Friday, February 24, 2017


So you fancy that you know the poet?
I for one, wouldn’t dare make that claim!
Poets have ventured where few men have been,
And the poet is no stranger to pain.

Poets don’t live on the same plane as most,
Theirs is much deeper and higher.
They have dipped their quills in the blackest of ink
And climbed farther than most can aspire.

In a way, he is like a reporter
But his stories do not come second hand.
When his words bring to life vivid scenes of delight
You can bet there’s more gold in the sand.

The poet who writes of the joys of a puppy
And paints pictures of frolic and play
Has watched his companion grow old and pass on,
And thanked the good Lord for the days.

The man who rejoices at a burgeoning oak
Just breaking forth from the brown
Has sat in the shade of a towering red wood
And wept when it fell to the ground.

When the words of a bard touch you deep with its truth
And ring in your heart like a bell
You can bet that he paid for that seed with his youth
Or snatched it from some unknown hell.

For ‘tis poets, not fools who will quickly rush in
Where good men and angels refrain.
Only there do his cryptic words yield their meaning
Only there can you feign know his pain.

Monday, March 7, 2016

Winter Magic

Old man winter, with his broad brush of white,
Blew in last evening and stayed up all night.
He painted the mountains in spectral degrees,
He whitewashed the houses and flocked all the trees.
For all of his huffing and puffing I’d say,
He’s out-done himself on this beautiful day!

Monday, September 14, 2015

I Love to Hear the Bacon Sing!

I love to hear the bacon sing,
Its wafting essence meant to bring
The slumbered family from their lairs
With hopes of sampling morning fare.

Like Siren’s song or Venus’ face
They’re drawn to bacon’s fond embrace.
Now add the scent of waffles warm,
The maple syrup brings the swarm!

Eggs to order, short stacks brown
Biscuits, OJ, rolls renowned,
It never fails a smile to bring,
I love to hear the bacon sing!

Friday, October 10, 2014


Its time that I were exercising 
The art of pigeon sex surmising
Here, in my lofty pigeon pen.
Be they cock, or dainty hen?

Is this a male? I answer “Yes!”
Truth be told, its just a guess.
He drags his tail, and struts his stuff,
He bows his head and acts real tough!

So I surmise, ‘A handsome cock!’
Imagine my bewildered shock,
How can it be? I humbly beg.
This cock of mine just laid an egg!

Monday, April 21, 2014


I woke up this morning with a tear on my cheek
And I found myself thinking of you.
Yes, you in the back in the light grey scrubs
And you in the navy blue.

How can I express what you all meant to me
As you dutifully put in your shifts.
God bless the nurses who serve every day,
Without you I=d still be adrift.

I know there are others who make up your team
But you are the ones I remember.
You touched my heart in the fall of my life.
I=ll be grateful until its December.

Just so you know, I=m doing just fine,
Except my heart valve now ticks like a clock.
I=ve traded my gown for a bath robe and jeans
And my TED Hose for argyle socks.

Tell the PT=s I still go for walks,
Though my jeans hide the flash in the rear.
Thanks for your service, may you all find your joy,
And thank you for coaxing this tear!

Friday, November 1, 2013

Beloved Children

Here and now, I wonder how relationships inherent
Could ever be just what I see, even though it seems inerrant
That children, bright, should reverence give, to me; the parent!
Is it really as it seems or is it incoherent?

For when I look beyond the now and venture even bolder,
I am not sure just who is the child and who, in fact, is older.
My children seem so wise to me, so good, and broad of shoulder.
I wonder if the truth will come when the fires of life but smolder?

Perhaps, someday, the time will come when they will wear a crown
And on a throne will sit, august, and graciously look down
At me, the jester in the court; a knave, a fool, a clown.
And I, in awe, will bow my head and reverently kneel down.

I thank the Lord, our Father, for trusting me to teach
Beloved spirits; children, His; and help them all to reach
Their full potential. May I fulfill this contract, and may I never breach.
To this end I humbly pray and of my God beseech.

Thursday, May 16, 2013

Sharing the Load

Some till the soil,
Some plant the seed,
Each with his toil
Fulfilling a need.

Some nurture seedlings,
As summer grows hotter,
I’ll pull the weedlings,
You tend the water.

Each has a role.
All do their best
To harvest the goal.
Then we can rest!

Tuesday, January 22, 2013


It's not a golf club, no, it's not!
Nor something that the plumber forgot!
It's not a poodudget or a whippet pick,
A little hint? It's a Washing Stick!

Fill a bucket with water and suds.
Insert your stinky smelly duds.
Now swoosh and churn, go up and down
Dance a jig, yup go to town!

When the power's out, no need to hide!
This whosamawhatchit will stem the "tide"
And set your laundry list to right.
Merry Christmas to all, to all a good night!

Monday, July 2, 2012

Still in Love

Charles was a Harvard man,
As straight as straight can be.
Daisy was a red-neck girl
From Backwoods, Tennessee.
One fateful day Chuck lost his way;
Was lost for nigh a week
‘Til Daisy found him lyin’ there
Beside the muddy creek.

Daisy took that Harvard man
And patched his wounds and clothes,
And fed him moonshine for a month
 'Til that couple was betrothed.
He knew that it would never work,
But leavin’ made him ill.
She was just a Backwoods girl
But oh, he loved her still!

Tuesday, January 17, 2012


“Go get it boy!”
That’s all that it takes,
And off at a gallop I go.
I bring back the sticks,
The balls and the toys;
Whatever the boss wants to throw.

What makes me obey,
So eager to go,
So needy to be his friend?
When all that I get
Is just kibbles and bits,
And a well-aimed  boot
In the end!