Tag Archives: poem

Sonnet for Sisters

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restored antique photoMy Sisters’ Names

Three sisters, three have I, each one a star

to light the night or day with brilliance new,

a spark these shining few, though rare, bring to

the darkest, deepest places where they are–

Fair Wisdom bears a gleaming cup, as thirst

for knowledge waits in ev’ry darkened realm

to sip the learning springing from her helm,

sweet Wisdom bringing in this treasure first–

The next is gracious Kindness, in whose charms

of sympathy and care is safety found

when she with gentle strength wraps all around,

encompassing the world within her arms–

The third with equal radiance inclines

to lighten hearts as much as sun can do;

Laughter‘s her name, and like the other two,

her sparkling wit enhances how she shines–

All three, my sisters light the corners of

The universe: their other name is Love.digital artwork from an antique photo

Learned over Smoked Meat Sandwiches

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Very Delicatesse

A liver-spotted gentleman

Is preferable to younger, when

The latter thinks himself too suave

To say a simple ‘Mazeltov’

Or serve you brisket with a pickle;

Such young bucks are cheap and fickle.

I prefer the well-worn style

That does a mitzvah with a smiledigital illustration

Squirrelly Behavior

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photoSquirrelly, Now and Formerly

Pipkin was a rascal lad who disobeyed his mom and dad

Pestered his teachers, pinched the girls

Among the young chipmunks and squirrels

And threw hard acorns from the trees at passing mice and birds and bees

He chewed on rafters, jambs and screens

Teased babies, oldsters, in-betweens

Stole in through windows left ajar—

Alas! Could not outrun a car.photo

Loves Me, Loves Me Not

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Opposites Distract

Lavinia, dressed in leopard print,

And Leopold in stripes,

Were destined to collide and clash,

Descend to snips and snipes—

She drinks her coffee black; he sips

Sweet tea with heaps of cream,

And every conversation

Escalates to near a scream—

Yet every fray defuses and

Dissolves in hugs and tears,

For they’ve adored each other

Through four-dozen blissful years.

digital illustration

. . . after all, most of us are fools for love . . .

Honey Bunny

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drawingMy Preference, by a Hare

Next to a soft warm rabbit, I

Love naught so much as a broad bright sky

A picnic under a chestnut tree

A bunch of kids in a spelling bee

A crazy quilt on a big deep bed

Sweet summer breeze playing ‘round my head

Cashmere and silk, or a good night’s rest,

But in truth, I still love bunnies best.

Image/Self Image

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digital illustrationBeauty is in the Mirror of the Beholder

Brenda, trendy modernist, zips through her ultra-racy home

Her super-powered vacuum on a wave of pearly foam;

Her sexy subatomic voice, her skirt of crisp chiffon,

Her to-the-minute kitchen wares, her wildly brilliant spawn,

Her microscopic facial pores, her savvy in her biz,

Convince nobody that she’s great, but make her think she is.

A Moment for Contemplation

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photoWorlds of Peace

In the sleepy little world where

kindness can prevail and thrive

The beasts and people live in peace,

all happy just to be alive

Their gracious ways, generous hearts,

their gentle speech and thought and will

Protect them all throughout the day,

and through the nighttime hold them still—

Would that this dreamy little world

could bloom and flourish here on earth

And that such hopeful tenderness

pursue us all straight on from birth

My wistful wishing is not vain;

this virtue could embrace us all,

For we do know how to be so,

if only we would heed the call

And so each morning as I rise

I make a small and silent prayer

That by the night’s new-darkened skies,

we’ll find ourselves all living there

photo

All the Same …

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photoNone Escape It

Here in the crematorium, a lily

escapes the flaming heat in Esgard’s grasp;

Esgard, though, won’t escape the same way, will he?

He’s much too far beyond his final gasp.

No need to mourn excessively, though, fellows,

for Edgard doesn’t need your tears and dread;

while he’s now in a form that quickly mellows,

the lily, too, will soon enough be dead.photo

A Pantomime Horse

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digital illustrationIt Takes All Kinds

I am the back end of a pantomime horse,

and I say this without much embarrassed remorse,

because I could never have claimed too much class

to have let people see I’m a true horse’s ass.

No reason to laugh, though, or mock me in jest,

since I’m in such fine company with all the rest

of the others (this, straight from the true horse’s mouth),

for we know every north end requires its south.

No cause for weeping, dear friends of my heart,

for prancing behind is its own kind of art,

and no matter how foolish the fine equine farce,

better far than play dead to just play the arse.

I Think I Must’ve Dropped It Here Somewhere

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Peace of mind and clarity can be mighty hard to come by these days. Half of the time I have a tendency to suspect they’re things I once had access to or even owned in small quantities but somehow misplaced. Don’t mind me, I’ll be crawling around here on hands and knees with my compatriots. If we look like we’re hunting for lost contact lenses while not actually awake, you might well be right.

graphite drawingRespite

Among the herds and hordes that clamor for attention undeserved,

Some few remain that will not yammer but sit back, demure, reserved—

Odd, in the cacophony of wild, attention-grabbing rush,

That what finally wins from me my focused notice is mere hush—

The effect of surfeit, excess, ultimately in the riot

Of the maelstrom, is what checks us in our racing: simple quiet—

So I seek the silent moment, empty spaces, basic form

Of absent noise and crush and foment, then go back to face the storm.