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.

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.

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!

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!