You've Been A Fun Crowd Should i but read my poetry to neglected fields and sagging fence posts i might be assured of a polite and attentive audience with soft murmurings of approval and spare grumbles of complaint. from the Childhood Remedy and Other Such collection . . . j
Overheard At The Coffee Shop I do like your hat. really? yes. it reminds me of a lampshade i once knew. really? yes. like you, the lamp wore it slightly askew. you mean crooked? aye. awry. cocked just so over one eye. really? yes. it's a fabulous look. thank you. do you come here often? here? only to see the hats. from the Wonderments and Such collection . . . j
A Modest Request When I grow old and weary, legs all atremble, unable to walk far, and my garden— oh, the delightful colors, the delicate shapes, the delicious scents— when my garden— with eyes weak and bleary, is too far to see, then please, if you will, bring my garden to me. from the Wonderments and Such collection . . . j
You From my window I glimpse the sea. From the shore I closer be. Imagination carries me across. ‘Tis but You, I long to see. from the Childhood Remedy and Other Such collection . . . j
Insulation A shelf of books, a window of light, buffer us from the cold and better yet, ignorance. from the Senses and More Such collection . . . j
Solitary Confinement Let's Pretend Covid cannot touch me here, In my imagination. There are no mandates, no quarantines, no needles, or masks. It’s a place filled with delightful and dangerous thoughts— a soaring hawk, a magic carpet, an enemy fighter pilot, breathing down my neck . . . . j
Missing In Action The lover Of one’s Mother. Ova and Sperm Well met. Joined forces. Biological father, Or Mystery dad? Suit yourself. You are free To frame it. Jack or John or Duncan, Not sure. A certainty- Mr. Boyle. We never Saw your face. No photo or sketch. Were you all smile And laughter, Light hair and freckles? Like us? Or someone Else Altogether? From the Senses and More Such collection . . . j
A Roofer's Story
If you miss me when I am gone,
Know this—
Every home is topped by a roof
That sheds the rain,
That mutes the sun,
That slows the wind.
I climbed the ladder,
I shouldered the load,
I nailed the shingles.
Every home is topped by a roof
To blunt
The rain, the sun, the wind
That comes with life,
That comes with death,
Remember me thus—
I danced the roof.
From the Senses and More Such collection
. . . j
The Perfect Pair When I have pumpkin pie I prefer for there to be just the two of us, me and the pie. . . . j
A Little Help From My Friends Having fought a strong headwind most of the trip, the reindeer were exhausted and desperately needed to rest, so Santa set her down somewhere near Helena, Montana in the U.S.A. Off in the distance Santa could see a sign that read Mo's Used To Was Wrecking Yard, and a bit further on another sign that claimed to be the Alright Corral Dude Ranch. About then a lone horseman rode out of the swirling snow and "whoa boy" upped. "Howdy," he said. "Looks like you might need some help there, pardner." Santa, jovial no matter what the balls and strikes count against him was, managed a big smile and a hearty "Ho, ho, ho. Indeed I do, young man. My reindeer are plain tuckered out, and I've got miles to go before I sleep." The cowboy smiled and said, "I've got Jenny, best mare in Montana, parked in that barn over yonder. You're more than welcome to use her if you like. She's a flying machine." Santa agreed to swap out his reindeer for Jenny, just for the night of course, and in a flash, Jenny was strapped in, harnessed up, and more than willing to help Santa deliver his packages all around the world. Just before take-off, the cowboy doffed his hat, leaned in close and drawled, all Montana cowboy like, "May the horse be with you, Mr. Claus." The End . . . j
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