The Sweet Remorse of Pity

The herald of the dying crow
Announces all deserving woe
But long, long afterward the crowd remains
To hear the herald speak the woes again.

Until at last the glutted crowd
Complains the dirge too sad and loud.
They dig the wretched remnants from the ground
And set their frame on strings to dance around.

The crowd thinks nothing of the show
But cries the louder should it go.
They place the fetid thing in sheltered frame
And proudly pass to marvel whence it came.

They hide their conscious shame of grief
In epitaphs on gilded leaf.
Their empathies all twitch in final bow,
The last effect to crease a wrinkled brow.

Genuine Approval

A smile
And a nod
Tell me my work is accepted,

And my labors are not wasted.

Just Suppose

Let's just suppose you underwent

A surgical procedure

To make your face exactly like

Your eighth grade science teacher.
Then when you got to class you'd sit

Where everyone could see

So when your teacher walked inside

He'd say "By Jove that's me!"
He'd give your tests the highest grades

No matter what you do

Because he'd get a lousy score

By giving one to you.

The Individual

All across reality people are swaying
to a song and a beat that nobody’s playing.
Along for the ride is a man who’s not paying
it any attention.

Meditations on a Winter Night

At the foot of a mount in a cabin of log
Lives a hunter, his wife, and an old, droopy dog.
Every evening or so they sit down by the fire
And they listen to tales from the world’s biggest liar.
Now this hunter, you see, he loves spinning a yarn
From the tip of the mount to the top of his barn.
And when he starts a-tellin' those tales that he tells
You can bet there's a stench that the old doggy smells.
It’s the smell of a liar, mark my words, 'cause it’s true.
If you lied bad as that, he'd be smellin' you too!
One cold night as they sat near the fire, big and warm
The house rattled and shook from an oncoming storm.
"Oh my land!" cried his wife as outside the wind blew,
"If this blizzard keeps up, I'm afraid that we're through!"
“No we ain’t!” said the hunter, not seeming to care.
“I survived a worse storm once while fightin' a bear!"
"It began,” he began, “when I hunted this deer,
Then it started to snow, the first time of the year.
I lost track of the deer on account of that snow.
There were flakes big as fists, then they started to grow
Till the biggest one almost knocked over a tree,
But then not even that one could knock over me!
It was cold, I remember, much colder than now,
So I thought it was best I got warmer somehow
And I picked up some sticks, then as fast as I could
Made a bonfire so big it lit most of the wood.
Since I wanted some fish and the lake was all froze,
I broke ice with my feet and caught fish with my toes.
Then I cut down some trees and as quick as a lick,
I constructed a cabin all sturdy and thick.
When I’d finished the last touching up on the place,
This enormous and fierce polar bear hit my face.
Well, I guess that big bear he was fixin' to steal
All them fish I’d caught earlier to eat for my meal
Because bears, as you know, they like eatin' fish too
So we wrestled and rolled and the storm howled and blew.
I took care of that bear, boy I took him to town.
Wasn’t long, I recall, till I had that bear down.
He was screamin' for mercy so I let him go
But he said to me ‘Boy, it’s real cold in the snow.
Once I looked at that fire, well, I thought it was swell
And I thought to myself I might sit for a spell.’
I felt bad for the bear, so I said it’s all right
If he came in and stayed by the fire for the night.
In the morning I told him that next time it snowed,
He could come spend the night at my humble abode.”
So he ended his tale and his wife shook her head.
"I think that's the worst lie ever uttered!" she said.
“When I think you’re done fibbing, you say something new.”
“But this one,” he protested, “is utterly true!”
And just then from the door came a big booming knock,
So his wife went up to it and undid the lock
And the doorway was filled with a white, husky bear.
“Can I please come inside?” he asked. “It’s cold out there!”

You're It

Through the garden, up a tree
I’m so fast, you can’t catch me!
In the house and up the stairs,
What! You tagged me? That’s not fair.

Self

What is in a name?
Or a secret?
But is the secret the truth,
or only an illusion,
set forth to ends with no beginning,
and no purpose?
As leaves fall into a forest with no ears,
they make no sound.
But here is the truth,
that all become wise-
Truth is in the eye of the beholder.

Chilly Willy

Chilly Willy was a goat.
Chilly Willy got a coat,
So Chilly Willy won't be chilly,
Will he?

Persistent Hope

Though dark you see the day to be
A brighter day is on its way.
Though dread and fear seem always near
Your true repose is ever close.
Though seem it strange you cannot change
This fact that night gives way to light.

Always, My Sweet

Butter, oh how thou dost warrant an ode,
For flavors which thou dost preserve.
Always thou hast keep inside mine abode,
But more than that, thou dost deserve.
To treat thee unkindly would be far too rash,
And betrayeth our excellent smarts.
In our land, thy fate is not in the trash,
But rather inside of our hearts.

Fat Ed

There was a man named Edgar Hill
Who never, ever ate his fill.
Each day his cook would make for him
Whatever menu fit his whim.
For every meal Ed tried to eat
A dozen different kinds of meat.
He munched on pancakes by the stack
Just for an after dinner snack.

Although he stuffed himself with ham,
Then steamy buttered rolls and jam,
Thick waxy meatloaf, melty cheese,
Cold snotty soup that's made from peas,
Big bulging bagels, sticky rice,
Zucchini bread with sugar spice,
With shiny donuts, cherry pie,
And Polish sausages stacked high,

Hot crispy bacon, crusty toast,
With pink and drippy tender roast,
Potatoes, lima beans and lots
Of greasy, salty tater tots
With fatty burgers, chips and bread,
There never was enough for Ed.
They say he could consume a horse!
And once or twice he tried, of course.

This food made Edgar happy, but
It gave him quite a hefty gut.
For Edgar tried to eat so hard
He really was a tub of lard.
He almost weighed a metric ton.
He wouldn’t exercise or run.
He couldn’t move his hulking girth
Without a tremor in the earth.

But once as he was eating steak
He got a massive stomach ache.
His doctor tried advising him:
“You know it’s wiser to be slim.
Your stomach ache is caused by this:
Compressogastro stomasis!
It means your gut is much too tense
And food’s packed in there mighty dense.”

“If food’s stuck in my gut,” thought he
“I’ll fix that problem easily.
I’ll just eat more and force it out
And it should work without a doubt.”
He filled himself again with food,
And I say this not to be rude,
But once his stomach was that loaded,
Edgar swallowed, then exploded.

This Mind We Trust

This mind we trust,
Oh, that feeble thing.
A painting we create
Fashioned in the image of our own desire.
We sculpt each perception,
With all the time and craft we possess.
This sculpture becomes a gift from God.
If left unopened, it remains as it began:
As a child in reason, and in understanding.
When opened, it can be used and stretched,
And it will grow
To fill its potential,
To compliment the world with enlightenment,
Talent, knowledge, and finally
Faith.