Ron's Poem of the Week

Poem of the Week: 12/1/12


Please don't write me that you agree.
This is satire. Try substituting your favorite
religious mythical character for Bigfoot.

I believe in Bigfoot,
I heard the news today.
I believe in Bigfoot,
and, I am on my way.

When I first saw that movie,
I couldn't believe my eyes.
A creature as big as Yeti,
'neath the California skies.

It was a miracle when I saw it,
for the Saquatching camera never lies.
There are things we cannot understand,
that exist and are twice our size.

So many people have seen him,
I know Bigfoot must be true.
There even was a movie about him,
he's just like me and you.

His footprints are everywhere,
in the deep, dark woods he hides.
Sasquatchy shares this earth with us,
he'll show us when he decides.

For he is much smarter than we are,
to evade us for so long.
He's probably from another planet,
to be so big and so strong.

The DNA evidence is in,
and samples, they abound.
That prove, without a doubt,
that Bigfoot has been found.

A noted scientist was converted,
I saw her confess witness on TV.
The documentary converted millions,
for all the scientific world to see.

So, I believe in Bigfoot,
I will carry the torch for he.
I'll search the forest the world over,
to find where he will be.

And if you still do not believe,
I really pity thee,
for he is great, and you are late,
to join the multitude, Bigfoot and me.

RWH: 11/29/12

Print this poem here.

Poem of the Week: 11/24/12


You came to me when I was down,
nowhere to turn to and no way around.
Somehow you understood what I had to say,
and helped me continue on my way.


I'm thankful for the things you do,
I am thankful just because you're you.

So many times you've come to my aid,
helped fulfill the plans I've made.
Helped fulfill the plans I've laid,
my life, no longer, is delayed.


I love you though it's hard to say,
for I slow you down and get in your way.
I'd set you free, if I only could.
You could be free, if you only would.


But you are in me, like I am in you,
we are together forever, forever new.
I know that you will stay to the bitter end,
when you'll be free, free to mend.


RWH: 11/22/12

Print this poem here.

Poem of the Week: 11/17/12


Have you ever taken a dare and won?
Or was it just all in fun? I did.

I dared when I was on the run,
not from the police, or it's pun.

But to places new under the sun,
places you want to be with your hon.

Don't worry about time or mon.
When you're dead, it's over and done.

So I dare you to get out of your cage.
Regardless of your station, or your age.

There's more to life than poetry.
Have you ever really, hugged a tree?

Have you ever felt, the wind in your face?
As you reach your peak and won the race?

Have you ever stared down a bear,
knowing that he could feel your fear?

Felt the smooth strength of a snake,
as calm as the waters of a secluded lake?

Stared at the stars in the moonless sky,
and asked yourself the question, Why?

Are you here except for the dare,
without a challenge, you'll never get there.

So, I dare you to act before it is too late,
be the first out of your starting gate.

And report back to all what you have done,
for there is so much to do under the sun.

RWH: 11/15/12

Print this poem here.

Poem of the Week: 11/10/12


I got this idea watching
the sparrows gobble up
the rice noodles and water
placed out for them every
day outside my window.

The sparrows are amusing,
as they squabble over food.
Fast food not fit for birds,
but it sure suits their mood.

It's hard to pick seeds one by one,
from grass or from a bush.
Much easier from a scrap of bread,
to give a quick sugar rush.

Sparrows sure are a gregarious lot,
but supposed to mate for life.
Hard to tell when they flock together,
who is husband or who is wife.

They are so free to wander,
and wander far and wide.
Spend much energy in wandering,
that cannot be denied.

Sparrows are a predators' favorite,
for they are small and weak.
Still, they can overpopulate,
eat every seed of grain they seek.

Sparrows were banned from China,
for eating all the food.
Truth is they all were eaten,
by the starving up to no good.

For when it comes down to the end,
and there is nothing left to eat.
He who gets the last crumb,
will live for another heart beat.

And when all the sparrows are gone,
and no longer sing their song.
Will the silence of the meadows,
echo eons on and on?

RWH: 11/8/12

Print this poem here.

Poem of the Week: 11/3/12

Global Warning

Can you see the signs?
Can you read between the lines?
The world is hurting, don't you know?
But all you can think about, is grow.

Every child is heaven blessed,
and joyously joins all the rest,
making us seven billion strong,
adding to our mighty throng.

For growth is our only desire,
growing economies fuel the fire.
Jobs for all are heaven sent,
so we can continue to pay the rent.

There is no end to what we can do,
if only everyone would serve the few,
there are no limits to our earth,
we just have to tighten our girth.

And let the freedom of the market play,
so everyone will have a wonderful day.
Because the captains in control,
will make it happen without the dole.

They'll make it happen for all to see,
until they've cut the last old-growth tree,
caught the last fish in the sea,
and filled it with their castoff debris.

For their wealth blinds them to,
all the harm that they do.
Isolated in their ivory tower,
more ivory is lost every hour.

As the poor scratch out a meager existence,
and degrade their nest for mere subsistence.
And beautiful places are being destroyed,
the habitat for all other creatures denied.

Are we people of the earth?
Or are we just to tighten our girth?
And let the captains choose our fate?
Is it already, too late?

RWH: 11/1/12

Print this poem here.

Poem of the Week: 10/27/12

Out the Window

My love flew out the window,
and landed on a sunny day.
I was blue for a moment,
but decided to go out anyway.

My love flew out the window,
and landed on a sunny day.

In the park there was a pond,
where all the fishes swam.
With so many fishes I could see,
and they could see who I am.

With so many fishes in the pond,
my chances were quite bright.
To catch a fish just for me,
before the coming night.


The sun went down too soon,
and it got quite dark.
I had not caught that special one,
and had to leave the park.

But I did not hide in gloom,
my luck of that day.
I ventured out into the dark,
to dance the night away.


Sometime near dawn,
I found the one.
She grabbed my arm,
and we went out to stay.

I don't regret my love flew out,
the window on a sunny day.


RWH: 10/25/12

Print this poem here.

Poem of the Week: 10/20/12

Land of the Lost

In the land of the lost,
you can't be found.
Nothing is familiar.
Nothing is sound.

The womb that you came from,
was safe and warm.
You floated on dreams,
free from all harm.

But now you're cast out,
into the land of the lost.
You see nothing to profit,
only your growing cost.

Of a life not worth living,
though tedious as hell.
You go through the motions,
but never can, ever tell.

If you'll ever find your way,
out of this self-made morass.
Your only response is,
to "Kiss my ass."

But that doesn't solve,
the state that you're in.
You can call it, "failure."
You could even call it, "sin."

But that won't change,
the deep do you're in.
Until you find your own way,
when it's sink or swim.

So you'll go on searching,
the boundaries of your past.
Seeking fulfillment,
that doesn't last.

For no one escapes,
the land of the lost.
Where dreams come to haunt,
and you turn and toss.

Where the night never ends,
and that day never comes.
And you're left in the limbo,
your afterlife becomes.

RWH: 10/18/12

Print this poem here.

Poem of the Week: 10/13/12


A Halloween poem for all
you kids out there,
regardless of age.

Pumpkin noggin, hobgoblin, boo!
I'd watch out, if I were you.

Scarecrow, scare show, boo-hoo!
Don't cry, little one, if you're not blue.

For there are things that go bump in the night.
For there are things that will give you great fright.

But don't cry, my little one.
Halloween is all about fun.

Trick-or-treats! Money or eats!
Treat me right and I'll treat you feats.
Treat me wrong and you'll be blue,
for I am a trickster, through and through.

But don't venture out in the dark wood,
the bogeyman is waiting, and he is not good.

You can tell where he is by the hoot of the owl,
or the scent trail that he leaves, ever so foul.

Out in the distance, the wolf will howl,
telling you there are secrets that devour.

Fear not, little one, in the Casper sheet,
for you are protected by your little feet.

You can run like the wind, to escape the beast,
but you can't outrun, your bellyache from the feast.

Beware, if you eat too much sweet candy,
you won't sleep tight, you won't sleep dandy.

You won't sleep at all in the middle of the night,
when monsters come forth to give you a fright.

Black cat, witch's hat, flyaway broom, moon.
Your little head is spinning, and so is the room.

That'll teach you for being so goody greedy.
No more candy for you, for you are so needy.

Of a good whipping for eating too much.
But the nightmare will do in an apple crunch.

So that next time, when Halloween rolls around,
you'll sneak through the neighborhood without a sound.

And scare little kiddies with a well-timed, "Boo!"
So the legend will continue for all who you knew.

RWH: 10/11/12

Print this poem here.

Poem of the Week: 10/6/12

Hark the Heralders

A little nonsense to shake up the
serious poets out there with all their
messages hidden in the minds of
their mysterious wordsmithing.

Hark the heralders from on high,
spew their messages, nay and nie.
Spew them on the wall of fate,
tales untrue and ignorant of late.

For what is love but just a lust,
turned tame and irony in the rust?
To mourn a flame that once was there,
in the dark of night with no light to share?

To blame our faults on someone else,
as though they caused such great pain.
When in truth we know,
we've only ourselves to blame.

Or to say it was an act of god,
to justify our natural fear.
To get the heat outside ourselves,
and hold our wrathful god so near.

To perpetuate a myth,
because it was always so,
is like saying that you don't think,
just blindly go where others go.

To follow lemmings off a cliff,
just to be part of the scene.
If I tell you that you're stupid,
I'm not trying to be mean.

We gather around our children,
and give them all of our best.
Make so many unwise choices,
it's a wonder they pass that test.

Of the able to carry on,
long after we are dust.
In that brave new world of the future,
that we worry about and distrust.

RWH: 10/4/12

Print this poem here.

Poem of the Week: 9/29/12

Aerial Acrobat

I am highly evolved,
to fly with ease.
I flit with the butterflies,
and vie with the bees.

For the sweet nectar,
that powers my wings.
Gives me the energy,
to do marvelous things.

Like hover in midair,
to survey the scene.

Snatch a bug in midflight,
and float like a dream.

The air is my playground,
the air is my home.
Move into my territory,
and I won't leave you alone.

I must keep moving,
for I am not safe.
Others would catch me,
like a wandering waif.

If I don't eat, many times,
my weight every day.
I will starve to death,
my strength gone away.

But don't you worry,
about my plight.
I'm hardy enough,
for a long distance flight.

Across the Gulf of Mexico,
I fly with the breeze.
If a hurricane don't get me,
to the land of my ease.

A tropical paradise,
where I can cavort.
Choose a mate for the journey,
to the far, far north.

Where I will raise my young,
in a dainty nest,
teach them to fly loops,
and all the rest.

So if you are down,
and can't get going.
Think of the little hummingbird,
and all that he is knowing.

So, what are you waiting for?
What's holding you back?
Fly like a hummingbird,
and you're on the right track.

RWH: 9/27/12

Print this poem here.

Poem of the Week: 9/22/12

Floating on a Cloud

As I was floating on a cloud one day,
I passed over mountains on the way.
I passed over rivers. I passed over streams,
I passed over oceans full of dreams.

I passed over forests, full of trees.
I passed over valleys, verdant pleas.
I passed over you on my journeying,
with head and heart full of yearning.

Sky was no limit, for my cloud and me,
I blow with the wind, wild and free.
I blow with the wind wherever it goes.
Wherever my muse, the wind blows.

Wherever my muse took me,
soft as a breeze,
I floated a far,
I floated with ease.

On billowy white vapors of cloud,
I floated to where no one is allowed.
I floated to places that I've never been.
I floated to traces of where and when.

Floating is easy in the mind's eye,
just lean back, and give it a try.
Floating will take you to the great beyond.
To an ocean of ideas, beyond your pond.

For you may be a little fish in the sea,
searching your own little, "To be or not to be."
Why not soar like the eagle above the fray?
What's holding you back? Your ego today?

Well, back on my cloud; I'm on my way.
From this perspective I can see into the next day.
And from all my experience, it's sunny and bright,
so get on your cloud and float to the light.

RWH: 9/19/12

Print this poem here.

Poem of the Week: 9/16/12

Reach for the Stars

The stars are within our reach,
it's only a matter of time.
The stars are within our reach,
they are yours; they are mine.

For eons we have marveled,
at the stars' steadfast light.
For they have given us guidance,
even on a moonless night.

But now we know their essence,
and why they burn so bright.
From white dwarf to supernova,
their secrets have come to light.

We have traveled to the moon,
and the planets are in our sight.
That we should travel beyond our sun,
is only good and right.

Like voyagers before,
and others to follow.
Our quest is to explore,
and leave the shallow.

Waters of our earthly realm,
for the deeply profound.
While we may not get there,
in this life time round.

As a race, we'll get there,
as time rolls around.
We'll get there and find out,
if life can be found.

On planets as alien,
as our earth is sound.
I know we will get there,
and life will be found.

I know we will get there,
and life will be found.

RWH: 9/13/12

Print this poem here.

Poem of the Week: 9/8/12


Try not thinking, "fish"
while reading.

My line is out,
the lure is deep.
Whatever I catch,
I get to keep.

My bait is right,
my hook is too,
my line is strong,
all brand-new.

I am persistent,
and will always wait.
For you never know the time,
or the date.

When luck or coincidence,
comes into play.
And I make a big catch,
that makes my day.

But those days are few,
and far between.
So I bide my time,
with patience and dream.

Of the big one,
that got away.
That I tried to forget,
but always stayed.

In a corner of my heart,
where such things reside.
Forgotten by most,
not trying to hide.

Forgotten by most,
but, I will abide.

RWH: 9/6/12

Print this poem here.

Poem of the Week: 9/1/12

Work in America

There's work to be done,
but I'm on the run,
no time for work,
while having fun.

Work requires discipline,
I'd rather be out in the sun,
putting off what I should have done,
excuse please, got to run.

Work means acquiring skill,
things that are over the hill,
I am skilled at what I do,
no need to learn anything new.

I know how to get what I need,
don't have to beg, don't have to plead,
With help from my friends, I get by,
why should I work hard? Why?

I'm looking for a way to get rich quick,
working at a job just ain't my shtick,
Working to retire very soon,
so I can sleep until noon.

So, I will waste another day,
scheming to get my way,
Not concerned about the other guy,
only concerned about me and my.

Got my degree to make money,
can't get my hands dirty, honey,

I'm looking for the right work,
won't see me dirty, like some jerk.

Flipping burgers at Big Mac,
ain't my line of attack,
I'll play a game of wait-and-see,
wearing a suit is where I'll be.

Yes, I know there is work to be done,
so let the fools do it,
I'm on the run...

See ya!

RWH: 8/30/12

Print this poem here.

Poem of the Week: 8/25/12

Serenading Moonlight

A 1940s style song. Originally
titled "Moonlight Serenade,"
I had no idea that Glenn Miller
had written a song by that title.

On a warm summer evening,
not long after the sun went down.
I saw you on the balcony,
the one I searched for... found.

I could not contain my love,
for it knew no Earthly bounds.
I burst into a serenade of you,
my heart began to pound.

The moon came out behind a cloud,
to light my lonely serenade.
And reveal your radiant beauty,
while my heartstrings played.

The magic of that moonlit night,
I never will forget.
My serenade to you remains,
in my heart, and yet...

On moonlit nights with stars so bright,
my serenade goes on.
Remembering that moonlit night,
long after you have gone.

My serenade goes on...
long after you have gone.

RWH: 8/22/12

Print this poem here.

Poem of the Week: 8/18/12

Elephant Walk

I'm on my daily routine walk.
Only solitude, no time to talk.

Though I can communicate very far,
I choose to be silent, during this hour.

My footsteps are heavy upon this place,
so I stick to the trail, with no disgrace.

For if I crush the smallest bud,
it is though I crush, my own flesh and blood.

For these trees are sacred to me,
my source of food and sanctuary.

My place of refuge in my old age,
the place where I can turn the page.

In my younger days, I pulled with might,
tore trees down, as if with spite.

But I was only doing my job.
For the barons that ruled to rob.

I'm on my way to the sea,
where I will bathe and breathe free.

To soothe my aching old bones,
dreaming of places we once called homes.

Those days are gone, but I am lucky,
they saved this place for me to be.

For without wild places like this,
I'd be gone and forever missed.

RWH: 8/16/12

Print this poem here.

Poem of the Week: 8/12/12

Floating on a Muse

I was floating on a muse one day,
when I saw you float into my play.
A more beautiful sight, day or night,
has never before come my way.

Like a butterfly on a summer breeze,
I flitted in and out with ease.
Intoxicated by your scent.
Your taste was heaven sent.

Like a bottle in the ocean deep,
I floated to my appointment keep.
You found me on a distant shore,
and fell in love with my lore.

Like an eagle in the highest tree,
I saw you far below,
wild and free.
I flew down to snatch you up,
when you're down I lift you up.

Like a painting by a master's brush,
my fire for you is quite a rush.
I cover your body with kissing strokes,
while the fine outline of your love uncloaks.

Like a tapestry of fine brocade,
I came to your trouble with open aid.
You sewed me into a loving cup.
From which each evening I fondly sup.

Like a stallion galloping on the plain,
I ride the wind and love the rain.
With you astride my big strong back,
you make up for all I lack.

And if my muse dries up one day,
we will still float upon the fray.
Your love will keep me whole,
until we face the final roll.

RWH: 8/10/12

Print this poem here.

Poem of the Week: 8/2/12

Time Bandit

Oh, where does the time go?
I had it just a moment ago,
but it slipped through my fingers,
when it was going so slow.

I may have left it there,
in that drawer of old watches,
all wound down in due time.

I may have left it,
down by the river,
when fishing in my prime.

I may have left it,
between the snatches,
of multitasking mime.

Wherever it is, it's gone,
in that ever winding grind,
in the devilish details line.

That never ends or bends,
until we reach the end,
of our allotted mind.

The time bandit rules,
and steals from the fools,
wasting days and nights.

Am I one of those?
Because of my woes,
losing so many fights?

We'll never know,
it's gone with the go,
as the starting gun fires.

So I'll race to the line,
and make it just in time.

'Cause my heart reels,
when the Time Bandit steals,
and I have run out of rhyme.

RWH: 8/1/12

Print this poem here.

Poem of the Week: 7/28/12


Have you ever wondered beyond your space,
and sought out new desires?
Have you ever watched a weed field grow,
and seen its cathedral spires?

Where all things live in harmony,
and carry out their own special lives.
Where creatures both large and small,
flourish and great diversely thrives.

Where every drop of rain that falls,
and every ray of sunshine,
is captured in its stately structure,
for just the right amount of time.

For the cycle of life continues,
from seed to seedling to plant to harvest.
From birth to mate, to nurture, to great,
the process creates the very best.

Have you seen more perfect creatures,
than the butterfly, or the bird?
Or herbivores grazing, both alone,
and in great,
magnificent herds.

The cathedral weathers the seasons,
whether hot or cold, wet or dry,
and continues on changing forever,
its view with the changing sky.

There is no garden or zoo to compare,
or neatly planted monoculture crop.
In diversity and sustainability,
with productivity over the top!

Regardless of season, beauty abounds,
from the color of spring, to winter's white.
Nature's beauty is a wonder to behold,
from dew's early morn, to a crickets' night.

So if you ever wonder out of the mold,
and find a small patch of weeds to unfold,
think of the world as that small patch,
and let it grow on and grow to old.

The future of the planet will thank you,
for your wisdom, my friend.
And may your curious wondering,
be nurtured and sustained, to never end.

RWH: 7/26/12

Print this poem here.

Poem of the Week: 7/21/12

Codependency (Song)

Thought I'd write a little country song.
Since most of those mournful country
songs come from codependent relationships,
I thought I'd get right to the point. Remember,
I just write 'em; don't participate in 'em.

You and I are just the same,
our love/hate relationship is all to blame.
I love to hate you, it's just me,
all a part of our... codependency.

You left me for that other one,
thought you would have both me and your fun.
That fell through and you came crawling back,
I took you back in 'cuz of what I lack.

Oh... I thought your love was real,
but, I'm just stuck under your heel.

You know I hate you when you drink,
come home drunk and raise a stink.
Don't know what I'll do when you're gone,
without you I can't carry on.

Stole my keys and took my car,
'Times I don't know who you are.
Wrecked it before you got home,
'Specked I'd still take you for my own.

Oh... I thought your love was real,
but, I'm just stuck under your heel.

You went out with your friends,
landed in jail; it never ends.
'Specked me to bail you out,
so I did, you worthless lout.

You called from the hospital the other day,
said you were near death; I should pray.
I prayed for your death, so I'd be free.
Paid your bill; praising your honesty.

Oh... I thought your love was real,
but, I'm just stuck under your heel.

On your stupid, stiletto heel...
your heel, dammit...
your god damned heel!

RWH: 7/19/12

Print this poem here.

Poem of the Week: 7/14/12


What does it mean to have power?
Is it a trip? Or a switch flip?

Pick your poison; it doesn't matter.
It boggles the mind to shatter.

All concepts of time and space,
to have the power to erase.

Everything into a black hole of doubt,
turning what is inside, out.

Take for example, the Higgs boson,
the "God particle" of physics chosen.

To be the source of the Big Bang,
creating every ying and alter yang.

Or the boss in your neighborhood,
power for evil, or power for good?

Money has power, so they say.
Give them a pittance, keep them in sway.

The power to lead, but not control.
The freedom to prosper, or take the dole.

But my power problem comes down to this,
when the power goes out, I get pissed.

My computers don't work, batteries go dead.
No heat and AC is something I dread.

My life is balanced on the electrical wire,
without power in it, light the funeral pyre.

At least then I'll be warm.

RWH: 7/12/12

Print this poem here.

Poem of the Week: 7/7/12


I never worked on the clock,
always set goals,
opportunity knocked.

There wasn't much I missed,
in my busy life,
always kept my appointments,
suffered little strife.

My mind was a mousetrap,
of a better design,
always on top of things,
way ahead of time.

Couldn't figure out,
why others forgot,
but forgave them anyway,
life is too short.

But I have left,
that working routine.
Each day is a new page,
crisp and clean.

It's a wonderful freedom,
that I really enjoy.
But time moves so fast,
and things pass me by.

Never used a calendar,
my entire working life.
Now keep one religiously,
to reduce my strife.

To wake me from my reverie,
and make me fly right.
I hate missing appointments,
waking up in the night.

So if you put a string,
around my big toe,
and expect me to scream,
and remember where to go.

That won't work, cuz,
can't feel that toe.
Pull all you want,
and I still won't know.

Amazing things happen,
and I remember just in time.
Something just prompts me,
without reason or rhyme.

I am always focused,
on one thing at a time.
But the busy world around me,
is multitasking prime.

So please forgive me,
if, I don't do what I said.
Have to hurry up,
or this poem won't get read.

I'm sure I had,
a killer last line.
But forgot what is was,
so, until next time...


RWH: 7/5/12

Print this poem here.

Poem of the Week: 6/30/12

Silent Farts

You gotta love those silent farts,
drifting through more scenic parts,
and touching so many hearts,
with the pungent ardor of familiarity.

Especially suited for the library,
where silence is obligatory.
Just when one is immersed in a story,
enhancing the read with olfactory.

What better place than in a church,
to let one slow, so as not to lurch.
Reaching so far as the pulpit's perch,
giving the sermon a savory oratory.

When we must go before the judge,
our stomach upside down in a nudge,
we raise our hand and silently pledge,
to clear the courtroom with our story.

When in bed with our loved one,
we pledge to be true and start the fun.
But something untoward happens, hon,
the thing that arises spoils the glory.

Ah, the freedom to fart in the open,
in nature's embrace, wishin' and hopin'.
You jog side-by-side, sometimes lopin',
while the dogs on your tail get horny.

So, if you are ever in my vicinity some day,
and I pass my sweet smell of success your way,
you don't have to hurry, nor to delay,
just pass one on back, end of story.

RWH: 6/28/12

Print this poem here.

Poem of the Week: 6/23/12


Frankly, I never understood the art of the frank.
Thought it might be just some silly prank.

But it was designed to help citizen servants,
afray the high cost of reaching constituents.

So they could just,
"reach out and touch."
Without having to pay, oh, so very much.

But the times, they are a changing, and so is the scene.
Our citizen servants are getting rich, if you know what I mean.

Mail is shifting, from physical to digital.
The cost of the digital, a fraction of the physical.

The Post Office is chasing the Pony Express,
its packages now shipped through the UPS.

But what will become of Sir Lance Armstrong,
his sponsor is denying, but we knew all along.

So franking, a privilege, is now being abused.
So why am I, so suddenly, feeling dirty and used?

Could it be those X-rated tapes sent through the mail?
Could it be those pictures she sent of her tail?

Could it be those sext you forgot to erase?
Could it be those little boys they can still trace?

Frankly, Barney I don't care about your orientation,
but I do care what you're doing to our great nation.

I'm now getting e-mail from some Rand-y Paul,
I am not even his constituent, not at all.

So why am I getting his stuff from Kentucky?
It's free, that's why; he can take a flying f**ky!

To avoid going Postal, I'll end this tale,
but don't you dare send me any more junk mail!

RWH: 6/21/12

Print this poem here.

Poem of the Week: 6/16/12

I Slapped Her

I slapped her hard on the left cheek,
before I could explain, she let out a shriek.
Her eyes narrowed to evil slits,
and her face turned a bright pink.

"Oh why did you have to do me this way,
I thought you loved me by what you say.
I thought I loved you, too,
but this is why I rue the day.

" She went to the closet and started packing her stuff,
nothing I could say to her was enough.
Her mind was made up and that was it,
I had no business being that rough.

"I'm calling my friend's lawyer today.
I hear he's good at divorces and takes little pay.
You can expect my summons in the mail,
I'm taking it all, and taking it my way."

She sulked around the house, pissing and moaning,
and then on the line, serial cell phoning.
"That MF that, and this MF this,"
she stormed out the door with a dire warning.

"I want you to know that I'm filing for assault.
Just in case you think it's not your fault.
And I'm taking our joint accounts today,
along with the safe deposit box in the vault."

I stood there stunned, at the slammed door,
rehashing in my mind what had happened before.
When that pesky mosquito landed on my cheek,
and I slapped her ass through her beak.

RWH: 6/12/12

Print this poem here.

Poem of the Week: 6/10/12


I do believe [wrongly] it was P.T. Barnum that said,
"There's a sucker born every minute, [you cad]."
So every mother's son is cashing in on the fad,
creating new scams so we can get had.

Madison Avenue has got your number,
having you buy up with no value under.
Suckering you in for another stupid blunder,
just so their profit margin gets the plunder.

Social networks are now all the rage,
you have to get "liked" on every page.
Spend all your time maintaining your image,
until you have no time left to actually engage.

The rich get richer with patriotic zeal,
claim that they create jobs with their silent steal.
While wage slaves work for scarcely a meal,
with the fear of being fired if they appeal.

Clean and safe water is paid for and should be free,
but companies reject that for water by a fee.
So many believe there is something you can't see,
they pay through the nose to designers' wannabe.

Banks make us offers we can't refuse,
0% interest to light our, too short, fuse.
When we can't pay the minimum we use,
they laugh at our stupidity and start to abuse.

So many believe the apocalypse is near,
so-called researchers readily get their ear.
Buying into all that fantasy and fear,
until hysteria spreads from peer-to-peer.

Fans will do anything to get close to fame,
spend their last dollar to live the reality shame.

Until the idolized get tired of their harassing game,
and sue them for being the cause of the blame.

Phishing is now famous for catching more than a few,
but they are getting better and coming straight through.
So if you think you can't be suckered into their view,
well, I've got a big surprise, just waiting for you.

I could come up with a million more,
like you winning the lottery in a big score.
But I'm getting tired of beating the bore,
so if your suckered, don't get sore.

Get even.

RWH: 6/7/12

Print this poem here.

Poem of the Week: 6/2/12

The One

When all is said and done,
you are the one.

I will lay myself down,
by the still waters of your soul.

So when they call the roll,
you'll be the one.

To soothe me when I'm sick,
to nurture me in health.

Be one with me in poverty,
and carry me to wealth.

For my wealth is not in possessions,
nor from gold in the Earth.

My wealth comes from your love,
that circles me in its girth.

I welcome you in sunshine,
I welcome you in rain.

I welcome you when evening comes,
with your sweet refrain.

For you are in my heart,
and you are in my soul.

You are the one I dream of,
you are my only goal.

So when our time is over,
on this mortal coil.

I will anoint you the one,
with the sacred oil.

I will anoint you the one,
and end your earthly toil.

RWH: 5/31/12

Print this poem here.

Poem of the Week: 5/27/12

Atrocity of War

War began with a feud,
in the distant, unrecorded past.

War always begins with a feud,
as soon as the first death is cast.

Leaving a self fulfilling promise,
that this death will not be the last.

Throwing down the gauntlet,
and raising the flag's mast.

It's off to war we go,
and we know the die is cast.

It doesn't make any difference,
which side you're on in war.

You have a license to kill anyone,
who crosses your path before.

You finish with your mission,
and count up the ghastly score.

Mano to mano was the way it was,
but weapons of war demanded more.

Depth charges pound the men beneath,
may the creeps all drown in the deep.

A flamethrower seeks out a hiding hole,
roasts gooks alive so widows will weep.

A deadly gas floats across the land,
kills indiscriminately those on hand.

A mine lays awaiting to rack up a kill,
only to take a woman or child's will.

A predator seeks out a target in a crowd,
the wails of the innocent cry out loud.

A nuclear bomb, when dropped in revenge,
can cause the planet, to come unhinged.

War is remote, war is unfair,
we are all collateral damage,
when war's in the air.

RWH: 5/25/12

Print this poem here.

Poem of the Week: 5/20/12

Hot Blue Pie (Warning Erotic)

For the uninitiated, "blue" is an old
term for the sexually inappropriate,
and "pie" is piece of a woman's body.

I stuck my tongue,
in a hot blue pie.

My oh my...
sigh, oh sigh.

My hot dog was,
so red and juicy,
had to cool it off,
in a hot Jacuzzi.

Have you ever danced with the devil,
in the pale moonlight?

I have danced with my hot blue mama,
till she gave up the fight.

She saw the light,
in the hot blue night.

Hot blue eyes,
and hot blue jeans.

Hot blue nights,
and hot blue scenes.

Cool sighs over hot blue pies,
my oh, my oh... hot blue eyes.

So stick your tongue,
into hot blue pies.

Just one taste,
and you'll win the prize.

There's nothing like,
a hot blue night,
and winning sighs,
over hot blue pies.

RWH: 5/17/12

Print this poem here.

Poem of the Week: 5/12/12

Clueless (Satire)

Since ya'll been totally missing the
point of me poems here, me thought I'd
write a little ditty in honor of that
fact. Please don't take it suicidal,
I am an equal opportunity offender. ;-)

Authors in general, and poets for sure,
are filled with bull shit, if not, manure.

So busy backslapping and insecure,
mistake some trash for poem of the year.

SHOUT with all caps, like they can't hear,
or forget punctuation; their writing is so clear.

Possessive is all it's [it is], and it's so nice,
but I would not own it, knowing its price.

Poets are good at counting their toes,
1's, twos, free's [as I be], I knows.

But history is not what they chose,
the 1800s, 1900s, and so it goes.

Forgetting history is everyone's sin,
let's forget it, so we can live it again.

I've written a book and now I'll get rich.
My book is not selling; to whom can I bitch?

My friends and my family tell me I'm great,
I've got bills to pay and my royalties are late.

Guess I'll die a pauper and after I'm gone,
I'll be famous as hell in the great beyond.

In the dreams of all wannabes like me's,
a writer and poet whose stink lingers on.

RWH: 5/10/12

Print this poem here.

Poem of the Week: 5/5/12

Last Man Standing

This poem is a prelude to my
upcoming short story,
Last Man Standing.

I'm the last man standing,
and I don't know why.
The last man standing,
and I think I'm gonna cry.

It wasn't because of that woman,
Eve's apple of my eye.
No, no, not that woman,
we just said, "Goodbye."

It wasn't in the ring,
that I fought for my soul.
There was no ring to hold me,
and no ring for my goal.

There was nothing to die for,
but so many did.
No ear or an eye for,
it just blew its lid.

The top came off,
a layer at a time.
Civilization came off first,
and then reason and rhyme.

I beat a path to nowhere,
and nowhere, I have found.
Nowhere is a very lonely place,
I don't want to hang around.

So, if you see me in limbo,
limbo is where I am at.
Cross my path to nowhere,
and that will be that.

For I will have to kill you,
oh, so lonely as I am.
There is no reprieve in nowhere,
and I am on the lam.

The devil is chasing me,
and the details are immense.
The devil is in the details,
and I cannot make amends.

My chances are all gone,
there are no chances left.
The world is on my shoulders,
and it's too much to heft.

But it's all... all I have left.

RWH: 5/3/12

Print this poem here.

Poem of the Week: 4/28/12

Backyard Drama

Sparrows fornicating on the fence.
Not the only ones offending,
without paying any rents.

Squirrel sneaks in on the sly,
birdfeeder seeds catch his eye,
dangling by his hindlegs from on high,
snatches seeds and spits them, bye.

Mockingbird sees that squirrel on the fence,
chases him relentlessly for that offense.
Has his own stash of asparagus fern seed.
Carefully rations the red berries to his need.

A sparrow returns with three larger chicks,
pecks at the bread, and then feeds her young,
regurgitating starch, some for each one.
"Yummy, mommy, can I have some?"

Mourning doves arrive to peck on the bread,
they built a nest, must keep their chicks fed.
A whole generation of birds now obese,
so fat they can't fly... what have we done?
coo...coo... my oh, my... fat fun...!

Cat sneaks in to get his due, while a
mourning dove escapes into the window.
Dazed on the fence to gather its composure,
the bird somehow survives innuendo.

A cardinal thinks he has cardinal rule,
sees himself in the window and chases the fool.
Hits the window many times in anger,
the fool fools himself, sexy gang banger.
Lucky he doesn't die, the doppelgŠnger.

High on the wire a peregrine watches.
His nest is near, hidden in pine swatches.
Though never seen making a kill,
his chicks always get fed their fill.

Mud hens awkwardly fly to the line.
With orange legs gawkingly,
skewed out of time,
what reason, their ryhme.

Jihad has arrived from the sky,
large white splotches acidify,
on shiny new paint jobs,
"Here's mud in your eye."

RWH: 4/26/12

Print this poem here.

Poem of the Week: 4/21/12


We all do it, so why deny that we do?

I don't like you and I know why,
that glint in your teeth,
or maybe your eye?

I'm not prejudiced, so it can't be,
your face or the color of your skin.

It must be the style of your hair,
or that cult that you're in.

I know it's a cult by that tattoo,
I know it's a cross,
but that's a cult, too.

It's probably because,
you tend toward the obese.

You're fat and you're lazy,
ugly, or any one of these.

I can tell by your face,
your criminal intent.

You live off of others,
and don't pay your rent.

I can see that you're uneducated,
by the clothes that you wear.

And all those piercings,
will get you nowhere.

And oh, by the way,
that car that you drive? Wouldn't be caught dead in it,
even going to a dive.

I can tell by your teeth,
what drugs you are on.

People of your religion,
are committing mortal sin.

So don't talk to me,
you've got nothing to say.

Or I'll call the cops,
or blow you away.

Cuz you don't matter to me.
No matter what you do.

What will be will be,
and it'll be on to you.

RWH: 4/19/12

Print this poem here.

Poem of the Week: 4/14/12


On the Great Plains under a primal sky,
the mastodon roams, above eagles fly.

A saber tooth tiger growls in wrath,
the dire wolf's crossing his lonely path.

The sky above is filled with birds,
the ground below, filled with herds.

There are bison, antelope, and three-toed horse,
all must come to teeming waters, in thirst.

None is slower than the mighty sloth,
lumbering along in its own chosen cloth.

The saber tooth waits silently in the brush,
to bring down a kill with one swift rush.

The long teeth pierce prey by the neck,
the elk's legs crumble, it falls in a wreck.

Food for the tiger, the coyote, the worms,
fighting off vultures, ravens, and terns.

For the sea is not so very far away,
making the prairie soil into clichŽ clay.

Down 10,000 years and the prairie is no more,
three decades of farming have opened a sore.

The sky turns black as the storm approaches,
the dustbowl leaves nothing, not even for roaches.

Decades later, the soil is renewed and restored,
aquifer water opens the cornucopia's gourd.

Too much energy used, and the water runs out.
Drought returns and the pests have a rout.

When all is lost and everything is in doubt,
the primal returns and figures it out.

All they had to do was turn the prairie to fallow,
the Great Plains' return was easy to swallow.

The circle of life was once more sustained,
after any long drought, it always rained.

Tiger once again roam the prairie's plenty,
For all those that follow, seeking its bounty.

RWH: 4/7/12

Print this poem here.

Poem of the Week: 4/7/12

Falling Star

Twinkle, twinkle little star,
how I wonder who you are?

Are you a UFO from afar?
Alien, or just I don't know, Shining in the dark?

Are you a rogue comet?
Coming so close to make me vomit,
on the chance of your arrival?

Are you an asteroid in a rage?
On the same orbital page,
just about to plummet?

Are you a lost satellite?
Orbiting lower with every flight.
Too soon to burn up in the night.

Are you about to supernova?
About to blow your cover?
And annihilate the Earth?

Or are you just a Hollywood icon?
Burning both ends of your life on,
the reality show called strife.

Twinkle, twinkle little star,
are you real or just a scar,
on the atmosphere of my youth?

To tell the truth, I don't know,
and as a star named Clark once said,
"Frankly my dear, I don't give a damn."

RWH: 4/5/12

Print this poem here.

Poem of the Week: 3/31/12


You're sick and you know it,
so why don't you show it?

Or are you just hiding behind,
your paranoid dreams.

You're sick and you know it,
and you don't want to blow it,

But you're lost in yourself,
and only let it out in screams.

You're sick and you pen it.
There is no way to stem it.

It shows in your Internet blog.
Afloat on your own little log.

So if you choose to sink or swim,
don't you dare count me in.

With your sick little lies,
and Devil may care eyes.

Do you think I would fall for your game?
With excuses like yours, so lame?

Not on your life, would husband or wife,
fall for one of your crazy schemes.

So get off the line, you sicko of mine,
and leave the life of your dreams.

Reality is out there, and it will slap you,
upside that you know where,
if you ever exceed your means.

So lead the life you're living,
and not the life you believe.

And your sickness will reprieve,
to everyone's relief.

RWH: 3/29/12

Print this poem here.

Poem of the Week: 3/24/12

The Road

I've traveled down the road to yesterday,
and thought I'd found my way.

But childhood dreams and other things,
always came into play.

When childhood's lost, there is a cost,
that's always greater than you pay.

So that's why I'm on the road I'm on today.
It's full of bumps and curves, and so steep,
I can barely make the grade.

But it's the road that I chose now,
and it's the road I've made.

I've mapped the road ahead with care,
plotted every fork and curve to nowhere.

And nowhere is a place not to be,
for up ahead, as far as I can see.

The road looks smooth and straight,
with an uphill trend, no curve or bend.

But then, always prepared, I'll keep my eyes out,
for that sudden trend, prepared to dodge and fend.

Off any obstacle in my way,
until the bitter end... of the road.

RWH: 3/22/12

Print this poem here.

Poem of the Week: 3/17/12

Looking for Spring

After a volcano eruption with winter lasting more than three years...

Looking for spring after all this time,
to see the green grass sprout from the slime,
of dead vegetation, so filthy with grime.

To see the wildflowers, burst into view,
transforming the dreary with colorful hue,
beside the still waters, reflecting the blue.

Sky above, be no longer so dark,
Sun, please break through and mark,
the advent of spring and the song of the lark.

Before it's too late and there's none of us left,
we've seen enough violence, hatred and death,
we've seen enough till we breathe our last breath.

Now, the sunshine must breakthrough at last,
or the human race will become a thing of the past,
to the last man standing with a bone in his grasp.

We've had enough of cold, dead, red meat,
we long for the plants to stop their retreat,
we long for something healthy and decent to eat.

We long for to herald a new bright shining day,
and break through this gloom as we pine a way,
with its clouds creased forehead still held at bay.

From the nightfall that came and won't go away,
please spring, come back... come back today.

RWH: 3/15/12

Print this poem here.

Poem of the Week: 3/10/12

Solar Affair

Anything scientific is purely coincidental...

It was a solar affair with a lot of flair,
when she erupted with a lot of hot air.

I was amused, but not bemused,
by the Sun spots that came before.

It could have been stellar, to propel her,
into an outer space of her own.

But it was more girth, more down to earth,
like a dog salivating for my bone.

The weather she's changing, like rearranging,
the face of her countenance from her birth.

Her cells on the blink, and I think,
she has disrupted my entire earth.

So I'll go on sexting, to nobody listening,
as she flares her libido to mirth.

Maybe someday, she'll come out to play,
and my clouds will be dispersed.

Until that day comes, I'll toast my buns,
on the nude beach of her parched earth.

RWH: 3/8/12

Print this poem here.

Poem of the Week: 3/2/12


Thanks Ed Phillips for the great idea to do an idiotic poem...

Guess I've just about offended everyone with this one... ;-)

As I was ideologging down the Internet superhighway one day,
I happened upon an idiot who had just come out to pray.

I asked of the idiot, "Are you a little moron, today?"
He replied, "Yesterday, I was more off, but I tend to sway."

"Yesterday I was a bit more dumb, but I can hear okay.
Whenever I find the truth, I'm sure to look the other way."

"Stupid is as stupid does." Forrest Gump, declared.
To verify that truth, blog after blog has been aired.

But stupid continues to call the faithful to the cult of religion,
long after the fallacies unfounded, still ideologically driven.

"I'll fight for my country right or wrong." Sings the imbecile' s song,
and imbeciles grow like weeds, to preach their dogma long.

Nitwits hatch lobotomized lies to match their political season.
So that average Joe can come and go without having to reason.

I watched a retard re-tar the road, because it wasn't concrete.
He made a pass at his sister's ass and wasn't even discrete.

The feebleminded were reminded that they had a lot to lose.
After all their net worth was gone, the last to get the news.

So butthead sat on his brains, just to compress a thought,
what came out wasn't great art, but it sounded just like a fart.

I nitpicked a halfwit to see which way the wind blows,
he picked up a toothpick and stuck it up his nose...

... and so it goes.

RWH: 3/1/12

Print this poem here.

Poem of the Week: 2/25/12


A fog creeps in the corners of my mind,
making dreams of promises left behind.

Making dreams of loves that I have pined,
covering the creases now so defined.

Muting the sorrow of days long past,
covering the marrow of bones well cast.

Upon the pile of dreams that didn't last.
Gone with the wind in a ship's full mast.

As we sail into the mist of a fog bound bay,
not knowing what harm lies in our way.

I remember that one, that bright shining day,
when we saw so clearly what ahead of us lay.

But all that is lost in the mist of time,
as a fog rolls in and we lose reason, rhyme.

As a fog rolls in like it always does,
in due time.

RWH: 2/23/12

Print this poem here.

Poem of the Week: 2/18/12


I want to ying your yang,
but I don't know,
if you're black or white?

Sometimes you're up,
sometimes you're down.
But are you wrong,
or are you right?

Sometimes you sing,
sometimes you cry.
Is it day or night,
when you look at the sky?

Are you rich or poor,
in everyone's' sight?
Are you in the dark,
or out in the light?

Are you liberal,
but conserve your cash?
Do you recycle,
or throw out the trash?

Are you idealistic,
more down to earth?
A boy or a girl,
at your birth?

Is in heaven or hell,
that you are worth?
Think that it is time,
to get down to earth.

And bask in the middle,
of the road.
Where you're likely squashed,
like a toad.

RWH: 2/16/12

Print this poem here.

Poem of the Week: 2/11/12

Her Action

It was action, Jackson,
that she craved.
Not the Green Stamps,
that Jesus saved.

It was Stallone,
that got her rocks off.
Not her boyfriend,
who blew her socks off.

3-D was her,
mode of transit.
Preferred the rush,
over a romance it.

was her habit.
From hole to hole,
like a rabbit.

She read a book,
by its cover.
Never passed up,
an action lover.

Danced with stars,
throughout the night.
Her American Idol,
gunned a knife fight.

Privates of Ryan,
were revealed.
Needed something,
more well-heeled.

She real gold dug,
like the Kardashians,
Striking it rich,
on her reruns.

RWH: 2/10/12

Print this poem here.

Poem of the Week: 2/4/12

She's My World

Throughout the day,
and all through the night.
She is forever,
she's my light.

She is my honey.
She is my sweet.
She is sour,
when I'm not neat.

I am her book,
and she is my cover.
With her nose in a nook,
she is my lover.

She is my sunshine.
She is my flower.
I wait for her return,
whatever the hour.

I am her mountain,
she has to climb.
When she gets to the top,
she knows, she's mine.

She is my world.
She is my wonder.
She is my lightning,
and I am her thunder.

We'll weather,
this world together,
Whether it be whole,
or split asunder.

For she is my world,
and for that I wonder.

RWH: 2/2/12

Print this poem here.

Poem of the Week: 1/28/12

Seals of Fate

Swiftly move the seals of fate,
they must act now, before too late.

They must act now, to be great,
they must act now, before too late.

The swords of evil can't relate,
the seals of justice are at the gate.

The seals of justice can relate,
the seals of justice don't placate.

The seals of justice kill,
The swords of evil's will to fight.

When they come with swift justice,
in the night.

They come with swift justice,
that is right.

The swords of evil have no choice,
their fate is sealed... rejoice.

Spread the word across the land,
the swords of evil cannot stand.

For right is might,
and wrong is wrong.

And as long as we can sing this song,
right will win over wrong.

RWH: 1/26/12

Print this poem here.

Poem of the Week: 1/21/12


Every day now,
a new one appears.
I've had it with conspiracies,
up to my ears.

Con artists seeking,
their 15 minutes of fame,
piecing together factoids,
guaranteed to inflame.

The minds of the masses,
bored to tears,
with a lackluster lives,
and inexperienced fears.

With couch potato lifestyles,
and comfort food dreams.
Flocking to the refrigerator,
and bursting at the seams.

I don't care if you're a jock,
a geek into rock,
primping for the prom,
or a soccer mom.

Your life has evolved,
into nothing but dreams.
You are food or fodder,
for these paranoid schemes.

So all I ask is a simple task,
get up, get out, and learn.
Do not rely on others,
for the knowledge you earn.

It is so easy to get stuck in a rut.
So get off your butt and yearn.
Or the day will come,
when conspiracies run,

And you'll need to speak Chinese,
for your fun.

RWH: 1/19/12

Print this poem here.

Poem of the Week: 1/14/12

Cold Wind

The cold wind blows and no one knows,
when and, if, it will end.

The wild bird fends, its feathers unfurled,
as it steadies itself on its perch.

I feel my heart bend, to be broken in the end,
as your draft leaves me in its lurch.

I cried frozen tears for all of the years,
your cold heart was my church.

But down through time, the cold wind sublime,
blows away the clutter of doubt.

You are in when you're in, and out when you're out,
a cold wind is better viewed from inside.

Out in the open, the wind cuts through coping,
leaving no place left to hide.

Left out in the open, with no way of hoping,
is how so many have died.

For the cold wind has no conscience, no mind,
just a relentless push southward in due time.

As if for to search, a soft resting perch,
in the warm tropics, yet to find.

RWH: 1/12/12

Print this poem here.

Poem of the Week: 1/7/12


It happened one New Year's eve,
after the ball had dropped.

You wore your heart on your sleeve,
with that kiss my heart stopped.

A stranger before that night,
my liquored heart was propped.

I took a chance after the dance,
to sweep you off your feet.

I'd tasted that champagne before,
but it never tasted so sweet.

As when your eyes, to my demise,
demanded that we retreat.

To that place of amazing grace,
where both hearts feel the heat.

That interlude that finds us nude,
and lost beneath the sheet.

When both hearts pound as one,
and never skip a beat.

I'll always remember that interlude,
every time we meet.

RWH: 1/5/12

Print this poem here.


       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?

       Impolite Stories: Sex, Politics & Religion    Love of Controversy Stories


| 1997 | 1998 | 1999 | 2000 | 2001 | 2002 | 2003 | 2004 | 2005 | 2006 | 2007 | 2008 | 2009 | 2010 | 2011 | 2012 | 2013 | 2014 | 2015 | 2016

   Return to My Home Page 

   Home: 281 879-4856 

   Email Me 

The Readers Ring
This Readers Ring
site is owned by
Ronald W. Hull
Want to join the ring?
Get the info here
The Readers Ring Page
[Prev 5] [Prev] [Next] [Next 5] [Random] [List Sites]