Ron's Poems - 2003

Poem of the Week: 12/28/03

Nature's Call

The trees are waving to me in the wind,
Grasses undulating with bodies sinned.

The water's winking catches my eye,
Fanned by wind and clear blue sky.

I must escape the surf's incessant roar,
To the murmuring brook's sensual lure.

To mountain tops that I most covet,
Sweating to reach the cool white summit.

Now, nestled in her forest deep,
I close my eyes and try to sleep.

Until the wolf's lonely call,
Tells me that I must prowl.

RWH: 12/28/03

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Poem of the Week: 12/21/03

The Honorable Thing

He tried to do the honorable thing.
He didn't have a prayer or a wing.

There was no way it was getting off the ground.
No chance that it would come back around.

He had to grab the golden ring.
If he didn't, only his heart would sing.

So he never touched her.
He never felt her stir.

He never felt at all,
After the fall.

For doing the honorable thing.
Once upon a time in America.

RWH: 12/21/03

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Poem of the Week: 12/14/03

Dangerous

They say it is impulsive,
That carefully calculated line.
That brings you to the edge,
That brings you every time.

To where you're really living,
And caution's to the wind.
The adrenaline is flowing,
Your senses say you've sinned.

To say we all are mortal,
Is an unchallenged truth.
Hot blood running through our veins,
Is spilled but for youth.

So if you choose the comfort,
Of the middle road.
You will never know the glory,
Of stories often told.

Of those that lived dangerously,
The ones they call, the bold.
Who lived their lives their way,
Never to grow wise and old.

RWH: 12/14/03

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Poem of the Week: 12/7/03

Windows

I look from my window at my tiny backyard,
The dramas carried out there are worthy of the Bard.

Cats and birds play out their roles,
One never knows for whom the bell tolls.

Plants loved and hated struggle to survive,
While weather and the insects eat them alive.

My television window gives me the world.
In half hour slices the network directors unfold.

News, reality, docudrama, and soapy triviality,
All from the view of an advertising anomaly.

Along comes the computer that changes the world,
Gives us windows unlimited, time and space unfurled.

Windows of knowledge and windows of hate.
Windows of beauty and windows of great.

Windows unwanted and windows desired,
Windows that get the passions fired.

With so many windows I'm getting tired.

RWH: 11/29/03

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Poem of the Week: 11/30/03

Red Rage

His rage is as red as the plumage he wears,
The cardinal sits by my window and angrily stares.

At his image in the pane of my sliding glass door. For a moment, until he can stand no more.

His attack is swift and precisely timed,
To ward off his enemy so perfectly mimed.

To guard his territory and his mate so pure,
From an adversary relentless and ever so near.

Day after day, and week after week,
He fights on regardless and never shows meek.

Alas, like El Cid, the cardinal's a fool,
Jousting with windmills, technology's tool.

His rage is his enemy and he never learns,
In the looking glass, himself he scorns.

RWH: 11/29/03

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Poem of the Week: 11/23/03

Honesty

Honesty was expected.
Part of every youth.
Punishment with the rod,
Made sure we told the truth.

Now the truth gets muddied,
Where shades of honesty abide.
Deviousness becomes the rule,
And honesty must hide.

It's not how hard you work,
Or the knowledge that you have.
It's devious practices that abound,
And spread upon the land.

Being honest and fair,
Will get you nowhere.
Go where the money is.
Be sure to get your share.

Make sure your share is larger,
Take from all the rest.
Throw to them a pittance.
Larger is the best.

It brings to you great stature.
Mass attention too.
It gives you credibility,
Where none is really due.

I favor the honest struggle,
Over ill got gain.
And though I may be the fool.
I'll not be caught in the rain.

When truth is revealed,
And honesty abides.
The sun will shine upon me again,
While avarice runs and hides.

RWH: 11/15/03


Poem of the Week: 11/15/03

The Voyager Beyond

Fifty million miles or more,
Have passed since last year came.
Now, every year's the same.

A web of darkness surrounds me,
As I complete my work,
And gradually depart the game.

They call me the Voyager,
And I have come afar,
Just to make my fame.

Oh, the planets I have seen,
Their glory to behold,
And I am not to blame.

If I have not found other life yet,
Mapped among my views.
Based from where I came.

I carry an old gold record,
In my bag of magic tricks,
My origin to proclaim.

For I am now beyond old Sol,
Pierced the envelope of his wind.
Where the stars are all the same.

With hope that in this great beyond,
I will be found someday.
And they will know my name.

RWH: 11/13/03


Poem of the Week: 11/9/03

Brown

The Black Panther, H. Rap. Brown,
Poetry brought the White establishment down.
And the birdies went, "Tweet, tweet, ... tweet."

The MTVer, Downtown Julie Brown,
Sweetest announcer chick in music town.
And the birdies went, "Tweet, tweet, ... tweet."

Unknown chemist J. R. Calloway Brown,
Manhatten Project brought him down.
And the birdies went, "Tweet, tweet, ... tweet."

That junkyard dog, Leroy Brown,
Baddest cat in the whole damn town.
And the birdies went, "Tweet, tweet, ... tweet."

Hardest working show man, James Brown,
Rolled up the streets and laid them tracks down.
And the birdies went, "Tweet, tweet, ... tweet."

Brown delivers, ain't that sweet?
And the birdies went, "Tweet, tweet, ... tweet."

RWH: 11/9/03


Poem of the Week: 11/2/03

Wasted Love

Woe the loss, the emotional cost,
Wasted on these pages.
Poets write of their plight,
Love lost through the ages.

Wasted lives, wasted youth,
Make us into sages.
The hindsight of perfect vision,
Accentuates the changes.

Still, we cannot resist,
The rush of lust disarms.
When a new love emerges,
We are helpless in its arms.

And so we trod this road again,
This road of wasted charm.
And hope this time it will be real,
And we be safe from harm.

RWH: 11/2/03


Poem of the Week: 10/26/03

Jack on the Loose

You don't know Jack about what I say.
That's okay. I don't need you anyway.
Way back, there's Jack in the sack.
Get back. Laid back. Jack won't go away.

Jack is squirming, his mind is burning, his eyes are like fiery coals.
Don't let him loose, a world of abuse, a flurry of lost souls.

Jumpin Jack flash, the ultimate trash,
He's only a knat's heartbeat away.
He'll get you when you least expect,
In the night of your day--beat, beating away.

Jack me up. Jack me down. Don't you dare, Jack me around.
Jack be nimble. Jack be quick. Don't you light my candlestick!

Jack's a jumpin. His heart is thumpin.
He's only one knat's heartbeat away.
Feel him on the back of your neck.
Turning a wild stray to gray.

Jack Sprat, eat no fat, skinny's where it's always at.
Skinny Minnie, shimmer and shimmy. Shake it. Shake no fat.

"Let me out, it's dark in here!"
It's not the darkness that you fear.
That is what Jack's about.
Makes you want to scream and shout,

Pop me up! Spring me out!
Shock me till I scream and shout.

Jack is your next of kin.
Don't let him get under your skin.
Once he's there, Jack will crawl,
Make you want to climb the wall.

Lemmie in! Lemmie out! Jack me with your power!
Crawl me in the corner, Jack. Make me cringe and cower.

Jack be nimble, Jack be quick.
Let him out and you'll be sick.
Father, Son, and Holy Ghost,
Jack's the one to fear the most.

Jack be Jester, Jack be stout, twist me with the power!
Twist me left. Twist me right. Convulse me with your sour.

And so, when nights turn cold and dark and bleak.
For hooting of the owl you cannot sleep.
Please remember not to let Jack out,
For your intestine he will scream and shout.

Please, ... don't let Jack out!

RWH: 10/26/03


Poem of the Week: 10/19/03

Running Words

Whatsamatter you?
Whatchagunna do?

Goongeddowdda here.
Whatizzit you fear.

Jeeet yet?
Didja feed the pet?

Whattya mean?
Betchya never seen.

Or heard.
A running word.

RWH: 10/13/03


Poem of the Week: 10/12/03

Poignant

We found her starving in the street.
Dirty red dress, no shoes on her feet.

Clutching a dead kitten close to her breast,
Sad story; we needed to know the rest.

"What is the name of your kitten?" I asked.

"Poignant!" She held it tight, her face masked.

"That's a mighty big word for a little girl's head?"

"My Mommy said it, when my Daddy fell dead."

"And where is your mother, and why aren't you fed?"

Tears welled up in her eyes. "Poignant," she said.

RWH: 10/11/03


Poem of the Week: 10/5/03

The Great Passing

Summer's run, winter's come.
Fall back on your laurels.

Summer heat, ripened wheat.
Harvest all your quarrels.

Frenzied pace, won the race.
Now's the time for sharing.

Waning sun, work is done.
Life is worth the wearing.

Feel the chill, bearing ill.
Blowing leaves of regret.

Sweaty soiled, dirty, toiled.
May just get there yet.

To the seam in between,
The living and the dead.

Like the leaves floating down,
Memories come to head.

Memories, that like the leaves,
Will soon decay to dust.

In this moment, vividly passing,
Relaxing in the trust.

Of an autumn afternoon.

RWH: 10/4/03


Poem of the Week: 9/28/03

Radiated

Hapless hours float on by,
Burnt toast melon painted sky.

Silence sits upon the land,
The Reaper's wrath is at hand.

Lovers locked in fatal embrace,
Sown seed cannot erase.

Thursday's special apple pie,
Melting in its case.

Apples falling from the tree,
Dead bug filled rotting waste.

Goodbye, American pie.

Why?

RWH: 9/28/03


Poem of the Week: 9/21/03

Divas

Divas do it all life long,
Ugly ducklings sing the swan.

Build an image song by song,
Diana, Patti, Elton John.

Listen to Barbara all night long.
Tina's rollin'sexy and strong.

Cher stoic without Sonny,
Rises to the occasion in thong.

Modonna with child,
Reinvented, lives on.

Whitney the waif,
Sings Bobby's song.

Mariah the ethereal, like the wind,
Never savored, never sinned.

Shania, from Canada came,
Swept country like the rain.

Celine, from Canada, too,
Conquered all with Vegas revue.

Viva the Divas, long life to you,
Welcome Britney, Christina, Beyonce, too.

Young Divas there is room for you.
In my heart.

RWH: 9/21/03


Poem of the Week: 9/14/03

Chaos Game

Out of chaos, into the void.
A world of order, so employed.

Dust spinning tighter, into a ball,
Gravity winning after the fall.

Crushing the center with massive force,
Melting from inside like hell's curse.

Floating upon this molten core,
A thin crust of scum on which to store.

All the world's wealth; its mountains; its shore.
Its oceans; its atmosphere; and so much more.

Its surface alive with myriad score,
Flora and fauna too numerous to ignore.

Each trying to capture its own little niche.
But life is hard; life's a bitch.

Most forms die before they can reproduce.
Life is so chaotic, what's the use?

A nature so ordered, so wonderful, so pure,
One could predict from year to year.

But some forms live at others' abuse,
The intelligent kind fashions its own noose.

Intelligence has begun to alter the score.
Constant bickering on who should go fore.

Flawed paradigms leading to dread.
Leaving millions suffering or dead.

The success of intelligence is coming to a head,
Anarchy will win when all others are shed.

Ashes to ashes, dust to dust.
Back into chaos, in anarchy we trust.

RWH: 9/14/03


Poem of the Week: 9/7/03

Salad, But True

Deep in the night, my tongue took flight,
Straight to my wisened old tooth's bed.
Tracing the tooth's bite with circular might,
Where gum and tooth are wed.

A sharpness was there, tongue beware,
The tooth was a sharp as chipped granite.
Try as my tongue might--not tonight,
I couldn't dislodge that damn sleep bandit.

I worried that wart, until my tongue gave out.
And succumbed to the sleep of the damned.
Working and dreaming, planning and scheming,
On how to get the damn thing wiggled out.

To my dismay, my tongue kept wandering that way,
And wore itself bloody to tip-not hip.
Round and round in my head, by tongue I'd be bled,
In the morning, drip, drip, I'd be dead.

Sleep found its way and saved the night that day,
I passed out from my own frenzied dread.
Near morning it popped up like a pimple.
A popcorn hull dimple, the size of a loaf of bread.

Bet you thought it was a crouton, instead?

RWH: 9/1/03


Poem of the Week: 8/31/03

Ode to Janis

Janis Joplin's heart was hoppin'
Down by the sugarcane.
Left her home oily Texas loam,
Westward, ho, she came.

Hitched a ride with Bobby McGee,
Windshield wipers clappin' time.
For the coast with the most,
Southern California sunshine.

She cried, cry--baby cried,
For her ball and chain.
Spilled her soul with a raspy roll.
In the Southern California rain.

Southern Comfort by the bottle
Couldn't ease the pain.
That punctuated her every song
With mournfully true refrain.

Rapid riches could not cure,
Her tormented piece o' heart.
Popping pills to cure her ills,
Played but one small part.

When her anguish became too much,
And her past prevented a new start.
Janis gave her life to heroin.
And left us all, apart.

RWH: 8/31/03

Poem of the Week: 8/24/03


Words in Stone

Words in stone, set a tone,
That gives a sense of permanence.

Rules of men, wise of pen,
Giving them some mystic eminence.

To control the mind, leave behind,
The animal instincts within.

No good can come, at least for some,
Who cannot toe their fine moral line.

And so with time, like the rhyme,
These words began to ring true.

These words in stone, god alone,
Could only have carved so new.

A graven image of the word,
Placed in government rotunda pew.

To guide us in the way of the lord.
We fought to cast from view.

RWH: 4/27/03


Poem of the Week: 8/17/03

Blackout

There was a soundless crash,
A brilliant flash,
That ripped the universe apart.

I sat on my porch,
And watched it all,
Just doing my part.

The stars went out,
One by one,
As if to make a new start.

When that hot summer day,
Melted away,
Into the deep, deep dark.

I sat without fear,
Watching without sight.
Only observing the absence of light.

The air was heavy and warm,
And covered me with its dark blanket.
Against the endless night.

Like the soup that it is,
The air cooled slowly.
When I felt the chill it was too late.

I got up to go inside,
Like so many times before.
And froze to death trying to find the door.

RWH: 8/17/03


Poem of the Week: 8/3/03

Relish

Relish the nights,
Relish the days.
Relish heaped on hotdogs,
In the good old ways.

It's nothing but pickles,
Chopped to a sauce.
But lounging on a hot dog,
It's the coup de gras.

Relish the good times,
Relish the days.
When life was much younger,
In sweet, simple ways.

A ballpark, picnic, or county fair,
Relish the smells that filled the air.
When friends dropped in,
As you gathered your kin.

Relish the day,
Relish the night.
Relish your loved ones,
Hold them tight.

For if you do not relish them,
And pack them just right,
They may spoil on you.
And disappear from sight.

Like the relish on a well-eaten dog.

RWH: 8/3/03


Poem of the Week: 7/27/03

Mustard

Mustard on your hot dog,
Mustard on your fries.
Thought it was ketchup,
Twas all a bunch of lies.

Mustard on your shirt sleeve,
Mustard on your lap.
Staining your new shirt like that,
Ought to get a slap.

If you ask for mustard,
Don't say, "Grey Poupon."
Don't say it, that is,
Without your formals on.

Mustard for the Army,
Mustard for the coast.
The Army is a terrible way,
To leave those you hate the most.

Golden mustard in the fields,
Is the farmers' bane.
Mustard greens in the pot,
The poor man can sustain.

Mustard it from the grape vine,
Mustard from the news.
Those who mustard for the Army,
Got a lot to lose.

So if you're in some foreign land,
And see the fields of gold.
Remember those who mustard out,
And didn't live to grow old.

RWH: 4/27/03


Poem of the Week: 7/20/03

Ketchup

Ketchup on your hotdog.
Ketchup on your fries.
Ketchup on your coffee,
Before the flavor dies.

Ketchup on your shirt,
Ketchup on your sleeve.
Ketchup on your reading,
Before you have to leave.

Ketchup on macaroni,
Ketchup on your chin.
"The poor man's spaghetti,"
He says with a grin.

Ketchup on your lobster,
Ketchup on prime rib.
"The rich man's pleasure,"
He says with a fib.

Ketchup on the body,
Is not a bloody sin.
It is just a movie,
And the state your in.

Ketchup on your morning,
Ketchup on your schemes.
Ketchup while you can,
Before ketchup's on your dreams.

RWH: 7/20/03


Poem of the Week: 7/13/03

Replicant, Too Point Ooooh ...

Replican, replicant, copy like an ant.
Imitation is as old as nature,
Perfecting perfection to its stature,
Always on the minds of men.

Sumer scribes keeping score,
Counting talents in days of yore.
Counting makes kings of men.
Gives them hope, gives them yen.

The Egyptians' art was so pure.
A minion of artisans toiled by the year.
Duplicating Pharaoh's wishes with careful hand,
Displaying his countenance upon the land.

Rollover Gutenberg, in your shop,
The printing press has come to a stop.
The offset process is long gone.
Progress, like time, marches on.

Digitizing it all in alchemist blend.
Words, voice and music, when will it end?
Scan, stylize, synthesize, and send.
Merging motion to the creator's tend.

Copy the Masters for your wall.
Copy the great works--copy them all!
Knockoff, ripoff, plunder and score.
After all, what's a copyright for?

These days genetics is right at the edge,
And though we may posture, though we may hedge.
Digital cloning is right round the corner,
While we sit like little Jack Horner.

Replicate for all it's worth,
Is nothing sacred on this Earth?
A brave new world is at hand.
A new creation upon the land.

Just where do you stand?
I'm on slippery, shifting sand.

RWH: 7/13/03


Poem of the Week: 7/6/03

Where Eagles Dare

Dare I would go where eagles fly,
To that primal shore, in the long gone by.

When reptiles ran, to catch the wind.
Into a strange sky, flapping skin.

Momentarily airborne if not in flight.
Lifting off against gravity's might.

Some would make it; some would not.
Some would soar; some would rot.

Light of bone, and hawk of eye,
These dinosaurs would learn to fly.

Learn to float on thermal draft,
Learn to hunt from precarious shaft.

Of tall trees and through their leaves,
Leaving clouds behind with ease.

Dodging raindrops in full flight.
Challenging the wind's greatest might.

Feathers over scaly skin,
Does not hide the talon's sin.

Sinking into unsuspecting prey,
Tearing flesh the dinosaur way.

So if you love our feathered friends,
Think of that far off shore again,

And cringe.

RWH: 7/6/03


Poem of the Week: 6/29/03

Queen Bee

The queen bee sits upon her throne,
Insuring that she's never alone.

Carefully cultivating every one,
Molding every mother's son.

Nurturing life throughout the hive,
Making sure it stays alive.

Making sure that she's the one,
When all is said, all is done.

She picks her drones carefully,
And cultivates them with care.

She wouldn't want her nest,
Sullied by a wild old hair.

From the head of a dread,
Challenge from within.

She has carefully defined,
What is and is not, sin.

And if, by chance, you cross her path,
Without permission given.

You are banished from hive,
For the life you're living.

Laughing out loud is her sting,
Full of sarcastic venom.

She makes of you the laughing stock.
In her matriarchy of women.

The queen of kings, hollow rings,
A hive built like a small town.

With a single stroke of gray smoke,
Her house of cards comes down.

The smoke of gray on the head,
Of the master clown.

RWH: 6/29/03


Poem of the Week: 6/22/03

Never the Best Word

The greatest thoughts of men,
Never have been said.

The greatest words ever written,
Never have been read.

Life is short and we are dead,
Before our best leaves its bed.

And if we are brave,
And speak our minds.

We are easily dismissed,
Tossed out, and left behind.

Millions committing social sin.
--not fitting in.

The game of life has one rule:
Join the crowd or be the fool.

The high road isn't kind; it is cruel.
Be cool, no matter how absurd.

Never is a long, long time.
To have lost the best word.

RWH: 6/21/03


Poem of the Week: 6/15/03

Monkey Pox

Bagels, lox, Monkey Pox,
Pop that pus outta sight.

Three legged frogs on mossy logs,
That turn into monster fishy fright.

Prairie dogs, feral hogs,
Care to have SARS tonight?

Chimpanzee wars, sexual whores,
Take me, AIDS, in flight.

Lola, Lola, get your Ebola,
Monkeys that love to bite.

Ranta, Santa, where's your Hanta?
Hiding like a rat from the light.

Tic tocks, Monkey Pox,
Time is running out.

There is no cure, for what we fear,
When it jumps and finds us right.

Pet your frog like a dog,
Wake up screaming in the night.

As the fox, slips the pox,
Totally out of sight.

... Until it pops out on you!

RWH: 6/15/03


Poem of the Week: 6/8/03

Lonely Poetess

She sits at her computer,
Night after night.
Feverishly typing,
Until the dawn's light.

Her passion is real,
Like her dreams.
Filled with conviction,
And magical schemes.

Knight in shining armor,
To take her away.
Carry her off,
Into a bright, new day.

Her poems are vivid,
And filled with her light.
The better to charm,
Her bright, shining knight.

And if he responds by email,
To answer her plight.
A flurry of messages,
Seals love at first sight.

Alas, life is not magic,
And the fairy tale isn't true.
The slob, lout, ... jerk!
Just wants to hit on you.

And so you return,
To a lonely night life.
Turning out poems,
Of troubles and strife.

And if, perchance,
You fall asleep one night.
Dream not of trouble,
Dream not of plight.

Go down by the meadow,
Go down by the glen.
Open your basket,
And let nature in.

Let nature ravish you,
Take it all in.
There's nothing unnatural.
In natural sin.

And if a lad happens by,
One bright, shining day.
Open your basket,
Invite him to play.

Pining and whining,
Won't get your way.
When love comes along,
Like a bright, shining day.

RWH: 6/7/03


Poem of the Week: 6/1/03

Small People

Small people with little minds,
Sitting on their big behinds.
Operate within narrow confines,
Of carefully drawn, fine lines.

Trusting in heritage and experience,
To lead their way, never seeing,
Any bigger, broader way,
Caught in their, little day to day.

They're so sure, quick to fight.
Slow to think, and see the light.
Locked in games of their own design,
Never experiencing another paradigm.

Little thoughts in narrow minds.
Untraveled, inexperienced and unsung.
Making sure that "I's" the one.
Tight, small world not to be undone.

But when the world comes crashing in,
Will small people lose or win?
Will they die with all the rest?
Or will they rise and pass the test?

RWH: 6/1/03


Poem of the Week: 5/25/03

White Crosses

White crosses march out on every side,
Each marking a soldier in final abide.

A Christian symbol for those who went to war,
Preserving freedom of religion forevermore.

War is not sacred; nor is it profane.
Not part of God's great plan; nor some cruel game.

War is waged by men with a plan.
To sacrifice some for the good of the clan.

But who lies yonder neath the green green grass?
Men who died too soon taking on that task.

So it is them we honor, holding a bold white sign.
Off to war for religion until eternal time.

Maybe someday the crosses can come down.
Soldiers freed from holding, hallowed ground.

RWH: 5/25/03


Poem of the Week: 5/18/03

Split Rock Lighthouse Love

On the shores of Gitchi Gami,
The Split Rock Lighthouse stands.

Saving wind tossed mariners,
From going down with all hands.

A place of rugged beauty,
Matt and Becky did adore.

Smitten by the moment,
Matt proposed his troth.

Becky accepted lovingly,
A promise shared by both.

May the light of love save us,
From life's long rocky shore.

And may the beauty of our marriage,
Shine on in Gitchi Gami lore.

Shorter version for Matt and
Becky's wedding program

Lighthouse of Love

On the shores of a lifetime,
The lighthouse of love gleams.

Guiding wandering lovers,
With its loving beams.

May the light of love save us,
From life's long rocky shore.

And may the beauty of our marriage,
Shine on for evermore.

Gitchi Gami is Ojibway for
'great sacred waters'
or Lake Superior

RWH: 5/17/03/03


Poem of the Week: 5/11/03

Honeysuckle Rain

I lay my weary head down,
Beside the murmuring stream.
Like it never happened,
Like it was just a dream.

No time to take my boots off,
No time for me to preen.
I just lay me down,
Amid the verdant green.

Warm there in that hollow,
The rain began to fall.
To thin the red of war,
And dim its awful pall.

Sweet to my nostrils,
The honeysuckle came.
As I lay there dying,
In the honeysuckle rain.

I dreamed of my comrades,
Who gave their lives in vain.
On the ridge that morning,
Air heavy with pending pain.

I awoke to brilliant sunlight,
And morning birds' refrain.
The sleep of night had saved me,
And the honeysuckle rain.

RWH: 5/10/03


Poem of the Week: 5/3/03

All Over Again

Tried and tried, but couldn't make it work.
Retried, refried, rehashed knee-jerk.

Remarried, rehired, retrained to boot.
Did this, done that, and don't give a hoot.

So tired, still wired, coffee about to perk.
Tread so worn to where danger lurk.

Time for a wake over, makeover shot.
Time to piss, or get to off the pot.

Retired, rewired, red pistol hot.
Retread, not dead, give it all you've got.

For there's nothing sweeter than that still small sound,
When childhood comes creeping, ... back around.

RWH: 5/3/03


Poem of the Week: 4/27/03

Ask Murderers

Apologies to my many Afro-American friends.
Pronouncing "Ask" as "Ax" is common among
dialects in rural Black American communities.

"May I ax you something," he said.
"Only if you don't lop off my head!"

Please don't ax me about my ring.
A severed finger is a bloody thing.

Please don't ax me about my shoes
Running without feet is sure to lose.

Please don't ax me about my belt,
Do I look good with my guts spilled out?

Please don't ax me about my eyes,
I don't want my vision circumcised.

Please don't ax me about my hair,
Without my scalp, I'm going nowhere.

Please don't ax me about my heart,
It's not bleeding and doesn't intend to start.

Ax all you want, I always say.
Just give me time, to get out of the way.

RWH: 4/27/03


Poem of the Week: 4/19/03

Headset

This headset doesn't fit quite right,
The wire is tangled; the spring's too tight.

The speaker's screaming in my right ear,
Making it hard to say what I hear.

Making it hard to say what I write,
Tying my ears down good and tight.

Straitjacketed by this little mike,
I know what a schizophrenic's life is like.

Hearing little voices inside my head,
A little voices repeating what I just said.

Am I crazy? My thoughts are about shot.
This little headset's got my mind in a knot.

This serial killer has got to go,
Become a milquetoast average Joe.

You could say my head's not screwed on right,
Time for a headset that's not so tight.

A new point of view that's out of sight.
Straight from one that's wrapped too tight.

How can I get a new point of view?
Trade in this headset for an array mike that's new!

RWH: 4/19/03


Poem of the Week: 4/13/03

Spring Fever

Snow is fading in the sun,
As new color pushes ground.

I search the Internet all night long,
But no new love have I found.

Bees buzz the fragrant air,
And birds fill it with sound.

Girls leave their midriffs bare,
To make my temples pound.

College students pack in cars,
For the south beaches bound.

While I study in my room,
Thoughts spinning round and round.

There is an emptiness I have found,
Whenever spring comes around.

Unsteady, the newborn leaves the womb,
By summer, I'll be sound.

RWH: 4/13/03


Poem of the Week: 4/6/03

Preventive Maintenance

There's life in the old girl yet,
Just oil her down and keep her wet.

There's a fine patina to her skin,
Not too fat, not too thin.

She's lasted all these years,
Toil and trouble, wasted fears.

Threadbare in a few spots,
Tasted cold and got the hots.

Been through some bumps and grinds,
Been up front, and done lefts behinds.

Hasn't got any regular care,
Still, when needed, always there.

Crank her up and turn her on,
Use her up before she's gone.

You thought I was writing about my girl?
Just that old fixer upper from Cousin Earl.

RWH: 4/6/03


Poem of the Week: 3/30/03

Comes a Sunny Day

World at war, skies are gray,
Comes a sunny day.

When skies were blue, love was true,
Children laughed at play.

When skies were bright, through the night,
We sang and danced till dawn.

The air was sweet, high with wheat.
We came hither, we went yon.

Before we were oppressed, put down,
And evil came to town.

Night skies red with bloody glow,
Thunder rock and rain below.

Death is night and in our fright,
We often kneel to pray.

When death is done, cast away,
Comes, again, a sunny day.

RWH: 3/29/03


Poem of the Week: 3/23/03

Shock and Awe

Night sky filled with fire and smoke,
We, down under, gasp and choke.

It came silently in the long night,
Death without wings took flight.

Cruising leisurely through the dark,
Casually, like a stroll in the park.

Coldly, cruelly, sought out its mark,
Swooped down like a bat in the dark.

Penetrated deep down, through concrete and stone.
Finding us where we live; now so alone.

Dull thud of death, so close at hand.
Like an earthquake's shudder, but well planned.

Rats in a hole with the walls caving in,
Scurrying to nowhere amid the din.

Of a world coming apart, crushed to the heart.
Of a once strong, once proud, upstart.

The display above is awesome to view,
To those lost below, it's justice due.

Grave of our own making shocking awe,
Fire and brimstone, last light we saw.

RWH: 3/23/03


Poem of the Week: 3/16/03

Freeway

Cut off, cut in, lie, cheat and steal.
Anything goes when you're free wheel.
Caught up in the beat, in the deal.

Frenetic activity on the street.
Staccato, rapido, short and sweet.
Laptops and cell phones communicate neat.

Conference calls and message malls.
No time for anyone to relax at all.
In this precooked, fast food, microwaved pall.

Clone those cows, cloned corn to done.
Food to celebrate; food for fun.
Get your food on the run.

Buy a diploma; work a deal.
Get ahead anyway you feel.
It's the American way to get real.

Cut throat, go for broke, who's to care?
Unless you are a robber baron,
You ain't going nowhere.

So get on the bus, and come with us,
Where the West is wild and free,
Come to America and join the crowd.

On the freeway to nowhere,
Can't you see?

RWH: 3/16/03


Poem of the Week: 3/9/03

Yellow River

Down by the Yellow River,
Where daily I pee.

Thousands times a thousand join me,
From where you cannot see.

Sterile as a baby,
Urine leaves you and me.

To mix and create vile toxins,
Slowly winding to the sea.

Urea, ammonia, rancid wee wee,
All byproducts from our lowly pee.

Either urine or you're not,
Turgid water hits the spot.

Bottled as beer that costs a lot.
The water's yellow as it is hot.

Bloody red sky, green pee sea,
Come pee in the yellow river with me.

RWH: 3/9/03


Poem of the Week: 3/2/03

Little Things

Be-bop a Lula.
Little dab'ill do ya.
Dabba, dabbit to ya.

Little peck upon the cheek
Smite ya 'til yer knees go weak.
Little peck'ill do ya, geek.
Pecka, peckit to ya.

Long hot desert run,
Drop of water on the tongue.
Little drop'ill do ya, sun.
Droppa, droppit to ya.

Thousand sperm on the run.
Little drip of sweet fun.
Little sperm'ill do ya, hon.
Socka, sockit, to ya.

Little bullet from your gun,
Through his brain did run.
Little bullet'ill do ya, son.
Poppa, poppit, to ya.

Eerie cry in the night,
Give you an awful fright.
Little fear'ill do ya right.
Creepa, creepit, to ya.

Put the small pox 'pond the wind,
Breathe deep, breathe it in.
Little pox'll do ya in.
Poxxa, poxxit, to ya.

Gamma ray from deep space,
Run you through without a trace.
Little zap'ill change the race.
Zappa, zappit, to ya.

RWH: 3/2/03


Poem of the Week: 2/23/03

Tough Times

When the tough times come,
And you know they will.

Will you be prepared,
To pay the bill-to kill?

No time for charity,
No thought of sin.

When the last bread crumb,
Empties the bin.

Will you bury your daughter,
Abandon your son?

Will you steal and lie to get by,
Or just lie down and die?

You never thought it would come to this.
You lived your life in contented bliss.

You thought your goodness was God-given,
But you were lucky just to be living.

When tough times come,
And there's nowhere to run.

What will you do? ....

One thing's for sure,
Death will be looking for you.

RWH: 2/23/03


Poem of the Week: 2/16/03

Jazz

Feel the heat of the beat,
Cacophony of sounds.

Jungle night dark and deep,
A heavy warmth surrounds.

Holds you in its warm embrace,
Like a woman's secret place.

Lowdown dark and dirty in the night,
Story be told you know it's right.

Life ain't kind; it's taken the very best.
Chewed 'em up, spit out the rest.

So very late, when the night winds down,
There comes this deep down mournful sound.

Celebrating making another day,
What was given and taken away.

When all the instruments come together,
Smoke and alcohol combined--unwind.

A certain dissonance of brothers.
That stands out from all the others:

A melody of moods.
A tapestry of tune.

Casts off the gloom.
That greets the dawn.

RWH: 2/16/03


Poem of the Week: 2/9/03

Oh Michael

Oh Michael what have you done?
To your daughter; to your sons?

The public's got its eye on you,
Thought you were some kind of guru.

Thought you were the King of Pop.
Brought your fame to the top.

Like a chameleon you did change,
Voice, looks, tone, and range.

Genius comes at a great cost.
People judge and we have lost.

Time to grow up and face the world.
Before you fade, your fame unfurled.

And die some awful way.
Buried, lost and forgotten.

Where, some faraway sunny day.
Little children will come to play.

RWH: 2/9/03


Poem of the Week: 2/1/03

Seven Souls

Seven souls soared today.
Shining streaks that made their way,
Across the blue sky morning day.

Cremated in the cold of space,
Paid the price of progress' pace.
A testimony to the human race.

Like baby birds who leave the nest,
We are put to the test.
Will we fly with the rest?

Encased in armor against the beast,
Technology is the yeast.
That bakes the bread of feast.

When we die making the try,
The famine of misfortune makes us cry.
On our machines we do or die.

But they are now gone--ashes, dust.
That they lived, we only trust.
Into history they are thrust.

Part of the great score.
Building on the legacy,
Of those that went before.

Cast upon the wind.
Spread against the sky.
Seven souls soared today.
Seven souls did fly.

RWH: 2/1/03


Poem of the Week: 1/26/03

A Paint in My Siding

There's a paint in my siding,
And it hurts like hell.
But you know I've got to do it,
If I'm ever gonna sell.

Skin's chipped and cracked,
Causes great pain.
Leaks out my a/c,
Lets in wind and rain.

Nails all pushed out,
Rusty red eye,
No double-dipped galvanized,
To shine on my sky.

Chalk's fallin' out,
Cupboards are bare.
Is that mold or mildew,
That fouls the air?

Paint all faded,
Bleeding filthy streaks.
As ugly as sin,
Walking my streets.

Rotten wood falling down.
Termite studs full of sloth.
Powerwash it to hell,
Blow the damn crap off.

Pounding headache,
Nails slamming in.
Will it ever end;
Will it begin?

Match those colors,
Texture and hue,
Or the homeowners' association,
Will come after you.

When it is finished,
Beauty to behold.
Had better enjoy it,
Before it gets old.

Appraisals are up,
Bank accounts down.
Face the future,
With a frown.

When it's paid for,
And I am dead.
Someone will have,
A roof over head.

RWH: 1/12/03


Poem of the Week: 1/19/03

Homo Status

I was born of primordial ocean,
98.6 degrees.
I cannot contemplate the notion,
Of heat and cold with ease.

For when I left the water,
The shock was much to bear.
Enduring the wistful potion,
Of the fickle air.

I had to protect myself,
From the searing knife.
The way the wind would cut me,
To take away my life.

And so I put on armor.
To shield me from the pain.
I built a fire within me,
To carry me to the plain.

A skin of scaly leather,
Gave way to fur and feather.
I ate the barren heather,
Just to stay alive.

The killing cold still comes often,
But it kills no longer quick.
The fire of fever's passion,
Can and will be licked.

The burning heat's in fashion,
The seas will surely rise.
But cool and calm prevail,
And will for all our lives.

RWH: 1/19/03


Poem of the Week: 1/12/03

Dark Enigma

She cuts like a laser through the deep, dark night.
There's a fine fire burning in her engines bright.

Her skin is sleek and smooth as honed satin,
Her eyes as big and bright as the Rings of Saturn.

As deep and dark as a bottomless pit.
Drop a gaze into them to see if it will hit.

To try to turn her from her mission,
Is to try to put her rotation in recession.

A dark steed, a mighty force.
Keeps her on her scheduled course.

And so she charges through the night.
Chasing moonbeams in her flight.

In the morning she'll alight.
A radiant angel in the dawn's early light.

RWH: 1/12/03


Poem of the Week: 1/5/03

A New Day

A new day is dawning,
Cool, bright and clear.
All creatures are yawning,
Rising this time of year.

Thoughts that held you,
In dreams so tight.
So vivid to view,
Are gone with the night .

Clear the cobwebs,
From your mind's eye.
Stretch your muscles,
The better to live by.

Yesterday is gone,
With all its pain.
Like dirty water,
Down the drain.

A new day awaits,
All promise and bright.
Had better get to it.
Between now and night.

Many things are planned,
Many are due.
There is no time to waste,
Before this new day is through.

RWH: 1/5/03




               

       The Kaleidoscope Effect    A Love Story

       Alone?    A Life Story

       Hanging by a Thread    A Love of Life Story

       War's End    A Love of Humanity Story

       American Mole:  The Vespers    A Love of Country Story

       American Mole:  The Cartel    A Lost Love Story

       It's in the Water and Other Stories    A Love of Short Stories

       Verge of Apocalypse Tales    End of Earth Stories?

Poems

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