Technically Obsolete

More than–give or take–15-odd-years ago
I researched patents for Silicon Valley egos.
Nanotechnogy, biotech, the Singularity too,
I edited lots of copy and even proofed reviews.
But that was long ago, some light years away,
Now, I must call tech support Online to stay.
While teaching, Blackboard often mystifies me.
Furthermore, my mistakes belie my history.


If I had but one, albeit unnatural, irresistible, awesome desire,
It would be to keep unquenched this overwhelming, holy fire.
Yet for want of sound sleep almost eleven hours forsaken
–Not to mention scrambled eggs and a rasher of frying bacon,
Buttered toast, strawberry jam, some berries,one juicy melon–
I would not think of chilling, for writing poems is awfully thrilling.
So using both rhyme and rhythm, my spirit stays quite willing
To pen my slightly didactical, moreover pretty intractable, song
Eschewing those conjunctions and prepositions overused,
All the same, I must enthuse, I’ve found neither patron nor muse.


Bedmate, faithful friend
Ever mindful of his dinner.
Walkies need taking
and unmentionables scooped
While ever straining upon a leash.


Nature’s unbinding
festers decomposition–
fresh, bloat, ruin, decay–
do gorge tissue cells away
–vile putrefaction.
Rotting flesh, vulture’s
meat, nature now decomposing:
metamorphous, change.

Sing a Song

Sing a song of genuine gladness
Cast away all gloom and sadness
And with all your heart’s delight
Sing away your longest night.

Sing a song of grief and sorrow
Fretting upon uncertain morrow.
To make the darkness bright,
Sing away your longest night.

Sing a song of forgotten memory.
Recalling a childhood only dimly.
So things will after all be alright,
Sing away your longest night.

When death now draws so near,
Join in a chorus of faith to cheer
And now focusing on the Light,
Sing away your longest night.

A Lonely Game

Solitaire, it’s a game played in isolation.
Alone in one’s room or else on vacation.
Matching hearts, aces, diamonds, spades
Single file, up and down, the cards parade.
So what else do you do by-yourself alone
With no Twitter or Facebook to now intrude,
No one to call on an omnipotent i-phone?
Just now, those thoughts are only your own.
Recalling tripling troubles and rising doubts,
Neurosis and psychosis will sure find you out.
Unless you put an over active mind at ease,
After all, there’s truly no one else to please.


Color Wheel

Hot red lust, anger,
the will to power excites
with most intensity.

But orange energizes,
a heat a bit less intense,
health and vitality.

While happy yellow
brings forth childhood memories
of sunlit meadows.

Lawns of green grass now
evoke those endless meadows
hikers frequent each spring.

A masculine blue
recalls a very trustworthy hue
varying shades of sea and sky.

Violet, unlike
Its flowery namesake, oozes
chic sophistication.

A soft-spoken brown
reminds souls of rugged toil
life sprung from the earth.

Black’s all-embracing void
a most painful grief observed
oft gravely despairs.

But virginal white
ever shouts chasteness and purity
of faithful innocence.

Post Modern Prayer

Faithless, we need to kneel, driven to the floor.
Giving thanks to those who daily knead bread,
Put roofs on houses, and make wayfarers’ beds,
Nurse the sick, teach kids, and mind the store.

We need to sing praises for the Earth’s bounty,
While mindful of an ever-sacred trust we share
Conserving the land in each town and county,
Earthly treasures that we need dare not impair.

We need to meditate upon what Nature proclaims
Like snowflakes each of us is different, yet the same,
For we inhale the same air, put food in our bellies,
And family togetherness and solitude we all claim.

We need to serve our less fortunate neighbors,
Protect the weak, the young, the old, the poor,
Ensure that workers can rest from their labors.
Comfort the dying, giving them hope to endure.

We need permission to laugh a lot when we’re happy,
Cry when we’re sad and occasionally act a little mad.
Love like we mean it, long-time acquaintances befriend.
Ever mindful that our time on Earth must one day end.

A Poetic Boast

It’s more than just a little exaggeration
That my poetic verse fits every occasion.
But then, I’m older than Appalachia‘s hills,
A Shakespeare’s genetic clone in my skills,
Noblest of scholarly poets, so it’s a shame,
I’m just a Who’s Who removed from fame.
With thoughts that are deep as the ocean,
I’ve have declared my heart-felt devotion,
For when writing every metric discourse
I engage in a tad of hyperbole, of course.

Earth, Air, Fire, and Water

More than organic
With liquids, gases, organisms,
and minerals does mix.

Mostly nitrogen,
Twenty percent oxygen,
A pinch CO2 and argon.

Oxygen, heat, and fuel
Does make a big chain reaction.
In air does it flare.

A little hydrogen
combines with some oxygen
To douse the flame above.

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