Erma

Erma the rat
Is begging for fun.
"Please, please, please hold me!
And then let me run!"
She is so eager
And earnest to boot.
Give her some food
And she'll hide it like loot.
She may be vermin,
Plague on four paws,
But her uber-cuteness
Makes up for those flaws.

Baseball

The clouds don't care much;
They just want to get elsewhere,
Wandering off to Wisconsin
As fast as their wisps can carry.

But the sunlight is curious
About the goings-on in Target Field.
And after passing by,
He peaks.
His luminosity making a dozen eyes
Disguised
As ballfield lights.

No fooling me.
I know you Mr. Sunlight
Don't you worry, you're welcome.

The Waiting Is the Hardest Part

Mamma is waiting
She's got baited breath
For baby to "Voila!"
To finally appeareth.
But he's being stubborn
And holding position.
"Get yer mind right"
Is what we're all wishin'.

The Devil of the Road

I was driving late one night,

With bleary eyes and not much light.

All the shapes got twisted up

And gave my heart a twinge of fright.

Blurry numbers danced and laughed

Making wonder for my eyes.

Peering close to verify

All the scene did change in size.

"What the devil!" I cried out,

Longing now for peace and bed,

"Surely he is playing tricks.

He can go to Hell instead!"

So I drove on through the night,

Hoping not a ditch to meet,

Safely I arrived at home

Quitting that infernal street.

Out of Season, But Oh Well

Oh give me a home
That was made by a gnome
And the veneer is made out of clay.
Where coffee is brewed
And the Vikings are booed
From the start to the end of each day.
Home, home in Green Bay
Where the wonderful Packers all play
Where coffee is brewed
and the Vikings are booed
From the start to the end of each day.

"On History" or "A Warble of Cynicism"

Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it. -George Santayana

This little quote nettles and scrapes on my ear.
It's clarification without making clear.
It lays at the feet of poor memory the blame
For humans persistently flubbing the game.

Harumph.

We'll see what we like in the past to allow
Our foolishness freedom to rule in the now.
Knowledge is nothing when virtue is weak,
Just used to excuse all the pleasures we seek.

We do stupid things, not because we don't know,
But 'cause we are stupid, persistently slow.
We hope that the sin of the past is now fine
And try it again, so we end up cryin'.

Knowledge does nothing to combat stubborn selfishness and willful sin.
Ignorance can be a great blessing.
Some lift up education as a solution to all problems.
Poppycock.
Knowledge is not wisdom.
Wisdom is the ugly stepchild of our age.
Who wants it?
This is an age of fake chrome and pine trim.
And I should know.

Rocking Chair Stare

Over yonder sits my wife
Rocking gently in a chair.
Cause we're married now, for life,
Think I'll take some time to stare.

Town Ball

Out in Miesville
They play baseball
Mighty Mudhens
Dressed in white.
From the grandstand
Out past right field
Stretch the corn fields
Out of sight.

That's three outs.
S
T
R
E
T
C
H

When the batter
Hits a foul ball,
See the kids run
Out the gate.
There's cash money
For the quickest,
Double quarters,
Fifty cents.
Out of pocket
Pays the lady,
Running low now.
Now she's out.

That's three outs.
Score: 2-0
Go Mudhens!

Not Winter

It's really not winter, I'm happy to say,
Except maybe further down south.
Up here by Canada it's pretty warm,
No clouds blowing out of my mouth.
The air is quite sticky and lacking in snow
There's ice, but only in freezers.
And nobody's drinking hot chocolate these days,
Preferring those cool lemon squeezers.
So leave off the mittens and put on the shorts
For summer is here and it's kickin'
We'll fire up the grill on the back patio
And eat us some steak and some chicken.

Done Cookin?

"Baby done cookin?" the little boy said,
Wanting to meet the young bump.
"Not for a while yet" the stylist replied,
Laughing to feel her bump jump.
The baby was growing and stretching his arms
Getting all chubby, preparing his charms.
The baby's still cookin', but near draws the day
When "changing" will be de rigeur.
The baby's still cooking for that is his way,
But he's coming quite soon I am sure.

Dreams for Soon

A house in a town in a region with hills
And a landscape well broken with trees
Is a dream that I hold for a future not far
And I'm hoping my Dearest to please.
Her fondness for plains is as yet undetected
And "wind-swept" is far from her mind.
But cute little forests in Autumn ravines
Are the scenes found more keen by her kind.
And so I will search for a cute little house
'Midst a country which she will find grand.
We and our child will then settle therein
And happily live hand in hand.

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.