Sunday, July 23, 2017

Phil's Parrot

A plaintive wailing fills the air,
A hawk's incessant cries -
Unvaried and repetitive,
But not a big surprise.

Yet recently I got to meet
The parrot of a friend
And every sound he uttered
Did delight me to no end.

The hawk I couldn't understand -
Not any squawk or trill -
But it was clear as day to hear
That parrot shout out "Phil!"

Saturday, July 22, 2017

The Porch Light

The porch light is an invitation
With an open bar,
Attracting flying critters
To exactly where you are

Or will be, if you left the house,
Returning in the dark
And hoping not to trip between
Your door and where you'd park.

Yet, with clouds of moths and gnats and skeeters
Swarming 'round your head,
You'll conclude that tripping in the dark
You might prefer instead.

Friday, July 21, 2017

Bug Spray

A person who's slathered in spray
To keep flying insects at bay
     May still be surprised
     If one bug, though despised,
Bites or stings after finding a way.

For although they're put off by the smell
Which, when tested, appears to repel
     One brave flyer just might
     Dive in quick for a bite,
One itch gone as the other does swell.

Thursday, July 20, 2017

Romeo and Juliet

Had Romeo and Juliet
Not died a tragic death, I bet
They’d both be old and fat and bored;
An early exit their reward.

For those who perish in their youth
(Unlike those longer in the tooth)
Leave mem’ries of themselves behind
Before their beauty has declined.

And thus, our thoughts of them stay fixed
In younger days, when life restricts
Decisions that they’d both regret,
Their destiny in dying’s debt.

Wednesday, July 19, 2017

Shotgun Wedding

At a wedding in Kansas, right next to the cake
Was a smaller one meant for the groom.
Very often such cakes sport his favorite teams
Or some hobby of his, we’d assume.

Well in this case, the topping was quite a surprise
For it boasted a real-looking gun
Sitting right on the frosting, as if to announce,
“This is my special way to have fun!”

I was not at this wedding; just looked at the pic
So I’m not sure if it was in jest
But no matter, just seeing that pistol-topped cake,
I’m relieved that I wasn’t a guest!

Tuesday, July 18, 2017

All My Hurts

I’d like to gather all my hurts
And roll them up like clay,
But you’d be wrong if you assume
I’d throw them all away.

I’d sculpt a statue tall and fierce
And paint it garish hues,
Reflecting all the colors that
In life I’d never choose.

Then I would cart it to a spot
With nothing else around
And with one match, set it ablaze
And burn it to the ground.

Then, once my hurts were in a heap
Of ashes, I’d feel free
To focus on the things I need
To be a lighter me.

Monday, July 17, 2017


The ferns are taking over,
Running rampant in the yard.
I yank them by the roots, a job
More tedious than hard.

Each summer they crop up en masse
And quickly multiply,
So you may see me plucking them,
Most likely in July.

I do not hate their lacy fronds,
Which sway when there’s a breeze,
So seeing them some other place
Would really not displease.

But gazing from the screened-in porch,
What I object to most
Is this sea of uninvited guests,
Expecting me to host.