House Plants

How many houseplants do you own?

We own six. I counted.

Some folks own a dozen; maybe more.

Dainty little jungles in

A cave of paint and plaster,

They keep a room from being

Such a bore.

All they ask for on occasion

Is a drink of water,

And just a little sunlight every day.

Not so hard a task

When you consider what they're giving;

The crowning greening glory they display.

Then tell me why so many die,

If not from mere neglect,

When people buy a houseplant on a whim.

Would folks be more attentive

If they thought that, in return,

Their houseplants would be taking care of them?

 

A Gray Day

It's a gray day. It seems as if

The whole world's standing still.

The sky is weeping misty tears

That mask the midday sun.

The clock moves at a turtle's pace

And on its' face, a frown,

Disdaining all activity,

Which would otherwise be fun.

 

A gray day doesn't have a friend.

It stands all by itself.

A day for calm reflection

To be placed upon the shelf.

A day to just forget that

You have promises to keep,

To just turn over, pull the shades,

And drift back off to sleep.

 

Imagination

Did you ever notice children

As they play at being grown?

A thing of which, at their age,

Very little is really known.

It doesn't matter if their play

Has any point or aim.

It's their imagination that

Transports them in their game.

 

It's sad to think that growing up

Can bring on such a change

As to stifle creativity

When imagination wanes.

Just watch the children as they play.

There's a lesson to be learned.

There are no boundaries

Where imagination is concerned.

 

Thank You Kindly, Mister Nash

I read a book by Ogden Nash;

A gift for which I spent no cash.

Though I seldom laugh when I'm alone,

He really touched my funny bone.

A poet with a flair for flash.

I thank you kindly, Mister Nash.

 

The Color Red

What do you think of the color red?

Where does it send your mind?

Is it kindred to passion,

Or anger instead?

Is it subtle?  Bold?  Refined?

There's red in the sky at both dawn and at dusk.

It signals beginnings and ends.

The color of life as the blood in our veins.

The color of love between friends.

The scarlet of cardinals, swift on the wing.

The signal of autumn's arrival.

The symbol of tragedy born on a cross.

The struggle for human survival.

So much is contained in the color of red;

The story of man and his kin;

The conflict of ages,

The future enfolds, as he looks back

To see where he's been.

The seers may foretell of misfortune and gore,

But the wise foresee fortune ahead.

They keep in their hearts all the hope of compassion

That springs from the color of red.

 

Stairs

Whoever invented the second floor

Had a masochistic yen.

They made it necessary to build stairs.

Just how it first developed

From beginning to the end,

No one really knows or even cares.

The elevator is a better

Avenue by far,

But not always available to all.

So, stairs are necessary

To ascend to higher ground,

Though the thought of climbing

Simply may appall.

So, even though we groan and moan

The sad state of affairs,

Sometimes we have to suck it up

And simply climb those stairs.

 

Waiting for the Mail

Sitting by the window

With nothing much to do.

Bored with daytime TV;

All the soaps that weep and wail.

Sick of cooking. Sick of cleaning.

Looking for a change.

Desperation sets in while I'm

Waiting for the mail.

Hoping, longing, looking for

Some grand exciting news.

Perhaps a sweepstakes winner

Or a deal we can't refuse.

Perhaps a letter from

A long lost friend from years ago;

One who always used to

Pick me up when I was low.

And now it's here. The wait is over.

The mailman's at the door.

Anticipation bubbles out

Of every single pore.

A catalog, a magazine,

A bill, an ad for sale.

The same old crap as always.

I hate waiting for the mail.

Ding Dong - Doorbell

Ding dong - doorbell!

Oh, my!  Who could it be?

The Avon lady?  Jehovah's Witness?

Opportunity?

Perhaps a salesman hawking wares?

The postman ringing twice?

A politician canvassing

Political advice?

Perhaps some neighbor looking for

Some gossip or some news.

Never hesitating to

Communicate their views.

Whoever rings your bell

One thing for sure. You cannot hide.

You must open up the door to see

Who's on the other side.

 

Blind Justice

I've heard it said that justice is blind.

It takes no sides, considers all

The evidence that's left behind;

Weighs each piece, then makes its call.

But when the scales are tilted

And advantage is unfair,

Who will rush to balance them?

Who takes time to care?

Who offers up a helping hand

When hope is left behind?

Each one of us must have a voice

For justice to be blind.

 

Fast Food

Fast food isn't always fast,

Although the name implies

You can quickly reap a bounty

Of burgers, shakes and fries.

Deep fried, pan fried, flamed or grilled,

On a seeded bun.  Pastries filled with

Cream cheese, chocolate, whipping cream

Until they're bursting at the seam.

If calories are what you need,

With no thought for nutrition,

Make fast food your daily feed,

A deadly ammunition.

It's not a question of deep thought

Or noble attitude.

Just take a moment to reflect

And savor your fast food.

 

Rednecks, Hillbillies, Bumpkins and Hicks

Rednecks, hillbillies, bumpkins and hicks;

Bred in the country;

Raised in the sticks.

Laid back and on track

And hard to predict;

Skeptically wary

Of each little trick.

Badly maligned as slow-witted and thick;

Misunderstood and unknowingly slick;

Always be wary, and don't ever pick

On rednecks, hillbillies, bumpkins and hicks.

 

The Man with the Briefcase

Pin striped suit and power tie...

Patent leather shoes...

Wall Street Journal making sure

He keeps up on the news.

Sip of coffee and a pastry,

First meal of the day.

Little time for idle chatter

As he makes his way

From elevator to the board room,

Salutations brief...

From one problem to another,

No time for relief.

Making money is his forte,

Little time to care.

The man with the briefcase?

Beware.  Beware!

 

Sprinkles on My Ice Cream

I dearly love the theater,

Its' relief from daily strife.

A story played out on a stage,

Imitating life.

 

You never can be sure

Exactly what may happen next;

What bold surprises lie in store

Within the playwrights text.

 

And when the final curtain

Brings a satisfying end,

It's like sprinkles on my ice cream,

And life is good again.

 

The Quest

Perfection is a fleeting bird;

Never sitting still.

It knows no perch;

Builds no nest.

It has no shoes to fill.

 

Its greedy talon reaches out,

But holds no olive branch.

We try to capture its true worth,

But there is little chance.

 

No matter how we strive or strain

Or just how close it seems,

Perfection only dwells within

The sanctum of our dreams.

 

Lifestyles

Lifestyles vary from one to another.

They spring from the lessons we're taught.

Some are determined from date of conception,

While some are acquired through default.

 

Whether we're living the posh life of leisure

Or struggling to make ends meet,

We all can relish in life's little victories

And cry when we're faced with defeat.

 

So, whether your lifestyle is princely or pauper,

You need not be filled with dismay.

Each moment in life can be filled with adventure.

Each lifestyle, in turn, finds its way.

 

Sports- The Games We Play

Humans love to play their games.

They make it such a sport.

Every contest bred from which

A winner may extort

A victory for bragging rights;

A trophy to display;

A memory of triumph

In the games they choose to play.

 

Football, baseball, rugby, soccer, hockey and lacrosse,

Basketball, volleyball, badminton, motocross.

Jai lai, sculling, skiing, skating,

Boxing or gymnastics.

Swimming, diving, racing, running

All can be fantastic.

 

Just remember in your quest

To reach that hall of fame,

When everything is said and done,

In sports, it's just a game.

 

Feeding the Squirrel

She comes around through habit;

Making rounds; each one in turn.

Traveling an old familiar circuit,

She has learned

Each yard and door she can depend on

For a handout every day.

She gathers nuts and acorns

As she goes along the way.

Some are nibbled.

Some are buried

With a tender care

In a secret hiding place

She doesn't want to share.

She leaps and hops and shakes her fluffy tail

As it unfurls.

Could there be a more amusing creature

Than a squirrel?

Lilting Laughter

Cheery little laugh that brings a sparkle to the eye,

Tickling the heart with feathered fronds.

No concerns or worries, no regrets, no alibi.

Thinking only of the moment;

Not what lies beyond.

Laughter is a subtle witness to the here and now;

Capturing a slice of space and time.

Observing all the humor in the what and where and how,

Attesting to the irony contained within a rhyme.

 

How often has a spirit low

Been lifted out of gloom

By the sound of lilting laughter

As it filters through the room?

 

Baking Cookies

Holiday cookies at our house;

A traditional affair.

To see them stacked from door to door

And floor to ceiling isn't rare.

 

Whether plain and basic,

Or decorated with a flair,

Each is made from start to finish

With our tender loving care.

 

Is it worth the effort?

Is it worth the wear and tear?

Is there any satisfaction

When we offer up our fare?

 

With all the people waiting

We would be remiss to dare

To call off our yearly Christmas

Cookie bake extraordinaire.

Forgive and Forget

Most will forgive,

But few will forget

When their ire is inspired to arise.

That wrinkle of gray

Placed deep in the brain

Is implanted forever. It shows in our eyes.

 

The soul is reflective in kindness and means.

It leans toward benevolent trends.

But the mind in its memory

Doesn't forget;

Like a cut where the scar never mends.

 

But it's the forgiving

That bodes in importance.

Without it we dwell in regret.

But if we forgive;

If we truly forgive,

We don't really need to forget.

 

Devil's Advocate

Someone has to keep things honest.

Someone needs to play the role.

Traveling along life's highway,

Someone has to pay the toll.

Even though we lay a plan,

Carefully considering

Every little puzzle piece and

Every problem that they bring,

Still someone must take the part of

Bringing up each caveat.

So, who will don the cloak of dread

And play the devil's advocate.

 

Rounding Up Strays

Have you ever noticed how some people play

At blind benevolence, rounding up strays?

If kindness and fellowship won a reward,

Their curio would overflow with awards.

Kittens and puppies and people who find

Them wandering aimlessly, hope left behind.

Someone must help them.

Someone must pay

The price of compassion

For rounding up strays.

 

The Courier's Message

Across the miles, over hills, through valleys,

Past the gates of barbarian hordes,

In the face of cannon fire,

Through the threat of bombardment,

Over seas and harbors mined for destruction,

The courier's message must go forward.

No idle gossip.

No trivial conversation.

Coded, encrypted, secret in nature,

The courier's message must get through.

The fate of millions hangs in the balance.

The courier's message must get through.

 

Glimpses

These precious little glimpses of life

Seen from the window of the mind...

These pictures in time...

These snapshots...

These keepsakes...

Treasure them always.

Remember them fondly.

Glimpses are memories.

Memories are forever.

 

Fountain of Youth

Where, pray tell, is that fountain of youth?

That great panacea for age?

The millions have fruitlessly foolishly sought

To keep life from turning a page.

 

Though hope springs eternal we someday may find

A cure so we never grow old,

The fountain of youth is a far-fetched untruth;

A fantasy fools have foretold.

 

Who's To Blame?

Who's to blame when things go wrong?

Who takes the ire of error?

Who rants and raves and places fault

And fills the room with terror?

 

Does it really matter who's at fault?

Who may have done the deed?

There's a greater cause for which

Our keen attendance has its need.

 

Fix it first, and later you

Can play your little game

Of figuring a scapegoat,

And finding who's to blame.

 

These Old Eyes

These eyes are old.

They need assistance in focusing

On the printed word...

The picture frame...

Your face.

 

But my minds eye is keen.

It builds a lasting memory

Of insightful press...

Inspiring art...

Your face.

 

These old eyes may fail,

But memory will never fade

Of literature...

Mona Lisa's smile...

Your face.

 

The Letter

Staring at a blank page,

Wondering what to write,

Searching through my recent

Recollections of the past.

Looking for the right words

That will cleverly convey

The tender meaning of my message.

It comes to me at last.

 

The words begin to flow out

Like a river on the page.

My pencil point grows wider

As the pages start to crowd

From margin left to margin right

Continuing unchecked

With text that Mr.  Pulitzer

Would surely have been proud.

 

With all the items of my news

Assembled one by one,

And carefully placed upon the page

My masterpiece is done.

And in closing my epistle,

This update of what's new,

My loving gift of happiness

Is sealed and sent to you.