If he doesn't stop his singing
In the morning I'll be wrecked.
What he's after I don't know
There's no tuna in this house,
Though perhaps the wretched feline
Thinks he sees a tasty mouse?
That's absurd on every level,
Both the basement and the main,
All my house has got is spiders,
And some beetles when it rains.
So begone you yowling creature
Lest I shake my fist in vain.
That'll show you what I'm made of!
(Mainly tired and addled brain.)

Conspiracy!

Grassy knoll and inside job,
Right wing crazies and the Mob,
Live for free inside his head
His name's "Paranoia Bob."

Elvis isn't really dead;
Literatti at the Fed,
What's an average man to do?
Wear some tinfoil on his head!

Here's the thing (which isn't new)
Sometimes paranoia's true!
But it must not wreck your day
Nor your life, which you would rue.

Old Guy Playing With Teenagers Limerick

Last night I played football with teens.
My skills were worth more than mere beans.
     In spite of my score,
     I'm feeling quite sore
And grass stains the butt of my jeans.

Boy of the Morning Hullabaloo

My boy plays with blocks when the morning is young,
Banging those babies together.
He seems unaware that his mother, unsung,
Slumbers, but she's not very far.
What would he say if she came roaring out,
Saying, "My baby, be dumb!"
I'm thinking he'd smile and then even imply,
"Dear Mommie, I'm glad that you've come!"

Psychoanalyzing Clouds

Why do dark clouds brood?
Did land just West say something mean?
Were the Great Plains being rude?
Perhaps the mountains were obscene?
I don't know why this is.
I only wonder why
And cast a wish for happiness
For clouds up in the sky.

Gophers

Small, furry creatures are gophers,
Cuddly varmints and so on.
I find it rather surprising
That they are digging holes for fun
In my parking lot!  Bemusing.
Doesn't much matter, I suppose.
When winter comes along
Everything'll be done froze.

Car Repairs Got You Down?

The big, black, blot
Lumbered and fumbled
Finally finding
Its cozy spot.
Not red yet,
Our savings rumbled
In response; minding
That the flabby blob
Had settled so.
"Get off!  Just go!"
Wiggling, the clod
Sighed and sank.
"No," he said.  "No."

Eight Words: One New World

It's unfurled
World's been whirled
It's a Girl

-----------------------------
She's due in January.
Possible New Year's resolution: Change some diapers.

A Good Surprise (a true fiction)

The man was quite dim;
The woman lacked vim;
Taken together
Their prospects were grim.
But whaddya know,
I'll have to eat crow,
Their love all these years
Has continued to grow.

Steel Waters

Are all still waters "smooth as glass"?
Don't some seem more like burnished steel?
I wondered this there on the shore,
While on my skin I couldn't feel
A hint of breeze, nor touch of air,
But in that moment rod and reel
Flashed from the corner of my eye
And rippled liquid metal shined,
A glory sure, howe'er defined.

Aphorism #2

A church with noisy kids...

     ...has got kids.

Count your blessings.

"A Wedding Limerick" or "Those Were Also the 'Words'"

I married a couple today.
They had very little to say.
     "I do" was the word
     And that word was heard.
"Zip a dee doo dah and day!"

Beware the Tinker

When wandering journeymen knock on your door
It's best to be nice to them lest they be dour.
These fellows who wander are known to have knives
And keeping them happy just might save some lives,
At least till you reach to the gun in your drawer
And drive them away, "Don't come back here no more!"

-----------------------------------------------------------------
(A thought based on Mark Twain's The Prince and the Pauper)

"Advice For Young Parents" or "A Truism" - a haiku

When stumbling babies

Wander in a house with stairs

You better watch out

Birch

Birch bark cigarillos
     burning in the fire...
"How is it you smell so good?"
     I'm dying to inquire.
Crackling up in puff of smoke
     Incense of the North.
Burn yourself into hot coals
     and let your smoke go forth.

Aphorisms #1

No one without a tattoo
     or a clue

     Should be making coffee for a living.

An Ode to the Non-Working... "Man"

On Labor Day he don't do much
But rise and make himself some joe.
It isn't really work, as such,
But merely that which makes him go.
But go to where, wherefore and why?
These questions beckon him with care
And so he sits with one closed eye,
A lazy cyclops in his lair.

Ned the Man Who Knows Not Silence

I know a fellow, Ned's his name.
He's just a little less than tame;
He's louder than a hurricane
One wonders, "Is he really sane?"

He blurts out things like vomit flying,
Hollers loud like monkeys crying.
When the silence comes, it's true,
The moment's done, already through.

Then the sounds again resound
And ringings ring and then rebound,
Shouts and whampums held up high;
Triumphantly he gives his cry!

A Limerick on Discretion

A town with two stoplights is small.
It's hardly a real town at all.
     "Don't say that son
     'Less yer fittin' to run.
I'll done give you a funeral pall."

The Silence of the Lake

The shore of Superior,
  for length of the day,
  is continual clamor,
  an ongoing bray,
    a distant crowd singing
    in words that are muddled
      a beating of drums
      from the waves closely huddled,
        crashing, receding
        and rushing back in
        one on another,
        perpetual din.

Silence becomes, not
  the absence of sound,
  but aural consistency
  heard all around,
    so much a part
    of each second and hour
    that sound becomes silence,
    its absence...  a roar.

My Boy this Morning (at 13 months)

I took my boy out in the rain.
He sat on rocks and let them fly
Or rather dropped them from his hand;
It doesn't mean he didn't try.
A droplet hit his blondish hair
And made a splat that gave him pause
"What's this that's cool and... oh what's that?"
A question's worth more than 'because.'

A Cheer

My wife hates football.
Yes it's true.
She's in a fantasy league.
How 'bout you?

-----------------------------------

Perhaps even lamer than usual, but I wanted to mark the occasion of my wife entering a fantasy football league with a cheer because I love football.  My question, "How will hatred and participation co-exist?"  We'll see.  Ultimately it's not important because neither depends on the Packers winning the Super Bowl again.