Tuesday, December 22, 2009

MEMORY

Your face is quite familiar;

Your name has slipped my mind.

It was just a week ago

We met and, yes, we dined!


I owe a sum of money,

But can’t recall to whom.

He’ll consider me a deadbeat

If I don’t remember soon!


I was there not long ago.

'Why' escapes me though.

Perhaps it was a wedding,

A funeral or a show.


When did all that happen?

It was a heady time.

Our world became a different place.

Was it ’fifty-eight or ‘fifty-nine?


Things never to be forgotten,

Gone as the morning mist.

Names, places and events

Likely only to be missed,


If someone tests my memory;

I wish to seem alert.

Instead I look bewildered,

An absentminded jerk!

Monday, December 21, 2009

CHRISTMAS CAROLS

If Christmas has you down,

Has you harried, has you glum,

The day so near upon us,

And the shopping’s still not done.

The tree’s yet unadorned.

No wreath upon the door.

You’re feeling overwhelmed.

Yule’s become a weary chore.

Take time to hear the music,

Those wonderful refrains

That express the joy of Christmas.

Their beauty never wanes.

The melodies uplifting,

Words with promise bright,

Memories of childhood

Of a storied holy night.

‘Away in a Manger’,

‘The Herald Angels Sing’,

‘Come All Ye Faithful’,

Hear the bells of glory ring!

‘Joy to the World’,

‘Little Town of Bethlehem’,

‘The Holly and the Ivy’,

To such cheer I say ‘Amen!’

Whate’er you may believe,

Religion or cold reason,

All can love the music

Of this delightful season.

Carols have the power

To from sadness make you free,

So turn on your radio

And sing along with me.

Wednesday, November 18, 2009

MR. WONDERFUL!

Tell me I am wonderful.

Tell me I’ve no peer.

Tell me I have talent.

That’s what I want to hear!


My verses masterpieces,

Works of genius, works of art.

The vocabulary matchless,

The imagery? Off the chart!


My meaning always clear,

No matter how profound.

Both the simple and the wise

Can get their heads around


The points I try to make,

The jokes I try to tell,

The satire and the irony

Ring true as a temple bell.


My subjects universal,

Nothing’s spared my scorn.

I’m a poet’s poet.

In the thrall of Thalia born.


Yet I fail to understand

Why no one shares my view

That I’m God’s special gift,

His reward to you and you!


Reward for what? One might ask.

I for one get none.

There are few readers of my verse.

A web of conceit I’ve spun.

Sunday, October 11, 2009

HOME AGAIN

A long time away. Good to be at home.

I often have to ask, why do we roam?

What we treasure’s near, our family and our friends.

Everything’s familiar, current news and trends.

Travel’s become a nightmare, a cruel cattle drive.

You’re lucky if you’re sane when you at last arrive.

What is it that we seek when we go abroad?

What do we learn on strange and distant sod?

That others are like us? Hopes and dreams we share?

The same eternal questions and sorrows that we bear?

This wisdom is in books. We needn’t venture far.

If reading’s not your thing, try your local bar!

Wednesday, October 7, 2009

BORN LUCKY

Born in Canada

Normal, healthy

Parents cared

Not poor nor wealthy


Schooling good

Too young for war

Prosperous times

Jobs galore


Modest talent

Enough to get by

Not famous or rich

An everyday guy


Lucky in love

Marriage lives on

Three beautiful kids

Two daughters, a son


Travelled the world

Friends everywhere

Lived to be old

Still have some hair


Who do I thank?

Am I favoured by God?

Or is it by chance

A smooth path I’ve trod?

Friday, September 11, 2009

OBAMA

Obama wants a health care plan

To serve both poor and rich.

On this time-worn issue,

He’s met a major hitch.


Some on the right say he’s red.

He’s Lenin back from Hell.

Others say he’s Hitler.

‘Liberty is doomed!’ they yell.


'That fiend intends to socialize

The business of the land,

To destroy free enterprise,

The government expand!


‘Health care costs a trillion bucks.

Where will we get the bread?

Higher taxes on us toffs,

Making old folks dead!


‘That’s what he has in mind.

Gas the old and sick.

They cost too much to keep alive.

Death panels! That’s the trick!’


Obama, here’s some sound advice:

Gas the loony fringe.

The time has come to not be nice.

On that your fate may hinge.

Tuesday, September 8, 2009

WHEEL OF FORTUNE

Spend a half an hour

Every weekday night

Viewing Wheel of Fortune

And the gorgeous Vanna White.


She’s the image of a goddess

Clad in stunning gown.

She struts before the subject board

And flips the letters ‘round.


Pat Sajak runs the game.

He talks while spins the wheel.

But Vanna earns the fame;

Any show her curves would steal.


The contestants have been told,

If they get the answer right,

To pretend they have a fit,

To scream and act a fright.


For this weird performance,

They win a wad of dough,

And a trip to Newfoundland,

Or Bangkok or Borneo.


We can blame Merv Griffin,

For he made up this stew.

Only lovely Vanna White

Makes it worth a view.

Monday, September 7, 2009

THE BOXER

In his lonely corner sitting on a stool,

Waiting for the bell to ring to start another duel.

His nose is bent and flattened, scars around his eyes,

Reminders of past contests for some elusive prize:

A decisive victory, a purse replete with gold,

A fight crowd’s wild ovation, a title belt to hold.

Now he fights for modest means; he loses more than wins.

His speech is slurred as though he’s drunk a few too many gins.

The bell declares it’s time for war. He springs to meet his foe.

In the early testing rounds, they trade cautious blow for blow.

As the battle wages on, he soon begins to tire.

His punches lose their jolting sting, less urgent his desire.

He bobs and weaves to no avail, his footwork once so swift

No longer keeps him safe from harm, his focus starts to drift.

A mighty right haymaker catches him off guard.

He clutches weakly for the ropes, then hits the canvas hard.

The referee counts him out and lifts the victor’s glove.

The loser dreams of better days: of triumph, youth and love.

When he regains his senses he’s but closer to the end:

No money, no cheering crowd, no title to defend.

Why choose a sport whose aim it is to one’s opponent maim?

If your battered brain is dead, what good are wealth and fame?

Sunday, September 6, 2009

WINTER ESCAPE

Summers’ drawing to a close.

Too bad we can’t like bears repose

In a cave asleep ‘til spring

And miss the winter’s icy sting.

Avoid the city’s slippery streets,

Dark days, fogs, blizzards, sleets,

Frozen pipes, heating bills,

Colds and flu, fever, chills.

‘Go south!’ you say, ‘and spend the days

Basking in warm solar rays.

Phoenix is the place to be in,

Or somewhere in the Caribbean.’

Well, maybe if the great recession

On your worth made no impression,

You can afford such luxury.

That sadly won’t apply to me.

I know that I’ll not widely roam

From the place that I call home.

Friday, September 4, 2009

BEHIND THE VEIL

The possibilities infinite;

The probabilities few.

Of what lies behind the veil

We do not have a clue.


Our puny minds and senses

Only reach the edge of space.

Of other dimensions,

We cannot discern a trace.


We see things through a pinhole,

A mere glimpse of reality,

Compared to all there is to see,

A teardrop in the sea.


Those foolish priests who tell us

Our fate beyond the grave,

Who quoting Holy Scripture

Presume our souls to save.


If we believe their ravings,

We're destined for paradise;

If we defiant scorn them,

We'll be forever Satan's prize.


We cannot know where we'll go

When we get the call.

We may fry on the Devil's spit,

Or in Heaven have a ball!


A likely outcome I suspect

Is eternal oblivion.

But could be we'll be surprised.

We yet may live again!

Thursday, September 3, 2009

CLIMATE CHANGE

Some experts say the world is doomed,

The climate is a-changing.

The icecaps melt, the oceans rise,

As temps go higher ranging.


More hurricanes with gusto blow,

And flash floods drown the streets,

Lightening strikes are on the rise,

When warm-front cold-front meets.


Twisters whirl most every day,

And demolish trailer parks.

Typhoons toss the ships at sea,

While grinning lurk the sharks.


To make things worse, weather woe

Is just part of the equation.

Volcanoes, earthquakes and disease

Add more devastation.


When I hear such gloomy talk,

I can’t help but remember,

There’s nothing quite so often wrong

As predictions of the weather.


Disaster isn’t something new.

If it doesn’t rain it pours.

A forecast dire’s not nature’s fault.

The blame is all Al Gore’s!

MY OLD CAR

My old sedan has had its day.

Now it costs a lot of hay

To keep it safely on the road.

Those engine knocks and wheezes bode

Major breakdown’s on the way.

They must be fixed without delay!

Rust-spots mar the fading paint,

Scratches, dents: a babe she ain’t.

Who would take this piece of trash

In exchange for ready cash?

My hopes for trade-in just as faint.

But in time old cars are ‘quaint’.

Their worth increases as they age.

Perhaps the course of action sage

Is keep the car for decades more,

Until its price begins to soar,

Then accept an offer choice,

And buy myself a Rolls-Royce!

Wednesday, September 2, 2009

WRITER'S CRAMP!

I have a lot of bank accounts.
I open new ones every day.
There's just a dollar in each one.
Spread your wealth, they say.
Yesterday I bought a car
From a dealer in old wrecks.
It cost me just five-hundred bucks,
But I signed five-hundred cheques.

DEAF

What was that? What did you say?

Repeat that please. Pardon? Eh?

My hearing’s failed a bit of late.

Speak up! With care enunciate!


I forgot my hearing aid.

I fear I may have it mislaid.

No, by gosh, it’s in my ear!

Still, I find it hard to hear.


Being deaf one misses much:

Music, sirens, talk and such.

The other day I crossed the street

And didn’t hear the car-horns beep.


But all things have a sunny side.

Hearing loss one can abide

When babies cry and engines roar,

When the spouse assigns a chore.


My friend, I know it’s all too true,

Of what you say a word or two

Goes misheard or missed entire,

But the outcome’s seldom dire.


I can’t my hearing loss abhor

When you become a crashing bore.

A lot of what you have to say

Ain’t worth hearing anyway!

Monday, August 31, 2009

THE POET

Every day I write some verse,

So I guess I am a poet.

What kind of poet am I?

To which muse do I owe it?

I’ve tried to write an epic

(With hilarious results!).

I’ve tried my hand at lyric

(That embarrassed most adults!).

Modern verse repels me.

It lacks both sense and rhyme.

One wonders if the scribbler

Could compose a telling line.

It appears my fate is light-verse;

Witty Thalia is my muse.

I’ll never win a Nobel Prize,

But perhaps some folks amuse.

Saturday, August 29, 2009

SLIPPING AWAY

Life goes on from day to day,
Each one a sequel to the last,
The future molded from the clay,
Shaped by fingers of the past.
Until one dawn a threshold's crossed
When the link that joins the days
Seems to be forever lost.
A new world one senses in the haze.
The past a dreamlike never land,
A future ever less assured,
A base shifting like the desert sand,
A fearsome state not long endured.
A CERTAIN LADY

Man, don't argue with this lady!
You'll only come to harm.
If she can't prevail with logic,
She'll crush you with her charm.
You'll end up on the scrapheap,
Humbled and depressed.
You'll wish you'd never met her,
Ne're your thoughts expressed.
She's bound to get the last word,
And never you forget,
No guy who could outsmart her
Has been born to woman yet!

RAIN

Rain comes when skies are blue;

It comes when skies are grey.

It may come when it’s expected,

Or spoil a sunny day.

It’s mostly unpredictable.

Outdoor things you wish to do

May have to be postponed,

And inconvenience you.

Garden parties may get wet.

Funerals aren’t exempt.

Parades get poured upon.

A picnic? Best not attempt!

It makes things fresh and green,

And the flowers bloom,

But I’d much prefer it

To my schedule more attune,

As in my bathroom shower,

It’d rain only on demand,

And never, never interfere

With events I’d planned.

Friday, August 28, 2009

GOING HOME

We’re about to leave the Island.

The summer’s gone too fast.

We’re returning to the city

To face the winter’s blast.


We’ll miss our many island friends,

Our cottage, cosy wee,

Mountains in the distance,

Deep forests and the sea.


Why don’t we stay in Lotus Land?

We love it more each year.

Each time we leave the thought occurs,

We shan’t return, I fear.


From the softness of the Georgia Gulf

To the Prairie's bitter clime,

We drive a thousand miles

Across terrain sublime.


Is this to be our destiny,

Every spring and fall?

To rush between the harsh and mild

When the island has it all?


I hope we soon will see the light.

We’re getting old, you see.

We may get stuck in Prairie muck

And ne’er again break free!

MY DIGITAL CAMERA

I’m now the awe-struck owner

Of a camera digital.

Once I learn to use it,

It’ll be my constant pal.

Automatic F-stop,

Flash and focus too,

With a little practice,

I’ll be an expert true!

It doesn’t need a film.

It’s magic, it would seem.

Shoot all day and night,

Never miss a scene.

I’ll keep it in my pocket.

I’ll take it everywhere.

Keep a wary eye out.

I’ll catch you unaware!

When you come to visit,

I’ll show you pics galore!

I’ll become a photo nut,

A digital camera bore!

Sunday, August 23, 2009

CALL OF THE WILD

City folk, leave behind

That old familiar scene!

Return to unspoiled nature!

Break from tired routine!


Hike into the forest,

A good friend at your side.

Raise your tent, build a fire.

Let senses come alive.


Hear the jaunty songbirds

Trill among the leaves.

Hear the drone of insects.

Feel cleansing in the breeze.


But this you must remember,

Nature too is cruel.

In wilderness or Gotham

Cunning is the rule.


So keep your rifle handy.

Stay awake at night.

A grizzly may be stalking you.

You could die before first light!