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Small Poems


Ode to a Dog

Gucci, Gucci, little dog,
Black of coat and long of tongue,
Whose dainty feet seem to dance
When along the road as you run.
Loyal of glance and joyous of heart,
With gleaming eye and frolicsome tail,
You carry gladness where you go-

The Sweepstakes

There once was a man of ambition,
To claim a prize was his mission.
He thought it a sin
Should he not win,
But went home in sorry condition.

The Teacup

There once was a poodle named Toby
As valuable a stud as he could be.
Two owners he had
Who wanted him bad
Which should have him? They couldn't agree.

Life for Today

Don't call me Ahab, or Ishmael.
I would never chase a whale!
Life's to short, Don't you see
To spend my life upon the sea!

Confined upon some watercraft
To right a wrong long since past.
Here today, gone tomorrow-
'This cliche that brings much sorrow!

I will sip, and I will sup
Ere mischance spill my cup.
And,I shall praise my Maker give
For as long as I shall live.

And I shall gain, and I shall lose
'til my Master my time shall choose.

The Journey

I. The Alarm

Like the Kraken rising from its lair,
Like Leviathan rising from the depths,
My mind rises from the depths of dream
To answer the alarm clocks cry-
To arms! To arms!
Time is escaping.
After her! After her!
She's getting away.

II The Juggernaut

It crushes all who roll upon it.
It crushes their joy;
It crushes their hearts.
It cannot crush their will.
Press on, press on!
It cannot delay us forever.
Press on till you gain the freeway!

III. The Sunlight

We drive. We increase our speed
As the road opens before us;
We fly along the road until
We see- Oh, we see!
Sunlight dazzles down through the clouds.
It renews our hearts, it renews our joy
And we rejoice to see the sparkling
In the waves. The road is transformed
Into silver, our journey into gold.

IV. The Pastoral and Beyond

The cows watch us pass,
flick flies with tails,
Chewing, chewing, chewing cud.
Some mosey down to the pond
For a drink. They watch the passers-by.
I watch the watchers briefly.
I travel on, at last,
Happy, joyous and free.

The Husband

I am dead.
As you came in
All quickness fled out

My spirit lies-
There- on the floor-
Stabbed by the thousand knives
That fly from your eyes

How cold my heart has grown-
Frozen by the winter
Of your words.

Merry met

Your heart proclaims
You are its twain
A match well made
In a sylvan glade.

When the Rede comes round
I know the one I'd found.
And when the Solstice rings
My heart ever sings.

To know though art mine
And I am thine-
Forever blessed we.
My sweet mistress and me.

The Dog

He scratches on the door to flee Domestic humdrumnity

He likes nothing better than
Roving the woods each autumn
Night. He follows each scent
And revels in the wonder. He
knows the nightbird's cry. He
Sights the rabbit and gives
Chase. Catching it isn't important-
The chase is all. He laps water
From the moonlight- sparkled lake.
The wind sighs his content: an
Echo of his own. As dawn breaks,
He returns to my back yard.
It is good to be home

Flying High

Let us
be brave
and fly high
through the sky
quite lovely.

Laid Low

Though it hurts to lose
one so deeply loved,
the goodness lingers
long past the bad.

Assonantly Assinine

A quickened wit
Pitches this cant
That rattles

Consonantly Cavalier

Cooly call out
Those livid verbs
That voraciously veer
Through these hated hurts.

The Election of 1998

Things fall apart, or so the poets say:
A president forgets to be discrete,
All his plans, his dreams, his goals-- incomplete
True freinds tremble; enemies have their say.

False freinds fail, turn their backs, join the charade.
Voices, ever louder, ever harsher, compete;
They cry for his blood, his head, his defeat
His career is finished, or so they say.

But, after the election results are in
A different future for him can be seen.
The voters have said they forgive the man.

Their hearts are gracious, they forgive his sin
His goals, his dreams- on these they are keen.
They loathe his misdeeds, but they like his plan.


The silence is holy
When the sky is so blue, it seems to go on forever
And the wind is so still it does not even rustle the leaves of the trees
That stand in silent testimony to the glory of God.
Not a whisper. Not a stirring. Only the listener and God.
And a silence of the heart.


The boy never cries
Though the scars you see are not
The ones that hurt the most
Deep, deep

The years burn.1
The memories sear
His heart must either
Burn right up , or melt right down.

God forges
The most beautiful marble
And the strongest granite
In the hottest depths