Poem of the Week: 12/28/19

Cat Burglar Santa

Who is the greatest cat burglar of all?
No one will admit to answer that call.

But I have it on authority from what I heard,
that it might be Santa who flies like a bird.

For somehow, he sneaks down south to all believers,
giving presents to even bad kids and underachievers.

With amazing speed and stealthful slight.
Accomplishing it all in one starlit night.

Of course, he uses the Internet to speed him along,
GPS is helpful to find kids singing Rudolph's song.

Fireplaces and chimneys are easy to enter.
Other places Santa finds sooner or later.

Basements, open windows, cracks and more,
there's no abode that Santa can't quickly explore.

Leaving no evidence except crumbs and empty glass,
for his burglarizing milk and cookies, Santa gets a pass.

For Santa is welcome to break into kids houses,
he gives more than he gets, like crumbs for mouses.

So who is the greatest cat burglar of all?
It's Santa of course, but you shouldn't tell.

The cat isn't telling and he ought to know.
He's got your tongue, if you let rumors grow.

rwh 12/26/19

print this poem here.

Poem of the Week: 12/21/19

Winter Night

On a cold, crisp, clear winter's night,
stars seem to be bigger, more bright,
against black velvet horizon to horizon sight.

Frosty breath the only thing moving,
peace reflected in distant animal calls,
warmth belying the deadly cold looming.

It is then, knowing the cold air we breathe,
is but a very thin supply that recycles within,
moving around the globe from hemispheres,
changing the weather we depend on to win.

Our war against nature we've fought so well,
warm boots and coats keeping us so snug,
arriving at warm houses, our loved ones to hug.

The surface of our planet is thin, as well,
it's all we have to nourish and shelter us,
our own man-made heaven or hell.

It is times like this, walking home in deep night,
one contemplates incomprehensible vastness,
that lies beyond our still feeble, unaided eyesight.

Violent beginnings of all those stars in the sky,
coalescing of gravity creating everything on high.
Elements made of exploding stars gracing our earth.

Meteors, pulsars, supernovas and black holes,
the vast universe we are a part of makes the rules.
All seems at peace on this night's pleasant walk.

But the turmoil is there in that distance above,
and even right here on our frozen landscape,
we must treasure it with stewardship and love.

It is here, each alone, we contemplate to flee or fight.
Thankful for each and every, cold clear night.

rwh 12/19/19

print this poem here.

Hello Computer

Hello, computer, you sound just fine.
A little more metallic than yesterday,
but I know that you are all mine.

You don't have that damn foreign accent,
with all that noise, talking from behind.
Making it so hard to place where you are from,
and exactly what's on your mind.

You seem so polite with all your kind requests.
Asking me to push numbers 1 to 3 or more,
all at my own bequest so I won't get sore.

I know that I will get to speak,
to a real person someday.
But as I punch my way through all,
the numbers it's not looking that way.

I got an hour or so to kill so I will do as you request,
"Press nine to go back to the main menu,"
and keep giving you my very, very best.

But computer, if you don't behave and help me real soon,
I may smash this phone against the wall.
Won't be able to call you anymore at all.
And won't even be able answer when you call!

Did I call you? Or did you call me?
I guess I'll have to hang up and call back,
in an hour, or two or three to see.

rwh 12/12/19

print this poem here.

Poem of the Week: 12/7/19

Plastic Fantastic

When lowly Bakelite came into use,
only to insulate us from heat and,
the danger of high-voltage juice,
no one saw chemistry's emerging genie.

That polymers would spread and enable,
throughout our technically growing world.
Replacing many more fragile and durable,
with their lightness, strength and color unfurled.

Cheaply replacing metal, glass, wood,
paper, ceramic and even silky soft cloth.
there seemed no end to what plastics,
and their magic could bring forth.

At first thought of as cheap,
and then, thought of as value-added,
plastics became the universal solution,
we, the public, bought and applauded.

We all heard the uncle whisper to,
Dustin Hoffman, The Graduate, in the pool.
"Invest in plastics," he said,
not doing so would be a fool.

For plastics spread throughout,
the entire commercial world.
Replacing and altering the way,
our environment and life prospered.

But plastics were found not to be,
as biodegradable as their predecessors,
with chemical compounds hard to break down.
What was thought of as a boon, became a frown.

Discarded plastic ends up in the sea,
has been found at the microscopic level,
in all forms of life that currently be.

"Planet or Plastic," is the new battle cry,
but the genie is out of the bottle,
and many still do not know why,
hooked on convenience that they can't deny.

So please do your part as quickly as you can,
come up with ways to do away with plastic,
substituting paper for plastic is easy if you try.
Your contribution to health, you can't deny.

rwh 12/5/19

print this poem here.

Poem of the Week: 11/30/19

Thankfulness

As we rush through our multitasking lives,
dealing with ever more trivial problems,
we often find we mortally despise.

We gain a sense of pessimism,
that people don't really care.
We gain a sense of hopelessness,
our days turning into nightmare

While our horizons have broadened,
to see more clearly the whole wide earth,
we zero in on our neighborhood,
and judge its character, its worth.

We now see and hear so much,
that's out of our control.
We look for simple solutions,
like our simpler lives before.

But there are no simple solutions.
It takes us all working as a team.
Have to be on the same wavelength,
achieve the American/Worldwide dream.

For to think only of our country's,
often most checkered, past.
As a time of great glory, overlooks,
things we would think of now, aghast.

As a whole the world gets better,
and more unified in thought every year.
To not be thankful for that fact,
it is to be listening, but not to hear.
Everywhere injustices are being exposed,
we should rejoice and be thankful for that,
instead of turning up our noses,
jumping to conclusions, meat from the fat.

For who are we to judge those,
whose footsteps we have not walked,
if our lives were made vice versa,
would we still have loudly balked.

Be thankful for all those on the earth,
doing the right thing where they live.
For it's only in doing the right thing,
Will the world gain more as we give.

rwh 11/28/19

print this poem here.

Poem of the Week: 11/23/19

Vigil

Old man sits at his wife's gravesite.
Impervious to the weather, the night sounds,
and his own comfort, till dawn's first light.

His tears run freely as the October rain,
that runs down his face, cleansing,
his guilt and his long-standing shame.

As the sun rises and warms his body,
the determined old man falls asleep,
unable, his vigil, his body, to keep.

The caretaker discovers the old man,
and fearing for his life, calls 911.
Paramedics find him, squinting in the sun.

Paramedics inquire into his aims.
"I'm okay. I will not go." He proclaims.
"I'm on the vigil for my wife and two kids."

"I killed them while drunk driving,
a long time ago. It is time for me to,
join themÉ Time for me to go."

They checked out his vitals,
everything was okay.
The old man refused to leave.
Of course, got his own way.

For days the caretaker,
watched over him and,
brought water and food.

But the old man was stubborn,
and would not be moved.

A cold front came through,
and the caretaker had to leave.
But he worried all night,
of the old man's plight.

Arriving the next morning,
the old man was dead.
Hugging the gravestone,
as though resting his head.

On the gravestone an inscription,
that told the caretaker a lot,
"My Loving Wife and Two Children"
Interred on This Spot.

The old man's will stated it quite clear,
that he wanted to be buried,
next to his family he still held dear.

rwh 11/21/19

print this poem here.

Poem of the Week: 11/16/19

Money River

Goin' down to the river.
Goin' down to the river to see.
Goin' where the money flows free.

Man with no clothes once told me,
that river runs past Prosper Town.
Just got to know where to tap it,
before all that money moves on.

Ain't 'bout workin' hard.
Ain't 'bout livin' right.
Ain't 'bout savin' yer pennies.
It's 'bout knowin' the game.

Unless youse in the know,
everythin' else's just lame.

It's 'bout lyin' and stealin'.
It's 'bout knowin' who to con.
'Bout knowin' the right people,
no lookin' back, jus moving on.

So I's goin' down to that river,
goin' to drink my fill.
Cuz I deserve it,
must be God's will.

rwh 11/14/19

print this poem here.

Poem of the Week: 11/9/19

Lonely Street

There is a place called Lonely Street,
where all the lonely people live.
All their efforts to improve their appeal,
with nothing to show for the love they give.

If you go down to Lonely Street.
You'll find that no one lives there.
The houses will all be empty,
everyone vanished into thin air.

Only the lonely know the street well,
down that street of loneliness and despair,
in their own private, isolated hell,
they live their lives in anguish there.

So if you go down Lonely Street,
never expect to return.
Only friend found on Lonely Street,
is an imagination of yearn.

rwh 11/6/19

print this poem here.

Poem of the Week: 11/2/19

Scary

Interesting how fears come around,
some are bogus and some are sound.
Scary stories initially told at a tender age,
engender frightening dreams that rage.

Makes us sometimes afraid of the dark,
and afraid of what lurks under the bed.
a shoe falls from a shelf in the closet,
a monster is created in a little one's head.

So many critters get a bad rap.
Wiggly worms are slimy but great bait.
Snakes, not slimy, eat roaches and rats.
Spiders just want to catch bugs in their web.

Bats eat mosquitoes by the bushel.
Wolves fear us and have strong family ties,
Bears are more curious than dangerous.
Sharks just want to swim free from lies.

But there are real fears that we should abide,
Driving on thin or black ice is an unsafe ride.
Let real fears scare you like your bad heart.
So go out in the world and do not hide.

Malls are not scary places,
nor are carnival rides.
Lightning will not strike you,
if you lead sensible lives.

rwh 10/31/19

print this poem here.

Poem of the Week: 10/26/19

See Ya

When parting I always blurted, "See ya,"
as you left the room or out the door.
It never dawned on me what I meant,
except that I would see you once more.

It didn't matter who you were,
a new acquaintance or long lost friend.
The simple phrase, "See ya,"
just put our visit to an end.

A smile, a wave, farewell or goodbye,
"See ya," filled the bill of why.

Now when the days of this life grow short,
and thoughts of seeing others again lose sight,
farewells, goodbyes and good wishes still,
bring new meaning to "See ya's" light.

So the next time you utter the phrase,
"Let's make some time for lunch?"
You had better set a time and date,
or "See ya," won't stand for much.

rwh 10/22/19

print this poem here.

Poem of the Week: 10/19/19

Technosystem Fear

For 2 billion years or more,
the earth's ecosystem flourished.
Moving into every niche of planet,
finding ways to grow, get nourished.

But 10,000 years ago humans had arrived,
at the brilliant conclusion of their worth.
Domesticating animals and plants to their will,
taming the wild cycles of nature on the earth.

Using fire to make metals,
written words to make plans.
Carving out tribal territories,
laying claim to some lands.

Ecosystem suffered destruction,
with every human advance.
But always continued to evolve,
where humans had no chance.

Humans could not stop,
our growing technical girth.
Each new technology brought,
more safety, comfort and worth.

The web of technology grew,
connecting cities and towns.
With no thought to sustainability,
no guidelines or limited grounds.

The resulting techno-dependency,
of everyone, everywhere, on earth.
Leaves so many in despair and poverty,
and others with apparent great worth.

But the system is fragile, susceptible,
costly to continue to maintain.
It grows with financial expediency,
like our population in the main.

Until the entire ecosystem,
supporting all human life,
has been stressed to the limit,
more and more will face strife.

While technosystem's infrastructure,
so complex and overextended.
In many places breaking down,
too expensive to be mended.

The challenge of the 21st-century,
is to move forward into outer space.
Because the human technosystem,
progress' s legacy, is a failing disgrace.

rwh 10/17/19

print this poem here.

Poem of the Week: 10/12/19

Hard of Hearing

I'm so hard of hearing,
from you these fine days.
But grateful for many calls,
in so many creative ways.

So many offers,
and surveys to take.
So much money gone,
in their aftermath wake.

But I'm not hearing,
from you hardly at all.
And you talk like a machine,
whenever you call.

I diligently input,
every word that you say.
Except on your Facebook page,
I zone out on when you prey.

With more ways to communicate,
constantly coming around the bend,
everyone's getting hard of hearing,
from their family and friends.

So, try to take a moment, slow down,
from your cell phone distracted day,
and give an old friend or family a call.
Learn to hear again in an old/new way.

rwh 10/8/19

print this poem here.

Poem of the Week: 10/5/19

Lion in Wait

There's a lion in wait in so many lives,
like a case of unknown virulent hives.
Just waiting unseen in the tall grass,
to jump out, grab you and kick your ass.

There's the lying in weight of the digital assistant,
procuring fast food and snacks so insistent.
A slowly developing strangling life grip,
becoming diabetes, amputation to the hip.

There's the lying in weight couch potato style,
telling your friends that you work out at the gym.
Missing the mark of your weight by a mile,
hiding your lie on a plus sized binge whim.

There's the lying in wait while you put off your urges,
the smoking, the gambling, drugs or bulimia purges.
Burning the life candle from both ends it seems,
a way of living fast and loose, but ending dreams.

There's the lying in wait for others to do,
when you know you should get out there, too.
The cautious delay or fear of acting,
the apathy that leaves so many people lacking.

So, if there's a lion in a wait just outside your door,
think about it and wonder what are you waiting for?
The time to change is now and not later,
before all that lying grips you like an alligator.

rwh 10/3/19

print this poem here.

Poem of the Week: 9/28/19

Just Peachy

Life is not all peaches and cream,
so many can' t afford the presidential dream.
Some plan that weird, impeachment scheme,
but most just get shafted, whatever way they lean.

There are those that preach and those that impeach,
and those that sit around and simply do nothing.
There are those that shout and those that scream,
but most prefer to stand by, think and just listen.

So many are sheeple off to the slaughter,
following their cult leaders' whims to the end.
In the center of the peach, there is always a pit.
What starts out glorious, turns bad to the bend.

Skin of the peach is soft, velvety and smooth,
the inside might be rotten, mushy or fibrous.
Without critically examining why things soothe,
a hollow interior resides below the glamorous.

Something is rotten in the union these days,
it stinks to high heaven in so many ways.
It is time to rethink what is peachy or not,
time to go in and cut out the rot.

rwh 9/26/19

print this poem here.

Poem of the Week: 9/21/19

Keeping Up Appearances

Given up keeping up appearances these days.
Life keeps throwing curveballs, in oh, so many ways.

Alex Trebek is the proverbial classic case,
of keeping up appearances in life's losing race.

For we all are subject to inevitable falling out,
as arches fall, everything sags, we get gout.

Clint Eastwood has put it another way,
"Don't let the old man in," or he'll come to stay.

Cher made an appearance just last night,
making her look younger, looking just right.

And so it goes for those in showbiz,
but for us, it's not necessary, or is?

Botox and plastic surgery for those who wish,
not dipping into that expensive dish.

Better to die young and leave a good looking corpse,
then hang on while illness and pain run its course.

Beauty resides in what we write today.
It will last beyond us, so put it into play.

Want to appear good? Want to appear bad?
Write it into your prose with all that you've had.

So when appearances don't matter anymore,
the words that you left will grace you even more.

rwh 9/19/19

print this poem here.

Poem of the Week: 9/14/19

Don't Go Away

If you go away,
and I must stay.
What can I do?

What can I say?

Some have left without a word.
Some have left so disturbed.
Some have left, I have heard.
Some have left, pleas ignored.

Reasons for leaving are often complex.
They can't be explained in simple terms.
But when someone dies unexpectedly,
those left behind heart and mind yearns.

So, if you go away,
go away with peace of mind.
Know that I am okay with it,
a level place, I still will find.

Life comes and goes,
in unexpected ways.
We must learn to go with the flow,
adapt in all our remaining days.

rwh 9/12/19

print this poem here.

Poem of the Week: 9/7/19

Footprint

You asked about my footprint,
as I walk across this land?
Well, I try to keep my footsteps small,
and most of that is planned.

I do not have any offspring,
there's already enough of us.
My legacy will not be children,
no one over which to fuss.

If we are to cut our numbers,
to a reasonable use of land.
We need to stop honoring dynasties,
and every family have a plan.

I sought to buy some wilderness,
to live in for my very own,
with no desire to develop it,
just a quiet place to roam.

Could carry all I had in my car,
until I was 30 years old.
When I bought an old cottage,
as my simple, small abode.

But the lake below was acid,
from long abandoned coal mines.
Wondered about my West Virginia,
corporate raped even in our times.

I have lived in five divergent places,
across this great multi-cultured land.
Have sampled cultures worldwide,
found most everyone a pleasant blend.

On a parklike piece of Atlanta land,
I built a solar passive all electric home,
with an astonishing $15 a month bill,
maintenance free so I could easily roam.

I cooked my meals from fresh,
although I enjoyed restaurant food,
I never made a habit of eating out,
just simple, healthy, in a relaxing mood.

Always put aside for my future needs.
Always gave generously to good causes.
Always spent very little on myself.
Always helped others without pauses.

It's fact that I must, myself, be healthy,
that I will never be or want to be wealthy,
that I had to prepare financially for my own care,
what I cannot do myself, so help me.

But I have found that corporate greed,
wrecks havoc on our very soul.
We are so easily drawn to their products,
but do not understand their goal.

Unbridled wealth and profit destroy our nest,
those who buy the allure of abundance,
create the myth of inequality creating unrest,
everyone needs to put their footprint to test.

We must not close our eyes and ears,
to ugly and distasteful daily news.
Calling it fake and exaggerated,
will only prolong our blues.

Let's address the real problems,
with positive and cooperative action.
Let's not let the wasteful abusers,
continue their short-term profit driven traction.

rwh 9/6/19

print this poem here.

Poem of the Week: 8/31/19

Once a Great Nation

Once a great notion,
sailed across the ocean,
out in wilderness with ambition,
taken freely for possession.

A monumental lesson,
in territorial aggression,
as religious oppression,
displaced nomadic heathen.

A better mousetrap,
garnered from the bootstrap,
created a consuming pack rat,
on heavy industrial fat.

A dynamo to envy,
get-rich-quick on a bevy,
of resource laden heavy,
creating Ford and Chevy.

Fought to end slavery,
but not the inherent knavery,
that made the wealthy unsavory,
by their self-proclaimed superiority.

In the land of the free,
for some, just not to be,
injustice so easy to see,
but so easy, too, to disagree.

For a great nation to continue to grow,
it must learn and bend with the flow.
The light of liberty must continue to glow,
for especially, the downtrodden, to show.

rwh 8/29/19

print this poem here.

Poem of the Week: 8/24/19

Amazon Burning

The Amazon is burning,
the Arctic permafrost is thawing,
what have we done to our Earth?

Prayers will not answer,
God will not save us,
for what we have done by,
simply indulging since our birth.

In a few generations of greed,
with prosperous leaning intentions,
we have squandered and plundered,
riches we have, with war and dearth.

The Amazon is burning,
indigenous people are yearning,
running for all they are worth.

The Arctic permafrost is thawing,
wake up but finding it harder to live.

The tip of the iceberg is showing,
but leadership is sadly lacking,
good intentions fall through the sieve.

Billionaires are playing,
with their projects often delaying,
between what they take and give.

The Amazon is burning,
and we are fiddling our fortunes,
on the wrong side of history,
with our lack of positive action.

The Amazon is burning,
all that fine mahogany up in smoke.
How will I panel my guesthouse or office?
Punish the fire starters with a pen stroke!

So get off that horse you're riding,
and change your ways,
mighty quick.
Do not be the last person around,
with your head in the sand,
Dick.

If we don't all do our part,
to change the world right.
We deserve what we get.
Amazon burning may be our last fight.

rwh 8/22/19

print this poem here.

Poem of the Week: 8/17/19

Unnatural Love

He saw her from afar,
evening jogging in the park.
Fell in love immediately,
but she disappeared in the dark.

For many days he returned,
to that same spot and time,
but she did not appear again,
and he began to pine.

Who knows what love is,
that comes with a single sight.
Is it unnatural to love like this,
tormented day and night?

And so, he grieved and pined,
for at least six months or more,
until one night in a dimly lit club,
he saw her on the dance floor.

She was dancing with another girl,
so he figured it was all right,
to cut in on that girl's partner,
without a confrontation or fight.

Thankfully, she agreed to dance,
more beautiful than he saw before,
up close, she flashed a smile so broad,
knees weak, feet barely gripping floor.

When a slow dance came,
she melted into his arms.
She smelled of heavenly fragrance,
and demonstrated other charms.

While infatuated distantly, before,
close, he fell head over heels in adore.
They left with exchanged numbers.
He floated all the way to his door.

It wasn't long when intimacy,
raised its inevitable head.
When she confessed he was a man,
shocked, he almost fell dead.

But he could not overcome his love,
and forced himself beyond belief,
far beyond that initial infatuation,
a long-term love eventually became relief.

rwh 8/15/19

print this poem here.

Poem of the Week: 8/10/19

Finished

I dreamed I was a mighty Viking,
with arms like Popeye the sailor man.
So I ate lots of spinach and sailed away,
leaving skinny Olive Oyl behind to stay,
for my Internet love in a far-off land.

I wanted so much to meet her,
to consummate what I dreamed,
but when I wrote asking her whereabouts,
She wrote me that she was Finnish[ed].
My sail wind suddenly diminished,
I returned, letting Olive oil my pain.

Sigh.

rwh 8/8/19

print this poem here.

Poem of the Week: 8/3/19

Far Horizon

Do not think small,
if you think it all,
shoot for the far horizon.

For squandered lives,
minions in the hives,
amount to little more,
then going to sleep,
and then, arising.

Countless things,
we do to please,
our egos' ease,
that amount to little,
isn't at all surprising.

So rack your brain,
learn a new refrain,
and turn a blame,
into enterprising.

You are better than,
a henpecked hen,
assert yourself to learn,
be more than what you yearn,
reach out for the far horizon.

Soon you will find,
you've lost what had bind,
your mind in lockstep thought.

You will rise to the occasion,
find a new avocation,
over the far horizon.

rwh 8/1/19

print this poem here.

Poem of the Week: 7/29/19

Assimilation

Opposites attract,
causing assimilation,
a blending of genes,
a hybrid of a notion.

Isolation breeds diversity,
the uniqueness of life,
it also breeds weakness,
inability to deal with strife.

The strength of assimilation,
is the blending of genes,
tolerance of the environment,
much more than it seems.

We all know that the purebred,
is subject to genetic flaws Select
the mongrel in society,
survives better nature's laws.

Technology, mobility and language,
is changing the human race.
Opposites are reproducing now,
at an amazing pace.

In due time, here on the earth,
we'll have one ameliorated blend,
one homogenized people,
from Earth's end to end.

There is one saving grace.
We will once again diversify,
through long isolation,
as we move out into space.

rwh 7/27/19

print this poem here.

Poem of the Week: 7/20/19

Diversity

Opposites attract,
but similars get along.
In Mother Nature's great plan,
making new generations strong.

Earth's myriad varied environments,
provides an endless array of niches,
for life to grow, reproduce and evolve,
into a variety that only enriches.

All life comes from a single DNA.
A DNA that grows, and changes,
replicates and rearranges,
as radiation randomly engages.

Predator and prey in the food chain,
assure that the weak and sick,
are culled from their difficult niche,
ensuring survival of the gene rich.

The result is a vast array,
of varied and divergent life.
Some of it frightful, some of it grand.
Surviving and thriving across the land.

The beauty of divergence,
is understanding its value,
in mother nature's grand plan,
we must allow diversity to stand.

rwh: 7/18/19

print this poem here.

Poem of the Week: 7/13/19

Dream Schemes

Had a dream the other night,
must say that it gave me a fright.
Falling isn't that bad at all,
was what I crushed under my fall.

It might be a puppy or my lover,
try as I might, to only hover,
came down in a mighty squeeze,
to open my eyes, and then, seize.

That it was only a dream,
some diabolical nightmare scheme,
designed to scare me out of my wits,
chipping away my sleep in little bits.

On the other hand, dreams can be wise,
but I never, "I had a dream," Nobel Prize.
But food for short stories dreams fertile ground.
Write one quite often when they come around.

Most dreams sort our daily experience,
but the loops can run diabolical interference.
Causing an aggravating, waking aching sleep,
wanting to defeat that dream, oh so deep.

Escape to the dreams that are full of color,
dreams that enlighten each nightly hour,
dreams that romance and raise my spirit,
dreams that create life's fun, not fear it.

rwh: 7/11/19

print this poem here.

Poem of the Week: 7/6/19

Burst Forth

Watching the skies ablaze,
as fireworks burst forth,
I'm reminded of the pollen,
released by plant pods burst.

Reminded of the Big Bang,
from whence all has come.
Black holes swallowing continuously,
a battle as yet to be won.

Of geysers spurting forth,
superheated water and steam.
Transforming the landscape around,
trickling a multicolored stream.

Volcanoes blowing their tops off,
with racing pyroclastic flow.
Overcoming all that's in its way,
even those far beyond and below.

The mighty whale takes a breath,
holds it into the deep for very long.
Surfacing lets out a mighty blow,
saving enough to sing its song.

Even when I let go a sneeze,
my whole world seems to stop.
Mighty blast through my nostrils passed,
leaves my sinuses without a drop.

And when those intestinal gases,
gather in massive amount,
it only takes a little persuasion,
for it to come bursting out.

rwh: 7/4/19

print this poem here.

Poem of the Week: 6/29/19

Houston Greats

Jim McIngvale, Gallery Furniture
Giving back to the community in many ways.

Mattress Mack had a stroke scare attack,
has vowed to change his ways.
Didn't have the dreaded mattress back,
to "Throw it out!" for the rest of his days.

JJ Watt, Houston Texans Linebacker
Giving back to the community in many ways.

JJ Watt's Achilles power was shot,
couldn't turn the spotlight off or on.
Joined HEBts veggies in a power plot,
his voltage became powered beyond.

Marvin Zindler, ABC 13 Investigative News Reporter
Flamboyant solver of community problems.

When Marvin Zindler shouted, "I Witless News!"
We all paid attention to what he had to say.
Regretted closing best little whore house in Texas,
but reaped benefits for Dolly and him to this day.

Dr. Red Duke, Memorial Hermann Trauma Center Director
Life flight and other medical trauma innovations.

Dr. Red Duke spoke like the cowboy of old,
but his horse was a helicopter he rode.
Tended to JFK, the truth be told,
a giant of medicine helping it to unfold.

There are many others like Howard Hughes.
Paved mudtownÉ Too many to mention.

rwh: 6/27/19

print this poem here.

Poem of the Week: 6/22/19

Walk in the Park

For most, life is no,
walk in the park.
It's a shot in the dark,
certainly not a lark.

Some are born with that,
silver spoon in their mouth.
Simply can't go south,
for all their worth.

For there is no better place,
on this green earth.
Then a walk in the park,
of mother nature's birth.

The birds and the bees,
all seem to live at ease,
but there is a struggle,
all is not love and cuddle.

It's all eat or be eaten,
in a voracious food chain.
Predators clean the table,
so why are they to blame?

Letting the weak die,
is part of nature's game,
so, the strong survive,
and reproduce again.

The species are stronger,
as generations evolve,
survival of the fittest,
huge problems to solve.

Our success run of late,
may be running out.
Our walk in the park,
filling up with doubt.

We had better get fit.
We had better get smart.
Or our walk in the park,
time will record as a spark.

rwh: 6/20/19

print this poem here.

Poem of the Week: 6/15/19

Caching In

One should always cache a little cash,
for the proverbial rainy day.
For one never really knows,
when hardship comes one's way.

On the other hand,
and a positive note.
One should have some cash,
even when, that's all she wrote.

But when times are down and out,
those with cash, without a doubt,
can find ways to double that cash,
sometimes making gold from trash.

But don't let that cash,
burn a hole in your pocket.
You could take a risk,
without your finger in a socket.

So keep your cache close,
and ready to play,
there will come again soon,
a bright sunny day.

And you can cache in!

rwh: 6/13/19

print this poem here.

Poem of the Week: 6/8/19

Insinuate an Inculcate

While insinuating an inculcate,
the other day, I passed a tactile,
about to kneel a prey.

Now you don't want to be,
in the range of the tactile,
they'll tongue you for dinner,
with a minuscule mighty smile.

And don't insinuate a rebate,
or a very impotent date,
or rely on any reality rate,
to clean the slippery slate.

Examining what the skull ate,
is like ruminating an inculcate.
Like when a sinew tectonic plate,
is so small, it must be ingrate.

So, we add it to the slimy pile,
of shit grows higher by the mile,
with hope that the ship comes in,
not discarded in a diver bin.

While dumpster driving for a whale,
one comes upon a mighty swale.
One never knows a sale's speak,
until one's stock hits its peak.

So, if you're insinuating a swale,
looking for the great white whale,
you'll find it at a white elephant sale,
but save some up to pay your bail.

rwh: 6/6/19

print this poem here.

Poem of the Week: 6/1/19

Calliope Go Round

Refrain

The calliope pipes play,
and the merry world goes 'round,
mesmerized by the magical sound.

We choose our horses,
or they choose us.
We mount and ride them,
without any fuss.

For we are innocent,
and know not our fate,
until the elders teach us,
by then, it's too late.

(Refrain)

As conflicts arise,
in our fresh minds,
we seek our peers' opinions,
while authority declines.

Charged with knowledge,
of the emerging new order,
we challenge the elders,
and cross over the border.

(Refrain)

Full of passion and drive,
we ride our ponies of old,
taking on new pathways,
reaching for that ring of gold.

But the best laid plans,
of all mentors and men,
the world comes full circle,
and we often fail again.

(Refrain)

As time goes on,
we fall off that horse,
no longer will we take,
that uphill course.

We resort to old adages,
nostalgia and ways.
The hardening of our ideas,
to the end of our days.

(Refrain)

rwh: 5/30/19

print this poem here.

Poem of the Week: 5/25/19

Poor Little Rich Girl

Poor little rich girl,
Way down in New Orleans,
your daddy ran whore houses,
and other nefarious things.

So, you ran off to Africa,
to save cheetahs and other big cats,
you met the great White Hunter,
and that was the end of that.

Traveled off to India,
to learn a guru's ways,
ate from the sacred cow,
ending your search's days.

(Refrain)

Arrived in Guatemala,
to save a Mayan child.
Discovered that it was a mummy,
the jungle, still too wild.

Off you sailed to the Arctic,
to save the humpback whale.
Encountered a polar bear hungry,
barely lived to tell the tale.

(Refrain)

For all your dreams and schemes,
little rich girl from New Orleans,
eyes were bigger than your stomach,
when you chased your dreams.

Ended up in an estate in Tuscany,
living off the grapes at hand,
never to roam in search of love,
across the world's vast land.

(Refrain)

rwh: 5/23/19

print this poem here.

Poem of the Week: 5/18/19

Oblique

Sometimes, while feeling oblique,
it's as though, the universe,
has gone and sprung a leak.

If you're allowed, to take a peek,
you'll discover under it all, weak,
what you see is what you seek.

When paddling up down a creek,
from overexertion you reek,
deodorize before you streak.

While you may think this is oblique,
it all depends upon what you seek.

For a boat made of heavy teak,
will sink 100 years without a leak.

On a tangent, you smear a streak,
seeking the forever slight sneak.

Finding in the end what you seek,
there's no sharper than a bird's beak,
a tool that is tried and unique.

So, never tweak an oblique,
you might exceed your pique.

rwh: 5/16/19

print this poem here.

Poem of the Week: 5/11/19

The Last Supper

The smell of coffee and bacon,
would make us come awake,
and rush down to breakfast,
our nightly fast to break.

Mom made us breakfast,
to rival Waffle House or IHOP,
but we loved crackers and coffee,
carbs, sugar and lactose, nonstop.

Hungry again at noon,
we would rush to the table.
Dinner would be served with,
what the refrigerator would enable.

On Sundays after church,
dinner was a real treat,
with piles of fried chicken,
oh, so much goodness to eat.

Evenings were when we would sup,
the meat of the day was served up,
we would eat our fill until it was gone,
supper was a time to refill till dawn.

Off to college we went,
to learn new tricks.
Like haute cuisine,
and other fine licks.

Found out that supper was over,
and dinner was now in.
To call supper, "dinner,"
was an Emily Post sin.

Miss those suppers as I drink,
etiquettely, my cheap wine,
eating dinner at suppertime.

rwh: 5/11/19

print this poem here.

Poem of the Week: 5/4/19

Confection Sugar is dandy. Sugar is sweet.
My Sugar is a real, every day, treat.

Chocolate is dark and sometimes, sweet.
My Chocolate Girl, is an exotic treat.

Honey is wonderful. Honey is sweet.
My Honey covers me with sticky treat.

Cinnamon is spicy and complements sweet.
My Cinnamon Girl, spices up each treat.

Vanilla is a flavor that is oh, so sweet.
My Vanilla Girl flavors my special treat.

You might think I'm lucky to have all these loves,
my cabinets are filled with them galore,
so, I handle them with kid gloves.

rwh: 5/2/19

print this poem here.

Poem of the Week: 4/27/19

Frustration

Required to file a detailed form,
government red tape these days,
making detailing the norm.

Searching should make the job easy,
entering the search terms given by voice,
resulting in finding options a breeze.

Carefully selecting past all the ads,
only government websites will do,
others may be scams by the scads.

Arrived at the website with no trouble,
didn't need to sign in and sign up,
only needed the form on the double.

Finally, found the number to call,
had to wait five minutes for an answer,
not too bad, not too bad at all.

With some effort on the website,
the patient woman directed our search.
Found the form we were looking for,
without leaving us in the lurch.

Said thank you and goodbye to download,
the form. Something commonly done,
and not normally a troublesome one.

It was one of those handy, fill-in forms.
Type or dictate entries lickety-split,
the trouble was there were so many,
took a lot of time to do it.

Nearly finished and running out of wit,
after we marked, "not pregnant,"
the damn thing up and quit.

Tried to print the form to fill in the rest.
Tried to save the form to save the best.
But the free Adobe Acrobat would not comply,
asked us to complete the form, and then try.

Finally, in frustration, I took a screenshot,
page by page of the whole damn lot.
My frustration building by the minute,
I printed the pages with nerves shot.

With all of the pages printed and saved,
I quit AcrobatÉ It asked me to save!
Lo and behold! I could save it now,
but couldn't get past pregnancy,
or print it before, somehow.

rwh: 4/25/19

print this poem here.

Poem of the Week: 4/20/19

Spring Fervor

February came up short,
a couple of days were missing.
Will contact the calendar guy,
to get a full fake news dissing.

March came marching in like a pussycat,
but March madness took over soon.
By the time that March was over,
we were marching to a different tune.

I can tell you I'm not lying,
when March went out like a lion.
But Punxsutawney Phil turned tail,
and ran; proving he was no snail.

April was the sweet fairest lass,
as clear and bright as new glass.
Her rain descended upon the plain,
flooding the place to our disdain.

April tornadoes were spawned like bees,
killing and maiming with electronic game ease.
"What has become of the weather?" They say.
Spring has definitely sprung. Out of its way!

May I say that you are fairer than April?
Or is it just a fresh bunch of poppycock?
April beat you to growing May flowers,
so what do you think? Stop the clock?

So, May come soon, or come not,
I will make you come, I know the spot.

rwh: 4/18/19

print this poem here.

Poem of the Week: 4/13/19

Liberty of the Sea

There is nothing that is quite as free,
as out on the liberty of the sea.

To motor into tropical blue-green waters,
with warm sun and breeze all that matters.

To motor on to beautiful and exotic places,
knowing that you are free from the rat races.

Free to eat whenever and whatever you want,
free to sleep whenever and wherever you want,
free to play sports or games whenever you want,
free to gamble if you want when you want,
free to relax, drink and sunbathe all you want.

All for the cost of the hotel room for the night.
Cruising is all about freedom with all your might.

A salute to the staff of these ships so free,
without their help, such luxury would not be.

If you never have sailed out into the deep,
take a ship on a cruise for memories you'll keep.

RWH: 4/11/19

Print this poem here.

Poem of the Week: 3/30/19

In a Rut

Ever felt like you were in a rut?
Tried to drive, but only putt?

Fell into a routine so totally ingrained,
that you wouldn't stop, when it rained?

The days turned into months, then years,
you didn't take time out, for even tears.

It seemed you were in a comfortable groove,
until the stylus hit a crack and you had to move.

The impeccable way you arranged your life,
with no give-and-take required for a husband/wife.

Relax and float downstream, my friend,
leaving that rut when old habits end.

You will be surprised what insights will come,
when you have deadly routine on the run.

So get off that merry-go-round before it's too late,
tune into the universe and you'll feel just great!

RWH: 3/28/19

Print this poem here.

Poem of the Week: 3/23/19

Doctoring

It's good to have a health check,
professionally once every year.
Better than self-medicating,
with voodoo, fear or beer.

For it's better to know early,
when health problems emerge.
And dispatch them quickly,
before they become a dirge.

For youth is truly wasted,
on the young who ignore,
their health with bad habits,
they pick up by the score.

The greatest health hazard,
is easy access to food.
We overindulge in excess,
with the whims of our mood.

Resulting in statistics that show,
the fatter, the unhealthier, we grow.

With so many choices,
we make every day.
It's so easy to make wrong ones,
so easy, just to fall prey.

To quacks of the health trade,
with a new miracle cure a minute,
diets, supplements, organics, herbals,
a plethora of health gimmicks in it.

When the answer is simply,
living life well and living it right.
Why waste one's life to spend,
your later years in living hell?

So, self-doctor yourself,
for all its long-term worth.
Your health is in your care,
from your very birth.

RWH: 3/21/19

Print this poem here.

Poem of the Week: 3/16/19

Cityscape

From the distance spires,
of glass and steel arise.
so far above dreary castles' keep,
to puncture deep, the skies.

So far above the streets below,
where sounds float up and heard,
a heady feeling of superiority,
anchored cloudlike like a bird.

Testament to the power of mammon,
a statement of engineering prize.
Defying earthly gravity, elevatoring,
ever higher to where only bird flies.

Below the natural wilderness,
covered over with streets of pave,
with token trees and shrubbery,
destroying what nature gave.

Creating a sterile stark place for those,
without high-paying jobs and fancy clothes.
Who eke out a troubled living in the streets,
with trickle-down cake, not bread, for eats.

An ever fragile infrastructure,
buoying everything built so high up.
Defying gravity has its price,
time will know when to disrupt.

For cities can last for millennium,
or be destroyed in seconds' whim.
They will not see their demise in time,
but eventually, wilderness will win.

Mother nature knows how,
to heal its scars in due time.
Nature is the best landscaper,
and it doesn't cost a thin dime.

RWH: 3/14/19

Print this poem here.

Poem of the Week: 3/9/19

Pain Is My Friend

Oh, here comes that pain again.
I seem to have experienced you,
forever, since who knows when.

You are the bane of my existence,
your sour apple of my sore eye.
Why must I continue to endure you?

Why must I? Why?

You come overtly like an imperceptible itch,
and gradually build up momentum,
with an electric spasm or a giant hitch.
An itchy twitch I can't scratch, just bitch.

I attack you with exercise,
calm you with rest,
tried all the pain pills,
failed to the test.

Aspirin, Tylenol, Advil and such.
Baclofen for spasms, a lifetime,
of dosage, not too great a stretch.

Future may require more drastic measures,
Valium, Marijuana, Morphine and such.
OxyContin? You, I will never touch.

Until then, I will endure you daily,
watching you seemingly disappear,
while engaged in something dear,
like writing this poem weekly,
week to week, year after year.

As long as I keep my mind active,
engaged in something mentally strong,
the pain goes into the background,
as if in hiding, all day long.

Only to return when I happen to relax,
hugging me dear like a perennial tax.
Arriving at my doorstep like an old friend,
a friendship I'm stuck with until the end.

Copyright 2019 © Ronald W. Hull

RWH: 3/7/19

Print this poem here.

Poem of the Week: 3/2/19

Tightrope

We all walk the tightrope,
between good and bad.
We all walk the tightrope,
between happy and sad.

Good balance is necessary,
in every life's journey.
Slipping on that tightrope,
means carried off in a gurney.

Without a tightrope there,
new ideas would go nowhere.
When it comes to taking a chance,
get on that tightrope and dance.

There's always a chance we'll fall.
But we still have to give it our all.
Wind sings through the taut rope tall,
if only we answer its unique call.

So practice on the slack rope,
mightily if you must.
And graduate to the tightrope,
quickly if you trust.

But never give in,
to the easy side of whim,
the slack rope of lies,
filled with life's denies.

Ending with regrets within.

Copyright 2019 © Ronald W. Hull

RWH: 2/28/19

Print this poem here.

Poem of the Week: 2/23/19

Primal Fear

In the womb all is well,
comfort is keen, life is swell.

Imagine the shock,
when we come out.
The cold air hits us,
and noises shout.

We cry in fright,
until we find rest,
and comfort at,
our mother's breast.

Loud noises and falling,
are our innate fears.
We overcome those,
in the coming years.

But there are things,
that cut us, creep us,
and things that burn.
That make us itch,
for relief we yearn.

Things that are slimy,
things that might strike,
things that might bite us,
sneak up in the night.

So many things,
conjuring up our fears,
we learn from scary stories,
down through the years.

Mastery of fears,
is part of becoming mature.
But some fears haunt us,
and we can never be sure.

But the greatest fear of all,
that grows as we age,
is the time of our demise,
when we leave life's page.

Promise of an afterlife,
full of peace and good cheer,
woos many into religious promise,
as a way of escaping fear.

But I have chosen another path,
the peace and quietude of death.
for I have lived my life to the fullest,
every day until my last breath.

RWH: 2/21/19

Print this poem here.

Poem of the Week: 2/16/19

Valentine

It was because of Valentine,
that I am here.
The long and the short of it,
this time of year.

He left his homeland,
in Germany, seeking a new life,
came to this great country,
and found him a wife.

Valentine learned of a land,
where homesteads could be got.
It was fording the Black River,
that he found the ideal spot.

He built a log cabin,
and carved out a farm.
Keeping the wolves at bay,
and his livestock from harm.

There was another log cabin,
and a barn for the livestock.
A farmhouse replaced the cabins,
that has weathered the clock.

Of Valentine's many children,
the youngest was John.
John inherited the farm,
when Valentine passed on.

With fifty deer shot,
from the back porch,
John provided for his family,
in the Depression's scorch.

My teenage memories,
hunting and fishing that land,
where my mother grew up,
and the farmhouse still stands.

So Valentine is more to me,
than honoring a saint.
My great-grandfather's legacy,
from a land that is great.

RWH: 2/14/19

Print this poem here.

Poem of the Week: 2/9/19

Pride

A pride of lions blends in the grass,
honed to survival and never crass.
A pride of man can be a sore thumb,
obviously hurt with a mind that is numb.

Pompous ass with a brain so brash,
to sit on the pulpit of personal pain.
Dishing out favors in loyalty waivers,
while looking sideways in disdain.

Standing for a cause that is lost,
regardless of the heavy human cost.
Sign of the times that never rhymes,
by telling everyone who is boss.

Pride comes and goes in many forms,
depending upon ever wavering norms.
Erodes the mind into a horse's behind,
while people still flock to it in swarms.

RWH: 2/6/19

Print this poem here.

Poem of the Week: 2/2/19

Polar Vortex

When the Polar Vortex comes around,
no place of refuge can be found.

At first it is unseasonably warm,
only the bright sun to bring any harm.

A deceptive reprieve before the storm,
time to prepare for such the uncommon norm.

The first thing felt is a stiff wind,
followed by rain driving creatures in.

To their shelters of choice, dry and warm,
for they sense the coming of the storm.

The rain turns to snow with giant wet flakes.
But is not a gentle snow for what the wind makes.

Wind sucks out the warm from every abode,
blows the snow furiously across every road.

A howling blizzard rakes the barren land.
Wind and cold few creatures can withstand.

Piling up snowdrifts like desert sand dunes,
arresting landscape in sculptured plumes.

Without shelter from the wind and cold,
death stalks anyone who would be so bold.

As to venture out into the day or night,
while the blizzard rages obscuring sight.

The storm breaks with a deceptive calm.
Like a crystal clear ice covered frigid dawn.

But the cold runs through you like a sharp blade,
sucks out the life force and numbs in the shade.

Before it is realized, hypothermia sets in.
Frostbitten, one can feel the internal din.

As the blood coagulates, freezes and bursts,
death in the desert of snow white really hurts.

RWH: 1/31/19

Print this poem here.

Poem of the Week: 1/26/19

Anomaly

Winding down through the banks of time,
ancient riddles become sublime rhyme.

Prognosticators predilections perk to prime,
stirring up conspiracies conceived in crime.

Foreseeing forecast forward for all fame,
while banking backward bent over blame.

Ancient archives ache for an acclaim,
take all your tacky trinkets to tame.

Bats in the belfry bong all night in bog,
bleeding the bitter song, borne, to blog.

There's an anomaly in the woodwork,
and its wooden wrinkles won't smirk.

So don't go stupid dumb idiot jerk,
just crazy yell scream and berserk.

RWH: 1/25/19

Print this poem here.

Poem of the Week: 1/19/19

Hit the Floor

Hit the floor and dance,
hit the floor for romance,
go on, take a chance,
get out there and dance.

Go while the music is smooth,
get yourself into that groove,
show her how you can move,
what have you got to lose?

Let the night take you slow,
dancing both to and fro,
let your hair down and go,
relax and go with the flow.

While time rolls round,
soak up the cool sound,
let the magic beat pound,
to a new heartbeat found.

Until the last dance plays,
and the last lyric is sung,
Will she be by your side,
at the peek of morning sun?

RWH: 1/17/18

Print this poem here.

Poem of the Week: 1/12/19

Blood, Sweat and Tears

Whatever fortune befalls us,
down through all the years,
we all must face the inevitable,
blood, sweat and tears.

Whatever are your bloodlines,
will determine who you are,
regardless of your birth status,
blood will create your star.

And you will bleed,
as time goes by.
No one escapes,
the cuts and scrapes,
as the blood flows freely,
while time tests your I.

And who hasn't felt,
the sweat of the brow,
while hard work builds character,
and garners know-how.

There is nothing wrong,
with hard physical work.
For those that would shirk it,
future pain will lurk.

And who hasn't felt,
the instant coming of tears.
For all that can befall us,
down through the years.

That peak of emotion,
when we think all is lost,
when tears flow freely,
and wash away the cost.

There's no way that anyone,
can escape life's waylaid fears.
For as sure as there is good fortune,
there is blood, sweat and tears.

RWH: 1/10/19

Print this poem here.

Poem of the Week: 1/5/19

New Horizon

Look to the horizon,
and what do you see?
A new world awaits there,
for both you and me.

For unless we go beyond,
our cultural safety zone,
we'll never know the wonder,
of going it on our own.

We'll never get to see,
what it's like on the other side.
We'll only think from a perspective,
our surroundings confide.

We'll never break out,
of that familiar mold,
so set in our ways,
until we get old.

So get started now,
before it's too late,
go to the border,
and open the gate.

RWH: 1/3/19

Print this poem here.