Knowing Jack

You don't know Jack,
like I know Jack.
So why attack,
when you can slack?

The next time you get,
a big Mac attack,
eat all you can pack,
and you'll look like Shaq.

Am I on the right track?

I'm tired of your lack,
so give me some slack,
your gripes are as grimy,
as old yellow shellac.

I'm ready for your flack,
Kevlar jacket and pack,
irony in the back,
in a gunnysack.

Are you on crack?

So take that old jack,
and take up the slack,
pump up the back,
of that Shaq Cadillac.

And tie on a tired knack,
with all you admire and pack,
head for the outback shack,
and give me some slack.

Please, Jack?

RWH: 5/16/13

Print this poem here.

Poem of the Week: 5/11/13

Moonlit Night

Think a 1930s croon...

Moonlit night, so often I have pined.

Moonlit night, where I, so easily find,

Your love light shines, oh so kind,

Moonlit night.

When the nighthawk flies and we hear its call,

The Moonlit night gives up its all.

Together, we watch and wish as stars fall,

Moonlit night.

We watch your reflection off the waves,

As they gently gurgle against the shore.

Moonlit night, leave us nevermore.

Moonlit night.

Release your secrets ever more,

Your chain of love that's gone before,

When ancients worshiped your lore,

Moonlit night.

So when our days grow cold,

We will remember moonlit nights of old,

Forever will our story be told.

Moonlit night.

RWH: 5/9/13

Print this poem here.

Poem of the Week: 5/4/13

Monumental Love

I will look for you,
across the shining sea.
I will look for you,
wherever you may be.

There is a chasm between us,
across the great divide.
But I will climb to find you,
where continents collide.

I will climb to find you,
to the volcano's fiery breath.
I will dive to find you,
to the oceans deep dark depth.

I will freeze to find you,
in the icy wind's teeth.
Or swim the tropical waters,
with hungry sharks beneath.

I will wage a war of reason,
across culture's disbelief.
To steal your heart forever,
amid hatred's angry thief.

For in the planets' circuit,
between Jupiter and Mars.
We were destined to be together,
just as there are stars.

I know that I will find you,
and if the fates allow,
you'll be with me forever,
forever in the now.

RWH: 5/2/13

Print this poem here.

Poem of the Week: 4/27/13

Moon Dance

The night we danced so wildly,
pirouettes around the room.
The hyenas laughed unsightly,
in the light of the full moon.

Our fires burned so brightly,
you would think that it was noon.
But the contrasts cut so sharply,
they faded in the gloom.

We spun a web like spiral,
and sang an Elvis tune.
The banshees were in full chorus,
the dawn, it came, too soon.

The tides tugged at our senses,
and threw us into a swoon.
The dervishes were delighted,
and the trees begin to prune.

At the peak of menstrual cycle,
the chorus came to croon.
And the old hags stirred the pot,
to the glory of the moon.

It all came too soon.
Night became noon.
To the tune of an old rune,
the sun climaxed the moon.

And we were doom.

RWH: 4/25/13

Print this poem here.

Poem of the Week: 4/20/13

Third Grade Dreams

This poem is for Rayne and her
third grade class in San Diego.
Rayne read my poem, "Go
for the Gold," to her class last
Friday. They asked for a poem.

Third-graders dream,
and they dream big.
The world is open before them,
like a flower or a fig.

There is no fear,
in their bright eyes.
Their hopes are tremendous,
as they reach for the skies.

Oh, there's reading, writing,
and math to do.
But their thoughts drift off,
so innocent and true.

To the world they will inherit,
when they reach their dream.
A cleaner, brighter time,
than it would seem.

With all the bad news,
in the world today,
what third graders look to,
will rule the future's sway.

For nothing can prevent,
the fulfillment of a dream.
If a youngster works hard,
and rides a moon beam.

To places unknown,
to older folks,
with dreams long dashed.
Always thinking forward,
and not of the past.

So go on and pursue,
your dreams, Third Grade.
For even if you don't make it,
to what you have schemed,
the world will be a better place,
because you chased your dream

RWH: 4/18/13

Print this poem here.

Poem of the Week: 4/13/13

Imotion

Imotion -- the process of going very fast
while sitting on your ass. Like in a boat,
car, train, or plane. Like in a theater,
online, or a video game. I should know,
I am a foremost practitioner of imotion.

We are all in a state of imotion,
going nowhere very fast.
We don't know we're not going,
and we don't know if it will last.

From our beginning,
almost lost in the past.
We moved with a walk,
for our fate was so cast.

And yes, we could run,
to attack or escape.
But we couldn't fly,
like the man with the cape.

So we used the wild animals,
for a bareback free ride.
And I'm sure the animals,
wished they could hide.

Observing round objects,
roll down the hill,
we invented the wheel,
and couldn't get our fill.

Horsepowering the wheel,
one horse at a time,
wasn't enough speed,
for a cart's hill climb.

Some more horses,
were enlisted,
to carry the load.

And a trail no longer sufficed,
when we needed a road.

With the wind we could sail,
in a powerful motion,
across a small river,
or across a large ocean.

With steam we went faster,
with oil faster still,
gas-fired jet engines,
took us over the hill.

Of the sound barrier and past,
we rocketed to the moon.
No speed was fast enough,
nor was it too soon.

As we sat on our butts,
and went... varroom, varroom!

So with great emotion,
we slouch in imotion,
while the world flies by,
in CGI 3-D animation.

Why walk when we can fly?
We sit and snack for more.
As immobile as rocks,
we get high and soar.

Until the genie is out of the bottle,
and we can no longer walk,
and can't get up from our fat asses,
no matter how fast we talk.

RWH: 4/11/13

Print this poem here.

Poem of the Week: 4/6/13

Taxing

Let me bring your attention,
to a taxing situation.

A creeping malaise,
sapping the nation.

Laws within laws,
is the modus operation.

Looping loopholes,
with monetary persuasion.

Oh, they will tell you,
that it's the American way.

While the rich get richer,
and poor, poorer every day.

A charitable donation,
to a politician's chest.

And he is your man,
and you know the rest.

There's a lot of talk about,
simplifying taxes.

But changing the law,
is like turning the world on its axis.

For a little bribery has gone a long way,
and the tax laws are full of "giveaway."

Oh, they will claim,
it's the poor folks' blame.

But a closer good look,
puts corporations on the hook.

In more ways than one,
under the sun.

RWH: 4/4/13

Print this poem here.

Poem of the Week: 3/30/13

Entropy

Just as all energy,
equals mass,
sometime in the future,
sometime in the past.

So it is with our world,
disappearing so fast.

For nothing is permanent,
on a universal scale.
One side is vibrant,
the other side is pale.

If you don't cry in your beer,
it still will get stale.

That world you see out there,
is in a state of motion.
What appears to be solid,
undulates like the ocean.

Gas, liquid, or solid,
is all just a notion.

Quarks and pi mesons,
in the universe of their own,
spin violently erratic,
to their own spacey tone.

Shape the world with movement,
and never leave it alone.

If we could look deeply,
into the hardest of stone,
we could see it squirming,
like a termite's home.

For all its temporal,
and on the roam.

So the next time you see,
Patina on a fine antique,
it is entropy working,
its goal to seek.

For all is nothing,
after its peak.

RWH: 3/28/13

Print this poem here.

Fiery Birth

Life is unsteady,
on this shaky earth,
for deep down inside,
is the source of its birth.

The heat of earth's center,
is a subject of worth,
blistering its surface,
for its entire girth.

And so it has been,
since the beginning of reason,
that men have feared,
the volcano's season.

So it was foretold,
that we would die by fire,
from deep in the earth,
on its own funeral pyre.

Salvation was high in the sky,
and fiery death far down below.
Dante described it as hell,
we have come to fear and know.

With fire and brimstone,
spewing gases of death,
we feared its wastelands,
and its fiery hot breath.

Heaven was in the sky,
and hell down below.
we'd either fly with the angels,
or suffer heat down real slow.

Hell's upper reaches,
were deep, dark and dank,
filled with slime and death,
and muck that was so rank.

The bowels of the earth,
would swallow us up.
And floods would drown us,
from its sea's loving cup.

Scientists are learning,
the origins of life.
In the very same places,
so feared for their strife.

Microbes are thriving,
on the volcano's crest,
and blind fish are swimming,
in cave's depths, so fresh.

Where myths of destruction,
were conjured up in the past,
life is found to be plentiful,
some of the very first, not the last.

The old myths are crumbling,
in the face of the truth,
as our fiery origins,
are uncovered by the sleuth.

RWH: 3/21/13

Print this poem here.

Poem of the Week: 3/16/13

Mind Pedaling

Have been busy,
pumping them out.

Like riding a bicycle,
straight, smooth, and stout.

Sometimes you just want to coast,
downhill to the sea.

Where I know you'll be waiting,
waiting for me.

Where the blood begins pumping,
power to the brain.

Some call it passion,
some call it pain.

But now I'm climbing,
pumping so hard.

To reach the pinnacle,
the land of the Bard.

Will I ever get there?
In my mind's eye I will.

For that mighty mountain,
is only a hill.

If I could only just get over it.

RWH: 3/14/13

Print this poem here.

Poem of the Week: 3/9/13

Chinese Bubble

There is a bubble growing,
in the most populous country,
on the Earth.

Its expansion is like a cancer,
like an appetite too big,
for its massive girth.

It is unbridled capitalism,
running rampant in,
a socialist communist state,
that does not know it's worth.

It's all bribery and corruption,
that fuels the expanding waste.

While the environment and safety,
are ignored in the haste.

To prove to the world that,
its people have power,
when surfs from the countryside,
work slave wages per hour.

Where cities are built,
to house a new class,
that is not growing,
but stuck in the past.

Where the rich get richer,
with a communist nod.
While the poor have no peas,
only eat the pod.

Who lives in these cities,
so vacant and rare?
Only the rats,
people are nowhere.

For who can afford,
to live this great life?
When you come from a place,
full of hunger and strife.

Humpty Dumpty sits on the Great Wall.
Humpty Dumpty is in for a fall.
When Humpty Dumpty loses it all,
will all the world's economies follow?

Are we the ones who will have to swallow?
The demise of the great one, so hollow?

RWH: 3/7/13

Print this poem here.

Poem of the Week: 3/2/13

Musk

How musk is a musk ox's smell?

That sweet fragrance straight from hell.

I don't know, but yo7u sure can tell,
when you get close enough.

Which brings me to snuff.
You know, that musky stuff?

You put in your nose to get a high?
Just gives me, a pungent watery eye.

And what better musk tart,
than sweet burgundy wine.

Served with an aged beefsteak,
seared and broiled to divine.

The aroma of mushrooms,
from the damp forest floor.

Bursting with flavor of musk,
the safe, rubbery kind we adore.

And speaking of adoration,
may I implore?

Think of that valley,
that men search for.

Seeking out the dank musk,
that drives musk ox cows wild.

In pheromone heaven you'll abide,
a safe warm place for a nose to hide.

The safe warm place from the cold,
enjoyed whether you are young or old.

So if you're in a blizzard,
with your butt to the wind.

Follow the musk.
It will get you in.

RWH: 2/28/13

Print this poem here.

Poem of the Week: 2/23/13

Drone

I will not drone on and bore you,
but I must implore you,
drones are in your future,
and that's no lie.

Drones will drone on,
like a boring song,
invading your space,
and your own private sky.

Google already knows,
precisely where you live,
but that's only from,
its satellite eye on high.

Drones can now fly,
like a helicopter hovering,
almost without a sound,
to sneak all around,
and take you down.

While a space jockey watches,
from 20,000 leagues away,
recording everything he sees,
for the great bye-and-bye.

With privacy lost,
Will there be a cost?
Will we ever be free,
from the anonymous pry?

From eyes on the prowl,
like a dog without a growl,
in your bathroom like a,
proverbial fly on the wall?

You'd better watch out,
you'd better not pout,
Uncle Sam knows your way.

He knows where you are,
he knows what you say,
he knows if you're good,
if bad,
he'll hold you at bay.

So you'd better be good,
and let it all hang out,
so your Uncle will get bored,
with your drone and fly away.

RWH: 2/21/13

Print this poem here.

Poem of the Week: 2/16/13

Somewhere

I stopped for the night,
for a little respite,
on my journey to nowhere.

I knocked on your door,
and you opened it wide,
right then and there.

You had nothing to fear,
for many a year,
there but for fortune,
you were I.

We sat down to enjoy,
a bountiful table.
For that year you were able,
to mightily employ.

The best that there was,
to fulfill the cause,
you were destined,
to generously deploy.

The temperature dropped,
and the stars came out,
but snug by the fire,
we talked.

I asked you why,
you let me in,
when so many others,
had balked.

"The night is full,
of men like you.
But you were different,
from the rest."

"Your eyes were as bright,
as the evening starlight,
and so you passed the test."

"A humble man of means,
or so it seems, for your mind,
is among the very best."

We chatted until sleep,
overcame our eyes.
I awoke in a soft bed,
and not my demise.

For I was saved from nowhere,
by a roll of the dice.
By a stranger in waiting,
both kind and nice.

RWH: 2/14/13

Print this poem here.

Poem of the Week: 2/9/13

Seize the Day

I seized the day and squeezed it,
for all that it was worth:
the dawn, the sky, the earth.

I ate breakfast with gusto,
eager to get to work.
There was much to do,
and little time to shirk.

Words unfolded like petals,
in ever-changing hue.
I artistically arranged them,
until their tone was true.

By lunchtime I was famished,
my reservoir was drained.
I looked outside for solace,
to my surprise, it rained.

A sadness overcame me,
as if to match the scene.
I set to work immediately,
on an ancient dream.

I saw the rainbow brightly,
as the sun came into view.
I looked up from my work,
it made me think of you.

Soon the sun was waning,
and the shadows ever grew.
I wrote of sonnets silently,
in this life, I only wrote a few.

The sunset was spectacular,
its dusky paintbrush drew,
shadows on my garden wall,
until darkly silence subdued.

Dinner had refueled me,
with thoughts of better view.
I scratched them down briskly,
and polished them brand-new.

I laid my head down to sleep,
and dreamed of better days,
I dreamed of a new tomorrow,
to seize it where it lays.

I did not seize it where it lies,
because that would be "untrue."
And can't you see by these words,
that I am jesting you?

RWH: 2/7/13

Print this poem here.

Poem of the Week: 2/2/13

Turmoil

Oh why, oh why,
do I trouble and toil?

Turmoil, turmoil, trouble and toil.

My days gets harder,
each one on this soil.
Please, oh please release me,
from this terrible toil.

Please release me from,
my trouble and sorrow.
Please, oh please release me,
from my tomorrow.

Turmoil, turmoil, trouble and toil.

Each day new challenges,
come my way.
As I address them,
time slips away.

I long for the freedom,
to act on my own.
By doing this bidding,
not one step I've grown.

Turmoil, turmoil, trouble and toil.

No time to view,
the clouds in the sky,
nor stars in the heavens,
as night passes by.

Only time to eat quickly,
and time to deep sleep.
No time for friendships,
I used to keep.

Turmoil, turmoil, trouble and toil.

The minutes of my days,
have begun to roil,
and run through my head,
a pot 'bout to boil.

If I have no relief,
I will soon explode,
so please take from on me,
this heavy load.

And I will toil no more.
No more.
No more.
Turmoil no more.

RWH: 1/31/13

Print this poem here.

Poem of the Week: 1/26/13

Wishing You

Wishing you dolphin days,
and daydream nights.
Carmel moments,
and fancy flights.

May you never know anger,
or fear for your life.
Live free and wild,
and never know strife.

May all your relationships,
be kind and true.
May you do unto others,
as they would do unto you.

May you never need money,
to be happy and free.
And live off the land,
like the honey bee.

With butterfly bouquets,
and the sun's golden gleams,
I wish you happiness,
beyond your wildest dreams.

And when your life is over,
and you look back on time.
May you have no regrets,
with everything just fine.

RWH: 1/24/13

Print this poem here.

Poem of the Week: 1/19/13

Reconnecting

A life is full of passing glances,
chance meetings, and chance enhances.

Connections come and connections go,
all a part of life's ebb and flow.

Some connections freely give,
for they teach us how to live.

Some connections come with cost,
leaving memories of what we've lost.

But, in the fullness of time,
most connections are lost,
regardless of reason,
regardless of ryhme.

It is only when we come to the end of the road,
that connections we gather began to goad.

Us on to recover the connections we lost,
under the cover of busy and cost.

Alas, some cannot be regained,
they have passed on, unclaimed.

But pick up the telephone,
pick up the pen.
Get on the Internet,
and search once again.

There is nothing like reconnecting,
to your family or an old friend.

So, what are you waiting for?
Reconnect again.

RWH: 1/17/13

Print this poem here.

Poem of the Week: 1/12/13

Angel

There is an angel in my house,
she comes to me softly,
like a mouse.

She hovers over me,
day and night.

She hovers over me,
to my delight.

She often sings a beautiful song,
while she works all day long.

Making me comfy,
making me warm,
making me happy,
and safe from harm.

She often swoops in,
to save the day.

It's in her nature,
she's just that way.

She often thinks of me,
when I'm gone.

I couldn't be without her,
for very long.

I love my angel,
and she loves me.

And happier,
we could never be.

RWH: 1/11/13

Print this poem here.

Poem of the Week: 12/1/12

Bigfoot

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

Thankful

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.

-Refrain-

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.

(Refrain)

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.

(Refrain)

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.

(Refrain)

RWH: 11/22/12

Print this poem here.

Poem of the Week: 11/17/12

Dare

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

Sparrows

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.

Refrain
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.

Refrain

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.

Refrain

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.

Refrain

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

Boo!

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

Fishing

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

Wonder

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

Power

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

Forgetfulness

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...

Forgetaboutit!

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

Franking

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

Suckers

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 doppelgänger.

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

Profiling

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

Primal

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 cliché 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

Sicko

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

Ideoblog

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

Fog

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

Dichotomy

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.

Multitasking,
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

Conspiracy

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

Interlude

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.

Poem of the Week: 12/31/11

2012

A new year is upon us,
coming up fast.

They say this year is different,
not like the last.

They say all kinds of things,
will happen in 2012.

New theories abound,
and old theories evolve.

As though it were some puzzle,
we are supposed to solve.

The world has its problems,
and they are clearer to see.

But I see next year,
no different to be.

The world gets better,
all of the time.

Some people suffer,
but others are fine.

For those that think,
the world's coming to an end.

I say, "Open your mind,
let it bend.

" A flexible mind,
knows how to survive.

Dinosaur thoughts,
are no longer alive.

RWH: 12/28/11

Print this poem here.

Poem of the Week: 12/24/11

Solstice Serenade

The distant sun sets on the shortest day,
as the magic of the north land comes into play.

Stars come out one by one to accent the night,
wild creatures sleep under a blanket of white.

Wild creatures sleep, under a blanket of white.

Frost creates artistry on every twig and blade,
coating the night with a silvery brocade.

A richness of beauty as rare as the cold air,
the moon comes out casting reflections so fair.

While wild creatures sleep, under a blanket of white.

The stars and the moon add to the still of the night,
while Aurora Borealis move magic in curtains of bright.

Colors so moving, so fading, so enchanting, so rare, that come and go like a warm whim in the cool night air.

Unseen to the creatures, lying asleep below.
Wild creatures sleep, under a blanket of snow.

Wild creatures sleep, under a blanket of white.

The sun peeks through to a crystalline dawn.
Diamond flakes of ice and snow filter on down.

Trees laden with frost bow branches to the light,
the brilliance of day outshines the artistry of night.

And the wild creatures sleep, under a blanket of white.

The peace of the wild is so clear in the brilliance of day.
Shadows pierce the snow leaving no tracks as they play.

A lone fox listens for faint sounds of his prey.
And then pounces into the snow surprising his way.

And wild creatures sleep, under a blanket of white.

And dream of the day, when days are longer, than night.

RWH: 12/21/11

Print this poem here.

Poem of the Week: 12/17/11

Snowed

Silently, across the white,
miles and miles melt from sight.

As vistas come and vistas go,
all buried and muted by the flow.

We live with ease against the chill,
leaving no tracks for those who kill.

It's hard to explain the utter peace,
the blue sky's contrast fails to cease.

. In the womb of nature's blinding freeze,
time stands still and the mind is released. gliding by as though as by ear.

While numbness sets in and delusions reveal,
secrets of the universe up too close not to feel.

With a brilliant opening up ahead,
into its doorway, we are sped.

RWH: 12/15/11

Print this poem here.

Poem of the Week: 12/10/11

Holiday Hell

This time of year,
I am of good cheer,
and try to do my part.

Over the hill,
and through the woods,
I metaphorically start.

No more jaunts,
through ice and snow,
to reach my family's care.

Nonetheless, I do venture out,
to an occasion here or there.

Today I awoke,
out of body and mind,
the little snifflers got me,
one more time.

I had more shots,
than a dog's behind.
Rolling fever, doubletime.

I tried to function,
through the heat,
but all I got,
was painful feet.

Listlessly staring,
at this white sheet,
words come out staccato,
to a powerful beat.

Of blood in my temples,
and fire in my gut.
The day winds down slowly,
I'm in a rut.

Of holiday Hell,
that comes with the cheer.
Sure hope it doesn't happen,
again next year.

RWH: 12/8/11

Print this poem here.

Poem of the Week: 12/3/11

Unemployment (Satire)

All the president's horses,
and all the congressmen.

Couldn't solve unemployment,
fighting like a territorial hen.

It seems the jobs had left,
flown off in great flocks.

To faraway places like China,
and other communist blocks.

Pumping money didn't work,
too many leaks in the pipe.

Rich entitled stonewalled,
claiming free market hype.

After all, for progress,
the creme must rise to the top.

Must have genetically,
engineered that cow,
for creme is all we've got.

There was a simple solution,
two guys in Ohio found.

Place an ad in Craigslist,
and applicants will abound.

After a careful screening,
select the ones to cull.

Show them around the woods,
and turn their vote to null.

The result, was quite profound,
for all the poor unemployed to see.

Unemployment dropped considerably,
this month, to politicians' glee.

RWH: 12/2/11

Print this poem here.

Poem of the Week: 11/26/11

Turkey

Your time is here,
again, old friend.
Four more, this time,
until the end.

I am glad you are not,
our country's symbol.
For you are not beautiful,
nor are you nimble.

At least in your present,
bleached, bloated state.
No longer wild, wary,
and full of hate.

When you were in lust,
a harem to mate.
Taking on all comers,
with a leer and a gait.

You flew off the handle,
of many a branch.
Your territory was vast,
you bought the ranch.

But those days are gone,
except for a few.
Still a picture postcard,
when come into view.

You come to the table,
all hormones and fat.
Whether baked or fried,
it has come to that.

Stuffed to the gills,
one day of the year.
Just a launching pad,
for a day of good cheer.

As for me, I have found,
that pound for pound,
there is no sweeter treat,
than eating you... year-round.

RWH: 11/24/11

Print this poem here.

Poem of the Week: 11/19/11

It Is Written

What began as the spoken word,
passed down through generations,
so it still could be heard.

The wisdom of the ages,
with survival as its guide,
the elders told the novices,
when to fight, when to run,
and when to hide.

Painted on walls with ocher and blood,
human expression began to flood,
the conscience of many,
from the hand of the few.
Telling what one did,
so that many now knew.

Greatness was reserved,
to be carved in stone.
For man could not live,
on blood and bread alone.

Man could not live,
without the written word,
for it seemed to confirm,
when he saw or he heard.

When they found out,
the power of the word.
They made it an institution,
that could not be deterred.

Buttressed by the motion picture,
to bear witness to the human soul.
The word took on new meaning,
that was so clear, so cool.

While reading, the imagination,
fired vividly by the words' mental fuel,
daydreams hotter than hot,
its visions would reveal.

And so we have arrived at this crossroad,
between fantasy, reality and real,
where everything we see or read,
has its own touch, taste, and feel.

Where even the video image can be altered,
and seemingly is no big deal.
So that you will eat,
their well-prepared meal.

And the alive and questioning you,
amid all this imagery of good, bad, and feel.
is not what it seems,
just a charade for the real.

So don't believe everything you read.
And don't believe everything you see.
For there are those out there to deceive,
and they are scaring me.

Aren't they scaring you?

RWH: 11/17/11

Print this poem here.

Poem of the Week: 11/12/11

Suburbia

Miles of malls and parking stalls,
for the upwardly mobile elite.

Gyms and walking trails,
for drivers to use their feet.

Gated enclaves to lock us in,
prisoners of our faux success.

Keeping up with the Joneses,
was never meant to be like this.

A milieu of mindless monotony,
sprawls out across the land.

Where animals once roamed,
and the stars shone bright at night.

But Utopia has crept in,
creating a frightful sight.

While suburbia may seem safe,
and full of meaningful life.

Its demise is clearly written,
in the long history of human strife.

For change is always coming,
and change is often harsh.

Suburbia is not equipped to survive,
like the often flooded marsh.

It gets its water from miles of pipes,
that will, eventually, grow parch.

It gets its power not from the sun,
but from the fragile grid.

That ego is firmly in place,
but does not know the id.

We are jousting windmills, my dear,
just like the flawed, El Cid.

Suburbia is dying right before our eyes,
sprawl is selling for the lowest bid.

RWH: 11/11/11

Print this poem here.

Poem of the Week: 11/5/11

Lonely Star

Hey there, lonely Star.
Yes, you. Know who you are?

The one you are pining for is gone.
You knew it wouldn't last long.

But you are a star, shining bright.
And the world is yours in broad daylight.

But when the nighttime rolls around.
There are no other stars, to be found.

So you shine alone throughout the night.
With only the moon to share your plight.

Only the moon can eclipse your light,
as you gently calypso out of sight.

Behind the moon to hide your tears,
as the world turns and shares your fears.

And cries bitter rain to flood the plain,
to drown out the fear and the pain.

A single reflection on the mirrored water,
you could be my girl, you could be my daughter.

Signaling me from your lonely abode,
to join you on the next upload.

Where we could circle two by two,
no more to be, a lonely you.

RWH: 11/3/11

Print this poem here.

Poem of the Week: 10/29/11

Chill in the Air

There is a chill in the air,
as evening falls.

Everything is dying,
as winter, close by, calls.

The smell of rotting leaves,
is pungently real.

A creepy crawlly feeling,
begins to steal.

Into hearts and minds,
now having to deal.

With death and disease,
imagined or real.

As the night sounds,
of the wolf and the owl.

Put fear in hearts,
with the hoot and the howl.

And the wind plays tricks,
with the clank and the yowl.

Insane in their fright,
redemption they call.

For this one night,
they give their all.

But death still comes stalking,
without remorse.

And the wind howls,
in due course.

For there is no escaping,
winter's wrath.

Reminders are everywhere,
along the path,

to death.

RWH: 10/27/11

Print this poem here.

Poem of the Week: 10/23/11

Grotesque

It came from a deep lagoon,
never too late nor too soon.

Like a dream gone awry,
so it would seem, by and by.

The product of evolution?
Nay, nay, or so they would say.

A freak for all seasons,
for a freaking good time.

Will tickle your organ,
and gasm it fine.

As if being scared out of your wits,
is required for every line.

Of your horror of horrors,
the movie of your mind.

A genetic aberration,
permeating the nation.

That is overriding time,
soon to find,

You!

RWH: 10/21/11

Print this poem here.

Poem of the Week: 10/16/11

Quagmire

Help me, I am sinking,
down, down.

Help me, I am sliding,
no grip I have found.

To think I once cherished,
worshiped and adored ,
solid ground.

I'm up to my ass,
in morass,
with no one to ask,
but myself.

I'm underwater my friend,
and will not bend,
like a reed,
in the swamp of success.

Get me up,
and get me out of here!

Before I disappear,
in the face of my fear.

Sucked down a hole,
as black as my goal,
to an endless universe.

So heed this verse,
or the underworld's curse,
will have you sinking too...

into the quagmire of your desire.

RWH: 10/11/11

Print this poem here.

Poem of the Week: 10/9/11

Dragon Daze

Those were the days, my friend,
those were the days...

When dragons roamed,
throughout the land,
and knights of yore,
took their stand.

Took might and right,
with their fabled band,
and slew the dragon,
for the maiden's hand.

When dragon dreams,
filled children's schemes,
and flights of fancy flourished.

Like pearls of olde,
plucked from sands of gold,
these dreams, they are cherished.

Deep in the haze,
of those golden olden days,
the memories have grown,
old and dim.

But childhood's best,
when left to rest,
in the hazy daze of youth.

In grown-up rhyme,
there is no dragon time,
only time for truth.

Until the restless mind,
grows tired of counting time,
and seeks those daze,
once so uncouth.

To fulfill once again,
the hazy dragon daze,
as foretold by an ancient sooth.

RWH: 10/7/11

Print this poem here.

Poem of the Week: 10/2/11

Trimming Trees

Fall is in the air,
and in the slant of the Sun.
The time for trimming,
has begun.

Time for cutting back,
the excess of youth.
Time for cutting back,
and facing the truth.

To overshoot everything,
is a general rule.
It happens to everyone,
not just the fool.

For if you don't cut back,
before winter comes.
The consequence of inaction,
the blind mind numbs.

A little snip here,
a little snip there.
Before you know it,
you've got more to share.

For the pie is finite,
and you can't cut it close.
If your share is too large,
you will overdose.

So trim while you can,
before it's too late.
Or it will be trimmed for you,
at the pearly gate.

RWH: 10/1/11

Print this poem here.

Poem of the Week: 9/25/11

Dragin' Days

Sometimes when you bow to the bard,
the days be long, the nights be hard.

Dragin' like a shadow on the wall,
Dragin' like a tale too tall.
Dragin' like a snail too small,
Dragin' like a smile turned scowl.

Our days are numbered 1, 2, 3...
Count them for they are free.
The days of our lives quickly flee.
While we're still counting 1, 2, 3...

The beast is in the yeast,
and the bread is in the pan.
Rise to the occasion,
as best you can.

For the days they be a dragin',
and the nights, they be so long,
that it's best you have a love alongside,
to consummate the song.

For many a bard has languished,
with lost love on the mind,
with many a day a dragin' by,
no fulfillment for to find.

So if your days are dragin',
get up, get out, and get ahead.
Don't you know your days are numbered,
before you know it, you'll be dead.

And dragin' days won't matter,
and neither will you.
Cuz you didn't rise to the occasion,
and stayed forever blue.

Waiting for them to cry for you.
Waiting for them to pray.
Your dragin' days will be over.
Won't matter any way.

RWH: 9/24/11

Print this poem here.

Poem of the Week: 9/16/11

The Last Butterfly

The last butterfly floated,
on the wings of the breeze.

The way butterflies do,
with apparent ease.

The way butterflies do,
when they flit through the trees.

The butterfly happened to lite,
on a lone milkweed blossom.

The others were hiding,
or, at least, playing possum.

But it was no time for jest,
just another victim of drought.

Nothing is what it was,
or what it ought.

The trees were all gone,
but the milkweed hung on,

As the last butterfly's wings,
sang its swan song,

and died.

RWH: 9/15/11

Print this poem here.

Poem of the Week: 9/2/11

I'll Fly Away

Now that I'm free to roam,
I'll fly away from my home,
away from home.

On my trusty steed with shiny chrome,
I'll fly away, fly away.

It makes no difference where I'm going,
she steers the course from its mooring.

My journey is never boring,
when I fly away, fly away.

From mountaintop to valley low,
there is no place I won't go,
when I fly away, away.

I'll be gone forever and a day,
when I fly away, fly away.

Won't you come with me sweet one?
From rainy day to blazing sun,
we'll fly away together.

No matter the weather,
always together, together.

And when our flying days are done,
we'll bask in the waning sun,
remembering all the fun we had,

Flying away, away.

RWH: 9/2/11

Print this poem here.

Poem of the Week: 8/28/11

Eye of the Storm

From my viewpoint,
safe, dry, and warm.
Far away from,
the eye of the storm.

I still know the horror,
of being swept away.
Of winds so strong,
strong buildings sway.

Windows blown in,
and debris in the air,
dead birds raining,
wind howling to scare.

And horror of horrors,
when the water comes in,
and rises and rises,
until it's sink or swim.

The only thing to save you,
is being tied to a tree.
Imagine the horror,
that must be.

When the tree is,
torn from its roots,
by the force of the surge,
and you lose your boots.

Snakes in the water,
and no water to drink.
Only mud and slime,
and the smell of death's stink.

The sun comes out,
thank God you're alive.
With so many gone,
why did you survive?

RWH: 8/26/11

Print this poem here.

Poem of the Week: 8/21/11

Last Free Exit

The last free exit,
is coming up fast.
On this highway to nowhere,
just how long will I last?

This highway to nowhere,
is the road I'm on.
Just how I got here,
is a country song.

I'm strapped in the saddle,
of this mighty machine.
On this highway to nowhere,
so straight and so clean.

The straps are so tight,
I can hardly breathe.
The last free exit,
is my only reprieve.

If I continue,
on the straight and narrow,
the toll will tell,
if my cache is too shallow.

But this last free exit,
may also ring hollow.
And that is a pill,
I'm unprepared to swallow.

So if you are on this highway,
to nowhere like me.
Wave when you pass,
and we will soon see,

If this last exit,
is, truly... free.

RWH: 8/19/11

Print this poem here.

Poem of the Week: 8/14/11

The Worm Turns

As the worm turns so does the world.
Fearless freedom fight with flag unfurled.
While tyrants go down to dust,
with clinched fist foisted and still curled.

The throbbing throng floods the streets,
demanding rights that wrongs defeat.
Demanding rights that should be given,
while from the streets by tanks they're driven.

Will injustice always prevail?
Will the weak cry to no avail?
Will the unjust rant and rail?
Will there be no end to this tale?

But the sky is opening across the land,
Tweaking and Twittering is in every hand.
As YouTube reveals feet in the sand,
people are gathering in a unified band.

Freedom is coming and can't be stopped.
By little devices that no one ever thought,
would free the meek with justice for all,
and give them a voice no longer so small.

As the world embraces this changing game,
we instantly know, who is to blame.
The worm is turning too fast to behold,
in with the new and out with the old.

RWH: 8/14/11

Print this poem here.

Poem of the Week: 8/7/11

Busy Bee

I'm as busy as a bee,
woe is me, woe is me.

Been on the phone,
all morning long.
No issues resolved, only a frown.

Thought I'd relax for the week,
but that was not to be.
Trouble creeping up my doorstep,
that I don't have time to see.

The bee has it easy,
programmed in its flight.
While I scramble here and there,
just to make it right.

This busyness will cease, I guess,
on that fateful day.
When I keel over on the job,
and finally go... my way.

RWH: 8/6/11

Print this poem here.

Poem of the Week: 7/31/11

Left Field

It came from the left-hand of time,
just out of sight, to the right.

It came without rhyme or reason,
or sound, or season, but...
the time just wasn't right.

It just came, like the night.

It upset the nature of things,
throwing plans out the window,
putting them on new wings.

So is the order of things.

You sensed it was coming,
but don't.
You denied it was so wrong,
but won't.

Reality is now upside down,
you smile, but inside... you frown.

Your up has become down,
all because it came,
out of left field.

RWH: 7/29/11

Print this poem here.

Poem of the Week: 7/24/11

Hot

The steam rises,
from the new fallen rain.
But not enough to quench,
the fires on the plain

Not enough to quench,
my dry thirst again,
so parched by you

I dream of the days,
when the cool winds blew.
Those days are gone,
and so should my hots for you

Evaporated in the heat of the mist,
gone like a dinosaur's hiss,
gone like your burning kiss... Gone

In the dawn of your midst,
you rise languid and list,
Twix the triangle of thighs,
and thoughts of our bliss.

Your torturous path,
to zenith on high.
No shade can be found,
as hours tick, dragging by

Our sweat beads as one,
and reaches new highs,
on the salty forehead of fun,
as the last of the day dies

In the crimson sun,
that is you on the run

RWH: 7/22/11

Print this poem here.

Poem of the Week: 7/17/11

The Skeptic

There is a poet here,
who doesn't follow rules.
Who doesn't suffer fools lightly,
just doesn't suffer fools.

He can be quite cynical,
about the status quo,
when the king wears no clothes,
and doesn't even know.

Finds that mother nature's rules,
are the very best.
Survival of the fittest,
puts splendor to the test.

Survival of the greedy,
will get his poison pen.
Since when did myths rule,
the who, what, where, or when?

Many schemes are trash,
conjured up by cruels.
deceiving the deceitful,
with ever-changing rules.

Skeptical that's what he is,
and that's a simple fact.
He has no ax to grind,
and no special way to act.

What you see is what you get,
there is no need for a ruse.
Just from the horse's mouth,
and all you have to do,

is choose.

RWH: 7/15/11

Print this poem here.

Poem of the Week: 7/10/11

Perennial Primrose

Perennial Primrose, you're in the pink,
even though you've not a drop to drink.
Why now, of you should I think?
Why should I waste my poet's ink?

Because you're beautiful in the spring.
And appear to be such a fragile thing.

But I know better, I know the truth.
To you I am nothing, but a youth.
A Johnny-come-lately on this soil.
Long before big Texas oil.

But you are here for all time,
perennial and in your prime.

Long after the last oil is gone.
Long after this city has decayed to ruin.
Long after this earth is rust.
Long after you've lost our trust.

You will persevere and I will hold dear,
the pink promising memory of you here.

Of you popping up in a Bluebonnet patch.
Or seeing your face appear in the thatch.
Or in a nest of eggs about the hatch.
Or in the garden behind the gate latch.

Before anything is planted there.
I even see you in a maiden's hair.

Forever etched in my mind,
of that wonderful time,
when I was young and you were mine,
with Primrose hair and in your prime.

RWH: 7/9/11

Print this poem here.

Poem of the Week: 7/3/11

Firecracker Night

It's a hot night in July,
you and I both know it,
No place to go but out,
into the night of the poet.

The breeze in the trees,
is stilled to a stifle,
as we breathe the thick air,
and not tarry or trifle.

It wasn't planned,
but fireworks were banned,
it was much too hot,
and way too dry.

So we float on the stillness,
of a heat wave of desire,
just alone in the dark,
with the light of our own kind of fire.

On the grassy sleeve,
of a Midsummer's eve,
we roll in the dew,
of true believe.

Where the stars implode,
and we lighten our load,
to the tune of the,
Star-Spangled Banner.

In the fireflies' light,
our love shines bright,
near the end of a,
firecracker night.

RWH: 7/1/11

Print this poem here.

Poem of the Week: 6/26/11

Fiery Desire

The sun is high,
in the immortal sky,
and I am as fiery hot,
as the heat of midday.

The days gone by,
have been, oh, so dry,
making your defense,
so parchment thin.

Oh, what a state I'm in!

Miles to go before I die,
underneath the heated sky.
Miles 'neath the heated sky,
wind, let me wander... fly.

I lust for your tender tinder,
your brushy underneath.

I lust for a dry grassy bed,
to fuel my firm belief.

I lust for your curly crown,
to jump from tete to tete.

Within my burning embers,
your soul is released.
A moan of gassy outflow,
in your orgasmic dying relief.

For in all my destruction,
and scolding fiery sheath.
New from the ashes will grow,
the seeds of grow beneath.

RWH: 6/24/11

Print this poem here.

Poem of the Week: 6/19/11

George Washington Slept Here

Let it be told,
both far and near,
that George Washington,
the president, slept here.

With my wife,
and my sister,
with my daughter,
quite a mister.

Beds were scarce,
beds were few,
and so we slept,
two by two.

Nothing so cold,
as the bare floor.
So we slept,
by three or four.

So eager to please,
the president's ease,
they volunteered,
by the score.

Father of his country,
that's for sure.
So many Washingtons,
shore to shore.

Not even Kennedy,
matched his score.
As they demurely volunteered,
and came to fore.

So if by some chance,
you see that sign,
remember it's missing,
a personal byline.

One if by land,
two if by sea,
he slept with my sister,
sure as can be.

RWH: 6/17/11

Print this poem here.

Poem of the Week: 6/12/11

In the Wind

Everything I hoped for,
is blowing in the wind.
What have I done to deserve this,
have I sinned?

A hot wind blows,
day and night.
No one knows,
just what our plight.

The grass grows brown,
and the trees grow weak,
do you not know,
of what I speak?

Mariah, Mariah,
why have you come?
You were so cold,
when I was young.

When we raced,
before the fall.
When we chased,
the mighty all.

Now your companionship,
it's too hot to touch.
I long for those days,
I long so much.

But everything is shriveling,
before my eyes.
We all have our springtime,
and everything dies.

So wind blow me up,
over the trees.
This frail skeleton,
flapping in the breeze.

For ashes to ashes,
and dust to dust.
My ashes in the wind,
I trust, I trust.

RWH: 6/11/11

Print this poem here.

Poem of the Week: 6/5/11

Losing You

I'm losing you,
you know it's true,
a little at a time.

There was a time,
when both our minds,
harmonized in rhyme.

We thought as one,
and we had fun,
in rain and bright sunshine.

And then we slipped,
you, in your way,
and me, in mine.

A little at a time.
You, in your way,
and me, in mine.

You didn't call,
to tell me all,
like you always did.

You didn't kiss me,
that sweet goodnight,
was it something hid?

The smile has slipped,
from your face,
I'm losing you,
and can't replace.

What we had.
I'm losing you,
and it won't be long.
'til you're gone.

RWH: 6/3/11

Print this poem here.

Poem of the Week: 5/29/11

Mourn No More

Mourn no more my people,
mourn no more today.
Your sons and daughters,
lost in war, forever there to stay.

War no more has meaning,
war no more makes sense.
Going to war is only leaning,
on the lives of our innocents.

War is just a ruse,
foisted as our defense.
Makes old men more wealthy,
while killing young makes sense?

War is now technically surgical,
but the knife cuts wide and deep.
With so many civilians killed,
so many promises to keep.

It's okay to honor our soldiers,
who saved us in the past.
But we shouldn't honor victory,
with all the evil it's cast.

For if history taught us anything,
it's taught us that war is hell.
To honor all the killing,
only time will tell.

To honor all the killing,
has reached its death knell.
A time for more compassion,
when mourning can go to hell.

RWH: 5/27/11

Print this poem here.

Poem of the Week: 5/22/11

Month of May

I took my shirt off,
we both lost our shoes.
Down in the valley,
to please our muse.

Down in the valley,
under a tree canopy,
dangling our feet in water.
So happy and carefree.

The minnows were happy,
to nibble our toes.
As we studied clouds,
across the tip our nose.

The leaves were soft,
on that old creek bank,
we felt the comfort,
while in them we sank.

Softer were her kisses,
as the breeze on her face.
The world was our oyster,
and this was our place.

We planned our future,
on that very spot.
In the warmth of the sun,
it still wasn't too hot.

With birds for our music,
and bees for our show,
our troubles behind us,
we relaxed in the know.

Before long would come,
that sweet shining day.
When we would wed,
in the month of May.

RWH: 5/20/11

Print this poem here.

Poem of the Week: 5/15/11

11/11/11

1/1/01

First, Ace won,
and then he won again.
Changed his name from Jude Ace,
to just plain Jude, became,
an Ace without a trace.

2/2/02

To deuce, too.
Had a 35 coupe, who
wished it were a 32.
Put a deuce grille shell on,
looked the look, but,
didn't do the doo.

3/3/03

Third Trey III,
thought a motorcyclist he'd be.
After hitting his third tree,
traded it in on a Z3.

4/4/04

Fore for four,
on the fourth green in four,
he was shown the door.
Didn't yell "fore,
" a guy's head was his score,
he played golf no more.

5/5/05

Fifth, fin, five,
give me that hand jive.
With a hand slight like that,
we be getting fat,
ready to take a dive.

6/6/06

Sax, sex, six,
in the sack, he had his picks.
Hef was the one,
when he wanted to have fun,
jazz was in, and,
one always turn into six.

7/7/07

Seben, seven, 007.
Bond was his name,
intrigue was his game,
wouldn't catch him,
at a 7-11.

8/8/08

Ate ought eight,
who do I appreciate?
Only the great,
deserve an "eight",
out of 10.

9/9/09

No ninth, nine,
No, not my Clementine.
Oh my darling, Oh my darling,
it's for you I pine,
Not old Engine No. 9.

10/10/10

Tenth ten, X.
10 to midnight never came,
kept pushing that clock back again,
until it returned to you know when,
and we'll all be blown away then.

11/11/11

Lebendy, Lebendy, Leben,
died and went to heaven.
Afore I got there, I stopped,
I swear, at a local 7-11.

12/12/12

Twelfth twelve, dozen.
If a hen lays a baker's dozen,
does it come from China,
and I marry my cousin?

RWH: 5/14/11

Print this poem here.

Poem of the Week: 5/8/11

She's a Dream

Sweet dream, sweet dream.
Prettiest thing I've ever seen.

Where have you been,
my sweet dream?
Where have you been?

Why weren't you there,
when I was fair,
and the world was my oyster?

Why weren't you there,
when I was bare and
exposed in my cloister.

What you were then,
and what you are now,
amounts to much more,
than your regal posture.

Your beauty alone,
you don't have to hone,
don't have to foster.

Peaches and cream,
the best I've ever seen,
in all my weary days.

Through all I've seen,
years of wandering lean,
you never ceased to amaze.

I always thought,
what you were not,
that you were just a phase.

But now I see,
that you were real,
and something I should praise.

The mother of my children.

RWH: 5/8/11

Print this poem here.

Poem of the Week: 5/1/11

Tornado Alley

Got me thinking of the song, Tobacco Road

Tornado Alley took my home,
took my wife, took my own.
My children, before full-grown.

Tornado Alley, take me home.

Now I wander the destruction,
of what once was all my own.
A South of beauty, heart and home.

Tornado Alley, take me home.

Born in the Valley, down by the Creek,
didn't have much, but didn't seek.
Built my home with my own two hands,
filled with love and childhood friends.

Tornado Alley, take me home.

Life was hard, but it was good.
Knew everyone in the neighborhood.
Like a pillar, long time stood.

Tornado Alley, take me home.

She was my life, she was my home.
My travel stopped here like a poem.
My love of was full, so full-grown.

Tornado Alley, take me home.

The sky turned gray, and then turned black.
Turned upside down to what I lack.
Tornado Alley take me back.

Tornado Alley, take me home.

Tornado Alley, where I roam.
Used to call this place my home.
Now it's bare and I'm alone.

Tornado Alley, take me home.

My home was old under the southern sky,
so warm and rich as years rolled by.
Gone in an instant, wondering, why?

Tornado Alley, take me home.

Tornado Alley, I will no longer roam,
under the southern skies of my Southern home.
My life is lost; my life's alone.

Tornado Alley, take me home.

RWH: 4/30/11

Print this poem here.

Poem of the Week: 4/24/11

Writing Outside the Lines

Inspired by Greyson Chance's New Hit

Don't you get down now,
don't you quit.
The whole world's ahead of you,
and you're a part of it.

The world seems a mess,
at every turn.
But it's easy to find the peace,
for which you yearn.

There are critics and bullies,
of low self-esteem.
Why lower yourself to them,
just to stay clean.

It's a dirty world we live in,
not the way we expected.
The danger is not as real,
nor are you protected.

But that's no good reason,
to bury your head in sand.
Get out your pen,
and write to understand.

Write from your heart,
and not from your head.
Don't box yourself in,
by a nose ring led.

Get out there and find,
what you're looking for.
Stop staring at the screen,
and open the door.

For outside is wonder,
and outside is a dream.
Always a new adventure,
and not what it would seem.

From inside the lines.

RWH: 4/23/11

Print this poem here.

Poem of the Week: 4/17/11

It's Crazy

It's crazy living in the world today,
don't know whether to cry,
or go out and play.

Seems there is danger,
at every turn.
Makes the old folks,
reminisce and yearn.

Makes the young folks,
psychologically weak.
All the talk of danger,
makes them too meek.

Yet there is adventure,
in movies and video games.
Obese couch potatoes,
heroes with no names.

More anonymity on the web,
hide your identity,
so your desires,
can be fed.

Where are the heroes,
that we all long for?
They've sold out for endorsements,
at the vanity store.

And where is reality,
in reality TV?
When real folks are big stars,
sucking the money tree.

There is something to living,
the simple life.
Walking and reading,
enjoying nature, reducing strife.

So remember the wise saying,
from Mad Magazine.
"What, me worry?"
And live the dream.

RWH: 4/16/11

Print this poem here.

Poem of the Week: 4/10/11

Picture This-2

Dragged out my old pictures,
fortunately-not too many.
Brought back many memories,
without even one thin penny.

Scanning took its time,
reformatting did too.
Sweating hours at the computer,
stuck in the desert of Timbuktu.

I was a medium drink of water,
way back then, iron man.
Drank no water for years,
no sweat, no where, no when.

Traveled many a path alone,
no way to picture this.
Miles in the hot sun,
surviving on the bliss.

And wonders I did see,
much of the Land of the Free,
and wonders of the World,
that before me unfurled.

Scant pictures that remain,
bear testimony to my quest,
to seek out the world,
leaving behind the rest.

I mourn not the loss,
for my memory is still clear,
of all the sights and wonders,
that I still hold so dear.

And so I sweat and wonder,
drinking gallons at her order.
What pictures I would share,
if still that drink of water.

Picture the Egyptian pyramids,
in the dusty setting sun.
Picture a Lake Tahoe ski slope,
Sonny's very own death run.

Picture the Hindenburg's last flight.
Herb Morrison gave me one,
he took at a Newark airport,
before he recorded her done.

Picture the streets of Dhaka,
a thousand lanterns swinging free.
The romantic peace of night,
in a heart breaking place to be.

Picture an erupting volcano,
and shaky ground beneath.
A jungle full of cacophony sounds,
in green Guatemalan relief.

Just a taste of the pictures,
taken only in my mind so free,
So why do I have to reformat these,
for just the family tree?
To sweat or not to sweat,
that's just the way,
the picture be.

RWH: 4/9/11

Print this poem here.

Poem of the Week: 4/3/11

Silence of the Lambs

"Blessed are the meek."
The attitude to be.
Has held us in its grip,
throughout history.

It is a primal feeling,
firmly based in fear.
For who would step up,
to be slashed from ear-to-ear?

The tool of tyrants many,
held firmly in their grip.
Of bullshit lies and larceny,
enforced by the whip.

The sheeple are many,
and flock to the few.
Locked in the matrix,
without a clue.

It only takes some thinking,
to see through the lies.
But most go on shirking,
bound by family ties.

Fodder for the matrix.
Bodies in, bodies out.
Greed fulfilling destiny,
faith, before any doubt.

And so the planet suffers,
from its sheeple's success.
Overpowering everything,
and leaving just a mess.

So rise up like lions,
take bullshit no more.
Create a better world,
before it's gone,

like yore...

RWH: 4/2/11

Print this poem here.

Poem of the Week: 3/27/11

Rich Thoughts

My mind is a Wonderland,
of ever richer thoughts.
Filled with memories,
and unfulfilled plots.

I never run out of crazy ideas,
to fill my heart's fiery desire.
And hope to inspire others,
to prod, without evoking ire.

I love to live in golden silence,
when no one else's around.
It's my only form of meditation,
where my thoughts richly abound.

To paint vivid word pictures,
or mess with a word's sound.
It's like making a discovery,
of a jewel I have just found.

Last week I smelled new asphalt,
in our huge back parking lot.
It reminded me of the movie line,
from Apocalypse Now's plot.

"I love the smell of napalm in the morning."
The ruthless Lt. Col. Kilgore shot. So do I,
"Love the smell of new ass felt in the morning.
Especially when it's hot."

"That sounds like every man."
Sydney wryly pointed out.
If every woman had her insight,
she would no longer doubt.

Relationships would blend like honey,
and novel ideas wouldn't run out.
Like bees protecting all our money,
we wouldn't scream and shout.

And the fuel that fires our love,
never wood run out.

RWH: 3/26/11

Print this poem here.

Poem of the Week: 3/20/11

Miss Understood

Please, Miss Information give me a hand,
I am being misunderstood,
throughout the land.

When I have a question I search the web,
I am directed to FAQs,
until I go to bed.

FAQs never have the answer,
to the question I pose.
So just try to find that number,
to call, I suppose.

Short of 911 and south of 1411,
you've found the number,
and think that you are done.

If they are open,
often not the case.
You are greeted with a menu,
you would like to erase.

Except for your language,
your selections are none,
pressing "0" for operator,
may think you've won.

So you write a letter,
on their e-mail form.
Only to get a response,
from a robot gnome.

When you finally get a real live,
person on the phone.
She's a minimum wage temporary,
with a mind like a clone.

"Hold please," she says in a flash,
the Muzak comes on,
while your thoughts clash.

A supervisor is nowhere to be found,
"Please leave a message.
" [Will give you a call,
when we get around]

A tech with all the answers,
arrives on the phone.
Two hours later,
you're no closer to home.

Miss Information is wild and free,
everything else costs money,
with minimum wagers,
at the base of the tree.

RWH: 3/19/11

Print this poem here.

Poem of the Week: 3/13/11

Tsunami

It came silently,
like a premonition,
without warning.

It came without direction,
no north, south, east, or west,
in its forming.

You never saw it coming,
for all was calm.
The slight recession,
was like a balm.

If the tides are high,
or the tides are low,
it makes no difference.

For the future is a mystery,
and cannot be predicted,
by simple inference.

All you know,
is that you are underwater,
and all your hard work,
didn't matter.

All your dreams and schemes,
all your wishes and hopes,
are about to shatter.

The only thing you have left,
is mere survival.
Are you ready,
for its arrival?

I think not.
And harsh reality,
is about to give you a shock.

Knock, knock.

It's at your door.
Don't you remember?
It's been there before.

It's always there,
waiting in the wings.
Life's ups and downs,
from nature's and man's flings.

So better prepare,
for your own little tsunami.
Life's too short,
and isn't Miami.

RWH: 3/12/11

Print this poem here.

Poem of the Week: 3/10/11

Stroke

At the stroke of midnight,
the lies came out to roost.
The flies, they were loosed,
and there was no time for truce.

With his mighty sword of silver,
he stroke one mighty blow,
and severed the head of justice,
and brought it down to low.

The stroke, it wasn't serious,
affecting just the right hand.
The second was more furious,
burying his eye in the sand.

She stroked his head with laughter,
and filled her eyes with cheer.
Her gentleness precedes her,
throughout the waning year.

Like a flash of lightning,
the stroke brought him down.
At once a man of stature,
and an imbecilic drooling clown.

A single stroke of pen,
has cleaved these words to page.
It might as well be stone,
electronically to last an age.

RWH: 3/9/11

Print this poem here.

Poem of the Week: 2/20/11

Headache

Let's face it.
Life's a headache.
I'm not talking about,
a sinus condition,
a blow to the head,
the bends,
a migraine,
aneurysm,
blood or fluid,
on the brain.

I'm talking about,
what other people do,
to make life miserable,
and cause sleepless nights,
simply because they,
are unable to communicate,
except by inflicting pain.

Let's face it.
90% of these headaches,
are the result of,
pride,
greed, and,
downright stupidity.

The 10% of real headaches,
are the result of disease,
calamities and natural disasters,
that we have no control over,
and no amount of praying or,
asking government authorities,
to help us, will help.

We just have to,
ignore the pain and work hard,
and eventually we'll get over,
whatever the real headache is.

Unfortunately, that other 90%,
will hang around to bother us,
until we finally get smart,

Or die.

RWH: 2/19/11

Print this poem here.

Poem of the Week: 2/13/11

We're Free!

It's been 130 years,
since we left our tomb,
locked up in glass cages,
in the mummy room.

They finally broke the glass,
and we are free.
Or at least when those guards leave,
we are going to be.

We'll sneak out at night,
when the party is over.
The sun will be too much,
for our brittle cover.

We long for the touch,
of warm young flesh fair.
And thirst for wine,
to run blood red rare.

Mubarak's palaces,
belong to us.
We think he'll give them up,
without any fuss.

When we arrive in his bedroom,
late one night.
No court in Egypt,
will give him such fright.

With young maidens dear,
at our command,
we'll birth new mummies,
throughout the land.

Muslims, Christians and Jews,
should not fear.
We'll conquer the world,
in about a year.

Won't it be funny,
near the end of 2012,
as Nostradamus predicted,
we mummies have evolved.

RWH: 2/12/11

Print this poem here.

Poem of the Week: 2/6/11

Weathering Emotion

Lightning struck and I was born,
mid the thundering growing corn.

Like the blood flood in my brew,
washed me clean and brand-new.

The tides of my time came into view,
as a fire in me flickered, and then grew.

The sun rose in my misty eyes,
and revealed your cumulus skies.

The same sun beat on skin so sweet,
and wiped the doubt clouds fleet.

You, I'd won fore the setting sun,
turned the amber dusk to gray.

A moon beamed into my night,
as I earthquaked at your sight.

Volcanoes erupted in my plight,
and I landslided to the last light.

The wolf wind howled lean and bright,
into a tornado's passionate fright.

A hurricane blended and never offended,
as I tsunamied with all my might.

Soon winter came without any blame,
and I avalanched into spring.

Only to begin to trade winds again.

RWH: 2/5/11

Print this poem here.

Poem of the Week: 1/30/11

Va-Room!

I got a hemi, with ma pants hung low,
Va-room, Va-room... Here we go...

She likes that sound.
That so round sound.
She can be found,
hip-hoppin' to its pound.

I got woofers and they go wow!
She likes those woofers,
when they go pow!
I think I'll woofer now.

(Refrain)

Listen to her scream and howl!
I drift to her as the tires growl.
I drift to her on the prowl.
And the law, I run afoul.

She got bling,
shake that thing,
flash that fling!
and away we go...

I got style and I got bling,
Va-room, Va-room, shake that thing.

The Charger is my name,
if I go fast, who was to blame?
If I go slow, don't you know,
I'm cruisin' with my flame.

So when you see me in the hood,
let it be understood.
That she is mine and she is fine,
take the bad with the good.

(Refrain)

Satin silver with blacked out lights,
she moves silkily through the nights.
In the hood I got rights.
Can't be seen hind those blacked out lights.

Don't you know what's going on?
Rock'n roll'n till the dawn.
I got style and I got grace,
Cap's bill turned just right place.

(Refrain)

RWH: 1/29/11

Print this poem here.

Poem of the Week: 1/23/11

Birds of a Feather

Birds of a feather,
flock together,
and ravishingly attack,
their meager food.

Each one in turn,
with individual yearn,
and intent that greatly,
reflects their mood.

Quick to fight or flight,
when threat of might,
signals danger is,
on its way.

As one for all,
a frenzied call,
beware anyone,
that chooses to stay.

For danger strikes,
in the blink of an eye.
It may be unwise to sit,
and better to fly.

Safety in numbers,
is a good rule.
Unless you're the one,
chosen to be the fool.

A bird's life is precarious,
but aren't they all?
All for one,
and one for all.

RWH: 1/23/11

Print this poem here.

Poem of the Week: 1/16/11

White Space

White space is nice,
when used on the page.
Gives the eye a breather,
especially one that's aged.

White space backlights most TVs,
heightens colors with great ease.
Don't look for it if you please,
causes cross eye disease.

White space is authors' greatest fear,
staring at pages year-to-year.
Without a word to put down,
afraid to be revealed the clown.

White space can fog the view,
flying or driving becomes brand-new.
And if you dare to speed into,
a big crash up will come to you.

White space is the blizzard's fare,
blocking the view from here to there.
Erasing evidence of where you've been,
you may never come back again.

White space between the blue sky,
Antarctica is peaceful to fly by.
But white can be deadly on the ground,
when the wind howls and the sun goes down.

White space is created by whiteout,
after a few sniffs, scream and shout.
Used to think it helped writing,
addicts will tell you it is quite frightening.

There is no white space in outer space,
and it's not that night just knows its place.
Without atmosphere, white doesn't exist,
while white stars shine on with bliss.

Why are blanks shown as white?
Aren't they neutral in any light?
So if you shoot blanks from your writers' gun,
what color your victim in the setting sun?

RWH: 1/15/11

Print this poem here.

She was a pricey piece,
this jewel of denial.
Gave me no release,
still cost me a pretty pile.

Shown brighter than the rest,
so no one could defile.
Her glitter gone so crazy quilt,
to my last country mile.

Sailed the soft satin sheets,
of the classic placid River Nile,
tossed me to raging waters,
into the jaws of the crocodile.

How I got the upper hand,
took me quite a while.
Nestled in her to the end,
so I could finally smile.

And so I sit on pyramid peak,
all dressed up in style.
Going nowhere with my long-lost love,
my jewel of denial.

RWH: 1/8/11

Print this poem here.