Humor

  The blind poet awakes and feels his way Into the living room, where light of day Will find his daughters ready to preserve The words of truth and beauty that disturb His sleep, and roll forth from him like a spool Of thread that needs a needle to give...

  for Mark F. Stone and all his pets The duck has special properties: Like water off its back; If only we as humans could Perfect the duck’s dry knack. It’s not that water isn’t there Or ducks just cannot drown, But always buoyant in a storm, They’re always up...

  Candidatus Non Compos Mentis Joe lacks the humility To see the futility Of running for office While fighting senility. With growing pugnacity, He aims his mendacity At all who object to His clear incapacity. I hold it self-evident A nursing home resident Should not run for mayor, Much less...

  The Author He portrays a lonely figure In his cottage by the sea With his pencil and his paper and his dog. Gone his youthful verve and vigour But remaining in its lee Is the gift that soon will form his epilogue. With the ocean panorama Bathed in twilight’s...

  A Soliloquy on Modern Poetry  I write this, a soliloquy Regarding modern poetry. I don’t appreciate the terse Disheveled nature of free verse. So much of it just seems contrived And of true beauty so deprived. I just don’t understand the thought That rhyme makes people overwrought, Whereas it...

  "Save daylight!" spoke the powers-that-be, and everyone supined, except for Arizona, see, which steadfastly declined. Hawaii, too, and certain parts of Indiana judged that darkness suited more their hearts, and from it neither budged. The light, meanwhile, remains unfazed, affected not by men, nor how they measure nights or...

  Who is this finger-waving man--- this millionaire, this communist? Let’s think about him while we can, this grandpa with the Marxist twist. Our wealth, I fear, he’ll commandeer “to help the poor, the indigent!” but from his own steer very clear, contributing not one red cent. Must politicians always...

Wake-Up Call "Shoulda," "coulda," "woulda" and "whatever" Are telltales that evince velleity In speakers who most probably will never Instantiate authentic seity. For every post-millenial young snowflake There is a vital task that must be done, But if it's harder than a piece of sponge cake, You'll hear those babies...

  A Truly Perfect Love My fingertips caress your hair and I no longer have a care about what happens in this mortal plane. I lay you down upon the bed and then I gently touch your head and you surrender love to me again. I feel your tongue from...

  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TQ6QuvFS068    

translations by Alan Steinle Translator's Note: This poem (“Tres cosas”) was originally written in Spanish by Baltasar del Alcázar (1525-1606). I have translated the poem into English and have retained the abba rhyme and the eight-syllable lines.   Three Things I’m a prisoner to all these, and I’m as happy...

  To Whom It May Concern Who writes letters anymore, and in verse? I don't care whether you like it or not. I suppose I could have phoned you, or worse— dropped in. I'd be putting you on the spot. You're just like everyone else nowadays, no face to face,...

O, Where Is Love? by James A. Tweedie O, where is love? You’ll find it in the pain _That binds a mother to her newborn child; _In bitter-broken friendships reconciled; _And in the kiss of lovers in the rain; In being kind and offering a smile _To hardened hearts too...

. Uncle Joe's Last Stand “Lying, dog-faced pony soldier!” Blurts out Biden, as he scolds her. Eyes unfocused, can’t walk upright; Goes not gentle into that night. Mind adrift, his brain a rebel. Voice reverts to childish treble. Conduct strange and unbecoming. Dentures loose---he’s always gumming! Barely holding on to...

  Bongo, bongo, bongo, I don’t wanna leave the Congo, Oh no, no, no, no, no! Bingle, bangle, bungle, I’m so happy in the jungle I just don’t wanna go! —Danny Kaye and The Andrews Sisters, 1947 The Vatican is dull and dreary— It leaves me out of sorts and...

  The Park Northern pintails brushing blue, the crescendo of their wings, weaving windsong into words some say that, “Up jumped spring.” The rising sun, through veils of dun, atop a pool of glass with flitting beams, does bend the streams to cast a liquid brass. Children fashion cradles, and...

A Child’s Winter Inventory Winter ‘87-’88 Twittering birds; Chattering teeth; Snow coats the trees In an icy sheath. Glittering snow, Bone-chilling breeze; The frost seeps in; Things begin to freeze. Fluttering scarves; Skaters on ice; I think that winter Is really quite nice.     To Winter December 16, 1994...

Bring On the Leeches A condition called aspergillosis, And a touch of marasmus as well, Was the surgeon’s succinct diagnosis. All my innards were hurting like hell, And he told me that nothing he did Stood a chance of improving my grave Situation. I slipped him a quid Then requested...

Proverbs for Engraving onto Imperial Monuments War is the price of freedom. Depths bewilder. The blow aimed at the beast hits him who shields it. The sword of Justice best serves him who wields it. The gibbet’s final victim is its builder. A round coin rolls to him who most...

An English Ode That famous field where nodding poppies sway In sunlit grass, where souls of all the good Spend sweet Eternity in dance and play And with the gods, take Beauty as their food __Upon the isle across the sea __That circles all the mortal world With misty waters...

  A Letter to Sir Grammar Dear Sir Grammar: With all kindness and courtesy, may I request, A new package of words, freshly made, For, truly, it seems I have used them all up, And my writing has near been betrayed. To start with, I shall need a splatter of...

Praise for Fall You float in on a late September breeze with still-warm days and mild, cool nights in tow. It’s not your way to bring the first hard freeze before November when your cold winds blow. The trees, a color riot on display, God’s handiwork, are certain to enthrall....

Mama My mama took two drinks a year; A shot glass down the gullet— Yet hated bars and abhorred beer. Would execute a pullet— An ax, a stump—one frightened bird Was done for in a minute, Yet any gossip that she heard, Would say there is no truth in it....

  Et In Arcadia Ego Oh, that's it, Keko. Pass through. Go ahead. Just walk across my books without a glance, with all that arrogant insousiance of yours, encoded in that languid tread. No, never mind that I've been up all night engrossed in them. What now? So why the...

Song at Sunset The sun sets ‘neath the mountain top: __A golden orb that blinks And just for seconds lights the sky __Ablaze before it sinks. I see the sunset in your eyes, __Heart sinking in your breast… And bend to give you one last kiss __Before your final rest....

Grapes Peel me a grape But remove the seed I love the flesh But have no need Of hard encounters In the skin Juicy, fat, dry or thin. On second thoughts—feed me gin.     More Phobia Limerick Riddles Each poem below describes a phobia. Guess what the person is...

A Moving Experience We’re the Stooges Three—your moving company. If it ain’t broke before we tote, it soon enough will be. Your furniture and prized possessions We handle as if our own. Employed, of course, movers’ discretion When choosing which “Fragiles” are thrown. We’re the Stooges Three—your moving company. We...

Von Sacher-Masoch’s Rebuttal to the Golden Rule If a brutal bash can bring one pleasure, one man’s lash is another man’s leisure.     Angus MacHartey’s Final Party a sequel to "Angus MacHartey's Parties"  Angus MacHartey’s famous parties Are terrors I’ve told you the tale of before. The drinking and...

  There's a legend that's told in the neighborhood pubs, In the smoke-filled gin joints and the posh country clubs, In the places beer flows, be it froth or in dregs, They say Darryl O'Day is the king of the kegs. Now Darryl was sixty but still keeping fit; His...

  Hark now to the yuppies’ anthem, And the lifestyle that it preaches— How we all reside on the chic West Side With our Chardonnay and quiches. Chorus: We all reside on the chic West Side With our Chardonnay and quiches! Apart from our dread employers, To no one we’re...

Cumæan  Below, beyond the tiles now cave’d down, Up from the rubbled earth arose a sound Shrieking in a pitch strung to sting the ear, Some spirit of a hag command I hear Of the low, ruined place that was her home, The Force, the Glory, the Empire, Rome. “Scan...

One Last Candle The angry storm approaches in the night, Its curdling howl is heard for miles around. The trees all flinch in fear of nature's smite, Then cast their sobbing leaves upon the ground. No soul dare venture out to face the storm, For nature's wrath is not so...

  It is rare that a bill can succeed on The Hill based on only the skill of a hobbyist. If you suffer the lack of a plan of attack, what you need is the knack of a lobbyist. Since their fee must be paid and expenses defrayed, I’ll dispense...

  Christmas has been canceled—it’s naughty Santa’s fault. His haughty carbon footprint has been a grave assault on melting polar ice caps; they’re now a muddy puddle, where sweaty elves and Rudolph are sizzling in a huddle. Adios St. Nicholas, your super-speedy sleigh should’ve been an eco-yacht; your flights have...

  Recalling Christmas in the past: the time I mixed my drink— a cocktail, “Everything we have”… I puked at lunch. I think you ate your meal, despite the stink! Another time, our puppy dog tore gifts beneath the tree. A nasty whiff: we didn’t spot the poop till half...

Childhood Conjugation Our mother tongue’s a mile-long smorgasbord where children eat for free. With giggling ease they wolf down words that grown-ups can’t afford and guzzle grammar like soft strings of peas. One day I told my three-year-oldish kid the hour had come to clear her breakfast plate. “I amn’t...

  Each poem below describes a phobia. Guess what the person is scared of in each. For extra credit try to name the phobia’s official name. Post your answers in the comments section below.   Phobia 1 There was a young lady from Snives Who was frightened to open her...

  The Winter of Our Contentment Without the winter there would be no spring, No snowdrops, crocus, scilla, daffodils, Or any other bulbs that need deep chills To send up flowers. Almost anything Would be preferred to missing these bright blooms, And so it is, we dream the reindeer hoof...

An Aussie Christmas That joyous time has come to pass When summer’s heat warms man and beast, And wheaten fields burnt burnished brass Cannot compare, not in the least, With star of gold upon the tree— A pointer to Epiphany. Excited children wake and run To take delight at gifts...

Grimm Reckonings Summary Thoughts on Five Fairy Tales: A Sonnet Cycle   Rapunzel I wish Rapunzel could have saved the day __By climbing down her own unfurled hair, __Escaping from her prison-tower lair __Without a prince to help her get away. Why do all hapless damsels in distress __Need to...