Poem of the Week: 12/31/21

Astronomer

He greeted the new sun every day,
for he was getting old and gray.
And it was the morning sun warm,
vanquished bare skin cold's harm.

You might say he worshiped it,
like fire warmed him at night.
But this time of year when it was cold,
he relished when sun's rays took hold.

He began to mark each spot,
where the sun shown or not.
With a stick driven in the ground,
until there were 365 and he found.

The sun returned to that first stick,
and in another year it was no trick.
He could predict the time of year,
also when the moon phases appear.

He replaced the sticks with stone,
from it a temple to the sun grown.
More elaborate with each year,
as if to honor sun's warm cheer.

Others in the clan relied on him,
to tell them when it was time to hunt.
Time to harvest wild fruit ripe,
time to prepare for winter's bite.

The sun became so important,
to his daily life and time.
It became his God of gods,
to interpret this all the odds.

To say that he worshiped the sun,
would be right, in its yearly run.
Clan looked up to his advice,
his word became God's vice.

He conjured up all points of view,
garnered visions for the few.
His word would always come true,
astrology's pictures he drew.

But the underlying science,
was brand-new, and hence,
religion and astrology's fortune,
became a regular occupation, too.

rwh 12/30/21

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Poem of the Week: 12/24/21

Winter Solstice Light

At the darkest time of year,
the earth, on its axis, here,
leans away from the sun,
in the Northern Hemisphere.

Leaving the days very short,
the nights long, cold and dark,
when fever and death do run,
misery leaving its devilish mark.

But while the darkness,
speaks of coming doom,
light reaches every room.

At certain parts of the day,
like peeking through windows,
for a first and very short stay.

For the artist's delight,
casts light and shadows,
on still life just right.

Emblazoning woodsmoke,
and dust motes afloat,
aerial magic nature wrote.

imaginary kingdoms in the air,
dispersing winter doldrums,
from sickbed sight debonair.

So quickly magic light wanes,
shadows grow once more,
into the long dark night again,
and misery returns like before.

rwh 12/23/21

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Poem of the Week: 12/17/21

Winter Lullaby

Hush, little one, no need to cry,
Mama's right here, so close by.
To hold you and feed you well,
throughout this cold winter spell.

To tuck you in tightly warm,
when storm threatens fright or harm.
sweetly dreams of what's to come,
knowing you're safe with mum.

So little one, don't fuss and fret,
if howling wind rattles the pane.
When you awake to morning light,
the window will show frost's refrain.

rwh 12/16/21

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Poem of the Week: 12/10/21

Christmas Peril

COVID-19 and its variants, plenty,
have the ICUs, once again, full.
There seems no end to the havoc,
Delta and Omicron continue to kill.

Various entities are calling for mandates,
to prevent the spread already here.
But many oppose being vaccinated,
claiming more information needed to hear.

So, if we gather in great numbers,
at events or in our family homes,
chances are we will spread the virus,
as the way a virulent virus roams.

Everyone will get sick who isn't vaccinated,
and some will be hospitalized as well.
And some, may end up dying from,
pride declaring their freedom's swell.

The science is not lacking,
it's just slow in coming in.
So don't blame the scientists,
when the information is so thin.

In due time, the pandemic will be over,
we can resume our routines once more.
And the last two Christmas's aggravations,
will be forgotten in Christmas lore.

rwh 12/9/21

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Poem of the Week: 12/3/21

Week That Was

It started out well-planned,
make a mark upon the day.
Make hay while the sun shines,
and accomplish all your goals.

Cyber Monday was to be used to,
discount all that had been waiting.
But discounts were only for others,
after all the switch and baiting.

But Giving Tuesday came along,
requiring effort, not just a song,
took all day to be that kind,
everything else got behind.

Found just the right image,
to illustrate the new book,
sadly, copyright became a hook,
requiring another way to look.

Suddenly, all email disappeared,
it was all right there at the servers,
but mocked trying to retrieve her,
resisting even escalated saviors.

Late in the day, with much left to do,
the wheelchair does a loop de loo.
"Something is broken," she declares.
Right wheel just spinning in de air.

Ready to go and my billfold is missing,
strangers are blamed, she's hissing,
not at all in the usual strange places.
But right where it fell in my car.

Off to a routine dental appointment,
the ramp side door decided to jam.
Guys at the body shop were out to lunch.
Luckily, damn door worked on a hunch.

All will be fixed in due time,
in the meantime, my tongue entwined,
it is aggravating on this glue,
left over from what dentists do!

rwh 12/2/21

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Poem of the Week: 11/26/21

Thanking

We think of thanking as an obligation,
and for one day of the year,
bound by prayer and a united nation,
we want everyone to hear.

But it is taking thanking,
too much for granted, old,
when we water it down,
by an obligatory, knee-jerk, mold.

Having to thank every single comment,
regardless of its true content.
Hoping a response out there,
in a seemingly ignoring planet.

But thankfulness should be guarded,
and only sent when truly rewarded.
By who have actually been served,
rather than a knee-jerk toward it.

The customer is always right,
and fans' comments appreciated.
But fans are not true friends,
unless they deserve words related.

Thank the one who criticizes,
sharpening quality of your work.
Don't take positive criticism,
in anger like a jerk.

Flattery is not genuine,
but a form of egotistical praise,
hoping for some reciprocation,
that the insincerity will raise.

Reserve your thanking,
for the very true and best.
And don't expect a return,
just let your thankfulness rest.

rwh 11/25/21

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Poem of the Week: 11/19/21

Politically Correct

Both sides of the spectrum,
have their minds up their rectum,
when it comes to being fair,
to the creative everywhere.

The word is our kingdom,
where we tell it like it is,
all words have their meaning,
all words have their bliss.

One may not like what the words mean,
their origins from the dregs of mouth,
but they are words, nonetheless,
I should never be whitewashed out.

Especially when one has a point of view,
that others find abhorrent with what they do,
if free discourse is not allowed,
freedom of speech is disavowed.

History has been censored,
for a very long time.
Revealing the truth,
it is not always sublime.

But the truth must always be told,
even if told by only the very bold.
It must not be redacted from history,
like some evil black stain.

That must be washed,
in the light of new information,
from under the dust of time,
with refreshing clean rain.

All words should be allowed,
to rout out the deceptive wrong,
and no words used to bring out,
any angry foolish throng.

rwh 11/17/21

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Poem of the Week: 11/11/21

The Walking Live

The walking live are still alive,
among the burgeoning classes,
with freedom to the right to life,
adding daily to their masses.

Some call them zombies,
some call them walkers,
some call them even empties,
some call them simply fans,
and some are even stalkers.

They congregate in crowds,
some even in congregations,
to worship in their surfing,
to their leaders' incantations.

They storm the gates to entry,
with freedom to disregard rules.
Do they like authority challenged,
or are they just misguided fools?

They may drone on in chants,
they may raise nasty slogans,
they may shout battle cries,
as if out of their noggins.

A friendly gathering can easily,
turn into a mindless raging mob.
From a joyous slamming mosh,
into a tragedy that makes us sob.

Why did this all have to happen?
Why weren't we even aware?
That people were being crushed,
while we surged without a care.

Was it just our joyous singing?
Was it just that we couldn't see?
Or was it something else altogether,
the danger of herd mentality?

Blame will now be pointed,
lawsuits will look for gold,
but the danger of groupthink,
will still not be fully told.

rwh 11/10/21

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Poem of the Week: 11/5/21

Chevy Chasing

In the quiet American town of Chevy Chase,
there's been a big uproar at the fair,
an invasion of Chevrolet resto-mods,
to the Contours De Elegance there

They used to like Alec Baldwin's work,
but now wish Chevy Chase would return,
but Chevy is too busy going on vacation,
with American pie movies that earn.

Drove my Chevy to the levee,
but the levee was flooded high.
with my personal close, powder dry,
swam that sucker, do or die!

On every American Main Street.
you'll find Chevys cruising their sweet.
so polished and clean one could eat,
like eye candy made American treat.

Chevy was always the American dream,
like apple pie, blonde bikini girl, whip cream.
If ever my heavy Chevy would go away,
I'd jump in a Ford and suicide that day!

rwh 11/3/21

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Poem of the Week: 10/29/21

Chebby Chasing

In the quiet American town of Chevy Chase,
there's been a big uproar at the fair,
an invasion of migrant low riders,
to the Contours De Elegance there

They used to like Alec Baldwin's work,
but now wish Chevy Chase would return,
but Chevy is too busy going on vacation,
with American pie movies that earn.

Drove my Chebby to the lebbee,
but the lebbee was high, not dry.
Drank tequila and ate the worm,
swam that sucker, USA do or die!

When we ride, we ride low.
When we ride, we ride slow.
No more that tilted Diego show,
rump up high, nose down low.

Chebby was always the American dream,
like apple pie, blonde bikini girl scream.
If ever my hebby Chebby would go away,
I'd jump in a Ford and suicide that day!

rwh 10/28/21

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Poem of the Week: 10/22/21

Save the Polyesters

Where have all the polyesters gone?
They used to be all around.
The cute little devils could be found,
wherever an oil slick found.

They seem to have disappeared,
from their natural oily birth.
And gone into clothing galore,
for at least what it's worth.

Because their wiggling,
straightens the cloth,
without any ironing,
what have we wroth?

It's time to start a foundation,
to save the polyester nation.
For we must bring them back,
for irons in the fire, we lack.

For the life of the planet depends,
on having them like mother hens,
to hatch from pantyhose eggs,
even though they have no legs.

They languish now in discarded cloth,
throughout the land and on the sea.
Where they will never deteriorate,
in captive anguish, forever to be.

So, donate all your pennies,
your dollars, checks, loose change.
So we can bring the polyesters,
back to freedom on the range.

rwh 10/21/21

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Poem of the Week: 10/15/21

To Kill a Pumpkin

Let me count the ways,
pumpkins meet their demise,
in the upcoming autumn days,
when the hoary frost arrives.

Little ones are just cut off,
from their umbilical cord.
They become window ornament,
or porch side greeting gourd.

Most just have their,
head cut off by knife.
As if to look deep inside,
to check the seeds of life.

Many have the indignity,
having eyes, nose and mouth cut out.
And then, a flickering candle inserted,
giving an apparent eerie life, no doubt.

But some just get baked in hell,
with their mushy insides removed.
Making all kinds of pumpkin pudding,
richly gold and silver leaf covered.

Rest of those are grossly drugged,
with spices strong and clear,
for baking pumpkin pies prized,
and served this time of year.

Some are used for target practice,
receiving a bullet in the brain.
If one could find the brain at all,
when splattered all over the terrain.

Some just go to outer space,
by medieval contraption hurled.
They land with a mighty splat,
marked by a flag unfurled.

Worst of all are the giant ones,
their milk fed obesity growing.
Requiring a truck just to move.
Eventually, just self-imploding.

Get ready, set, go!
Kill a pumpkin on the run!
No one cares how you do it,
just do it for the vicarious fun!

RWH 10/14/21

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Poem of the Week: 10/8//21

My father's bugle.
He had to wake up
before the other guys
to wake them at CCC camp.
The bugle (circa 1936)
has seen better days.

Reveille
From Youtube

Verse 1 - Refrain
You can't get 'em up,
You can't get 'em up,
You can't get 'em up,
in the mornnnning!

Verse 2
They text all night,
they text all day,
until their thumbs get sore,
that should be a warning.

Refrain

Verse 3
They tweet all night,
they tweet all day,
they tweet some awful things,
that should Twitter a warning.

Refrain

Verse 4
They "like" all night,
they "unlike" all day,
creating hatreds galore,
that should Facebook a warning.

Refrain

Verse 5
They selfie all night,
they selfie all day,
Instagraming their persona,
flattering or a warning.

Refrain

Verse 6
They video themselves all night,
they video themselves all day.
Their dangerous stunts videoed,
should be a TikTok warning.

Refrain

rwh 10/7/21

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Poem of the Week: 10/1//21

Amazing Grapes

Verse 1 - Refrain

Amazing grapes how sweet the taste,
That saved a teetotaler like me!
I once was skinny, but now am round;
Was weak, but now am healthy.

(Refrain)

Verse 2
'Twas wine that taught my heart to sing,
And wine my cholesterol relieved;
How precious did that wine become,
The time my tastebuds believed!

(Refrain)

Verse 3
Through many cures, pills and ills,
I have tried and failed with some;
'Tis wine hath brought me safe thus far,
And wine will lead me healthy home.

(Refrain)

rwh 9/30/21

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Poem of the Week: 9/24/21

Members of the Den

They are fierce and courageous,
the pens of members of the den.
Writing their hearts out regardless,
from home forest, glade or fen.

Poems, articles, stories or books,
we don't judge their quality by looks.
But the quality of their writing skill,
not by the pathetic, pithyless shrill.

Crazies, naturalists, explorers, freaks,
from the pen of characters ink leaks.
On to electronic pages with cyber links,
enlightening the reader with hijinks.

Whatever your political point of view,
you'll find your bubble burst a time or two.
Court jesters are here for you to amuse,
so don't dwell very long with the blues.

Some hide in the shadows, dark,
some with heart on our sleeve lark.
some writing like a stroll in the park,
some struggle each word's arc.

So, whatever your druthers,
or whatever your spark,
there's a place in the den,
where you can literarily park.

From a member of the den,
since who knows when,
till death do us part,
comes to an end. rwh 9/23/21

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Poem of the Week: 9/17/21

Roads to Regret

There are many roads we travel,
some are rough and some smooth.
Some a steep climb and some decline,
some are curvy, some straight, some blind.

But of all the roads we travel,
the ones we travel most,
are the ones that we may regret,
those easy ones we coast.

It is easy to spot a bad road,
but it's also easy not to heed,
just ride along with friends,
their friendship most in need.

Or follow in the family footsteps,
down timeworn family path,
making sure that your prodigy,
makes that tradition last.

The roads we take determine,
who we ultimately become.
Every road adds to our experience,
creating wisdom, every one.

We all take the wrong roads,
by mistake, every once in a while.
It is knowing when to turn around,
that determines our ultimate style.

So, when we travel the roads no more,
and look back on where we have gone.
We should not think only of regrets,
but the great roads that we traveled on.

rwh 9/16/21

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Poem of the Week: 9/10/21

Lonely Hearts

So many lonely people,
in a world full of life.
So many lonely people,
filled with personal strife.

Afraid to face the music,
when the music's just for fun.
Afraid to face the music,
as though on the run.

They call it freedom of choice,
when they have no freedom at all,
they say they have a choice,
but they don't hear the wild bird call.

They are summoned by the cult,
of their favorite master friend.
They have succumbed to the cult,
and his twisted lies, no end.

Hollow, lonely people to no end,
searching for the promised land.
A horde of lonely people to no end,
never finding anything but shifting sand.

rwh 9/9/21

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Poem of the Week: 9/3/21

War No More

Danny Boy is coming home from war,
ain't gonna fit that battle no more.
When Johnny comes marching home again,
for the very last time, hurrah, hurrah!

Just let the evil empires shrivel and shrink,
while their misguided leaders take them to the brink.
Ain't gonna support no military-industrial complex,
cranks out armament with bully muscles to flex.

While we grind up young lives in unnecessary wars,
abandon lots of arms to our enemies' stores.
Think that we can create nations to our bidding,
while ancient hatreds ferment, waiting in hiding.

Success in global strategy is not boots on the ground,
it's through diplomacy and policing the bad that is around.
Than a thousand soldiers bunkered and afraid in the night.
we don't need no more PTSD to give our families fright!

War in the future will be like a videogame.
No macho men will risk lives in vain.
The only way to fight terrorism is a surgical strike.
War done with robots and software spike.

G.I. Joe, Danny and Johnny will not have to go,
the world will come together to fight a greater foe.
save earth to the Eden that it was--restore, not war.
We fought over for millennia uncounted before.

Ain't gonna fit a war no more.
Gonna work to restore, restore.

rwh 9/2/21

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Poem of the Week: 8/27/21

Quest

My quest to do my very best,
has often fallen short of the goal.
When I was expecting a diamond,
I received a lump of dirty coal.

But mediocrity is not for me,
it's something I do not quest.
If mediocrity is your desire then,
go ahead, be my guest.

If your greatest accomplishment,
is having a legacy of only offspring.
I ask a simple question,
"Was your life worth the living?"

For the world is full of Englishmen,
who muddle their way through,
thinking that their greatest contribution,
was a passionate burst or two.

Living through our children,
it's a common way we go.
But what have we contributed,
to the wealth of what we know?

Is waiting for a next life a quest?
Will becoming an insect,
or sitting next to a master,
be your very best?

For those that think that money,
is a noble thing to quest.
Will all that power and prestige,
amount to nothing more than greed,
when you find your final rest?

I wish you joy and happiness,
always seeking and doing your best.
For there is no higher calling,
than achieving what you quest.

rwh 8/26/21

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Poem of the Week: 8/19/21

Appreciation

To all the poets gone before,
dreamers, schemers galore,
the ones who have made their mark,
bringing human history to fore.

It's on the shoulders of giants,
that we know, what we know.
For without their courage and fortitude,
civilization would never grow.

We would still be savage beasts,
fighting for every bit of gain.
Guarding our territory fiercely,
trusting the gods to ease pain.

We would be fearing many things,
that we do not fear anymore.
Those gods we thought would protect us,
were superstitions, nothing more.

But we loved our land and lore,
did not waste scar or score.
We had to live there forever,
our home and nest, nothing more.

So, let's appreciate those who were right,
and stop following those who are wrong.
The greedy and the exploitive ones,
constantly leading astray their throng.

It's time to re-examine what we've learned.
It's at the touch of the Google science search.
The encyclopedia of the truth we know,
and not the hollow promises that besmirch.

rwh 8/20/21

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Poem of the Week: 513/21

Hard Road

It's a hard road ahead, my friend.
To the vanishing point, never bend.
No interstate highway, this.
No rest stops to take a piss.

You're not in the market,
when the market fails.
You're not in the market,
flipping heads or tails.

You haven't got a dime,
to your name, to blame.
all you've got, my friend,
is what's left of your name.

And that ain't much,
for what is in a name.
It cain't buy you nothin',
when you're old anÕ you're lame.

You haven't seen the worst,
of what's in store for you.
For lightning strikes,
twice, out of the blue.

And tornadoes of fire,
are right down the line.
To inspire your sweet ass,
to do double, triple time.

This road has no water,
to quench your raw thirst.
You're parched to dry dust,
but haven't seen the worst.

So, you'd better get truckin',
there isn't much more time.
If the end of that hard road,
is what you're seekinÕ to find.

rwh 8/12/21

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Poem of the Week: 8/6/21

Itchybod Crane

As I stretch my neck,
point my mouse like a pick,
watching three screens,
in some musical chairs refrain.

I toil day into the night,
stretching and straining to watch,
while carving a new notch,
400 million tokens in the game.

So, what do I get for all that strain?
My neck in a deliberate crane.
Itchy eyes, itchy face, itchy bod,
may even have an itchy brain.

I go off itchy into the night,
aloe vera covered cream,
adding to the itchies,
until I could scream!

Scratch me, scratch me,
scratch me if you can!
I won't run from you at all,
take it all like a lamb.

Have you ever noticed,
that the more that you scratch,
the itchier you get,
like this poem to match.

rwh 8/5/21

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Poem of the Week: 7/30/21

Lost a Day

Just lost a day,
and almost didn't,
finish this poem on time.

Been up to my ears,
in alligators, I fears,
and my eyes been,
focused on a dime.

Seems the obligations,
of this life keep growing,
growing and growing.
Like the algae stew,
creates a fine slime.

Doesn't keep me up.
Sleep like a dead duck.
But what the flock,
we're all on borrowed time.

The Olympics are there, too,
jumping channels for a view,
while getting some work done,
maybe, in a time or two.

I'll stick to my guns,
working down to reruns,
and not forget what day it is,
until the next time, my sons.

rwh 7/29/21

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Poem of the Week: 7/23/21

Sing For My Supper

Refrain

I'll sing for my supper,
with this song I wrote.
You can sing along with me,
if you know it by rote.

I have nothing to give you,
except this sweet song.
Nothing to give you,
but you can sing-along.

(Refrain)

I sing for your sweet wine,
I'm hungry for your love,
my song and your sweetness,
fits us both like a glove.

(Refrain)

If you don't take my offer,
I will bid you adieu,
I'll sing somewhere else,
but my heart will miss you.

(Refrain)

rwh 7/18/21

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Poem of the Week: 7/16/21

Love or Money?

Which will it be, honey?
Will it be love?
Or will it be money?

Depends upon your viewpoint.
Dummy.
How big is your stomach?
Yummy.

"Next time, none of this love shit,
I'm marrying for money!" She exclaimed.

But dividing up the household,
left finances to be rearranged.

What's yours is yours,
and what is hers, is yours.
Divorce decree claimed.

Judge reprimanded lawyer,
on that big mistake,
left his ego, maimed.

So, I'll stick with money,
for the rest of my life.
I might tarry again,
but not have a wife.

For in this state of affairs,
she always gets one half.
Whether she contributed or not,
always gets the last laugh.

So, for love or money,
don't get too involved.
For richer or poorer,
is quickly dissolved.

rwh 7/15/21

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Poem of the Week: 7/9/21

Communfucation

"I'll see you in a f-n hour."
Shows up 30 minutes later.

"It's down the road a fur piece."
Went looking for a raccoon tail sign.

"I don't give a rat's ass!"
Showed up with a pigeon's butt to give.

"You can't get there from here."
That's strange, GPS just got me here.

"That's an old wives tale."
Checked with my wife, it's true.

"Been there, done that."
Scalded my ass in a Yellowstone pool.

"You lookin' at me?"
Glad I'm on Zoom.

"Where's the money?"
Last time I looked, Fort Knox.

"Where's the beef?"
Started a brawl in the bar.

"We are what we eat."
Ate a couple of my boogers.

"The sky's the limit."
Why are we in outer space?

"How is your liver?"
Still livin', last time I looked.

rwh 7/8/21

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Poem of the Week: 7/2/21

Vaxed

I've been vaxed, taxed and waxed*,
trashed*, smashed* and rashed.

Rolled over, bowled over and hashed*,
screwed, misconstrued, and blued.
But never hacked*, attacked or whacked.

I've been cheated, mistreated and deleted*,
diseased, uneased, and seized*.
But never flopped, popped* or pleased.

I've been rejected, dejected, down and out*.
But never rich, a bitch* or threw the switch.

I've been downtrodden, forgotten and rotten*,
plumb broke*, in a yoke* and lost a joke.
But never looked back, lacked or attacked.

When it's over for this rover,
it's going to be over and done.

I'm vaxed and have faxed*,
my last will and testament run.

*****

*Not really

rwh 7/1/21

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Poem of the Week: 6/24/21

Loving Lies

Our brain is putty in the hands,
of our teachers in early age.
Believing for which it stands,
filling our brain's eager page.

We are taught to memorize,
remember what the wise preach.
Not to critically analyze.
or question the wise reach.

For danger is supposed to lie,
in thinking beyond the pale.
The hierarchy may be upset,
if we all don't ride the rail ¥ .

But puberty upsets the applecart,
and all that we learned is questioned.
Radical thinking against status quo,
all that old memorized stuff pensioned.

Growing up and older in our eyes,
takes us back to learned older lies,
hardened in our childhood mind,
memories never really left behind.

They grow until we question change,
we do not want to rearrange,
we do not want the old replaced,
we find the old so good and chaste.

So, we seek out new found wise,
who share our fears and hopes.
Steadfastly holding onto lies,
as our very own security ropes.

But, good or bad, lies are lies,
and need to be exposed.
Holding onto lies and loving them,
it is not what wisdom holds.

As soon as the lies are left behind,
and the truth is finally revealed,
the awful burden of fear is gone,
and the flag of freedom, unfurled.

rwh 6/25/21

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wake up Poem of the Week: 6/18/21

Ordinary Man

I'm broke, but not busted,
creamed, but not crusted,
smeared but not mustered,
I am the ordinary man.

I married, but I still dingle,
divorced, and again also idolize you every plant handling lower that will know what I planted that way back in 1983 Gartner Group would love dollars and I like that is's and now transfer they place on Monday because it's Friday and they don't do it, today next divided yesterday advising your object I know how much is you I. My coffee but my reading I will get there anyway begin to get me some fruit well in them carried they are I will single,
don't know shit from a shingle,
I am the ordinary man.

Potato chip or a Pringle,
who gives a damn, Ringo,
sell me easily with your lingo,
I am the ordinary man.

Governments may come,
and governments may go,
why should I vote anyway,
when I got nothing to show.

I'm looking out for number one,
ain't no others under my sun,
just continue with my fun,
I am the ordinary man.

That's what I am, I am,
you can find me on Facebook,
or at a poetry slam.
I am the ordinary man.

Gun in my hand, my hand,
I am bound for glory, man,
out to get even over nothing,
cuz I am an ordinary man.

Do something extraordinary,
while I still can.

rwh 6/17/21

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Poem of the Week: 6//21

Wasted

I'm wasted, pasted, dad gum eraseded,
in the sorry state of confusion I'm in.

I'm a fish out of water, fixing to splatter,
as I leap from my fishbowl without fin.

I know what I otter, in and out of water,
but as a fish, I'll just fry in the sun.

Lost all that work, such a big jerk,
all along thought it was fun.

But all was not lost, just the cost,
of everything going down the drain.

Do it now before they do it to you,
leave it to others and the sweet rain.

To wash away the sour stench,
pay forward the wretched refrain.

So, if you're looking to get wasted,
punched and deep purple pasted.

Don't count on me to step in.

rwh 6/10/21

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Poem of the Week: 6/4/421

Fungus

There is a fungus among us,
and it is growing very fat.
hidden in the cracks of memory,
I wouldn't go so far as that.

Favorite food of cicadas,
it grows amid the quacks.
Niches left unforgotten,
by self-respecting hacks.

It calcifies old brain cells,
leaves no distinguishing marks.
But infiltrates innermost senses,
blocking forward while it parks.

Into the minds of many,
remembering Semper Fi.
Forgetting what was lost,
on that adrenaline high.

A long forgotten belief,
in the strong over the weak,
survival of the wealthy,
to hell with the meek.

Beware the fungus among us,
we must reverse its course,
Unless we wish backward thinking,
is a way to end this verse.

rwh 6/3/21

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Poem of the Week: 5/28/21

Lefty

Lefty was a loser,
or at least he thought he was.
Not very many left-hand instruments,
just because.

There were no left-handed baseballs,
left-handed bats.
With his left-handed outfielders' mitt,
he wasn't as good as, Fats.

Old Fats, he leaned into the ball,
with his Baby Ruth candy bar,
over the top of the left-field fence,
beyond the fielder's par.

Now, Lefty, tried his best,
but his eyesight wasn't very good.
He could only get a piece of the ball,
a line drive best he could.

He tried out boxing for a while,
couldn't master a left hook.
But his sidewinder often missed,
leaving him without any book.

Being a space jockey was his career,
leaving creativity pretty much in the rear.
But like Slim Whitman did old Hank,
Lefting that Space Shuttle with no fear.

Bull riding he was at his best,
there was no saddle on it.
Without the left-handed saddle horn,
he rode them like a sonnet.

Thought he'd be a writer,
with no left-hand pencil made.
Waded into writing knee-deep,
doing what the Bard bade.

Made fun of all his life,
just for being on the wrong side.
Took to making left-handed jokes,
comedy becoming his pride.

rwh 5/27/21

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Poem of the Week: 5/21/21

Sometimes

Sometimes, it bees that way.
Sun and moon no longer light,
the night or the damn day.

Been that ways for so long,
feel like I's been dead and gone.
Dropdead and lost my mind gone.

She had to leave me afore,
the springtime planting came.
Worst time of all, jus plain lame.

Ran off with some gamblin's man,
promised to put riches in her hand.
While I work the dirt best I can.

Sometimes, it bees that way.
Woman comes, then goes away.
Ain't no rhyme or reason, anyway.

But it's been awful dark,
this rain soaked muddy spring.
Lookin' for her smile to bring.

Sunshine back into my life.
End this awful time of strife.
Sometimes, it bees that way.

Jus lookin' for that sunny day.

rwh 5/19/21

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Poem of the Week: 5/14/21

Stay the Course

Stay the course, of course, of course,
preserve the American dream.
A thousand points of light will do it,
at least that's what it might seem.

Stay the course, of course, of course,
killed the evil Saddam regime.
So a million Iraqis will pay the price,
for this ill-conceived scheme.

Stay the course, of course, of course,
on the trail of Osama bin Laden's dream.
While watching Al Qaeda grow in strength,
Middle East Muslims turning more mean.

Stay the course, of course, of course,
while Muslim cults grew ever more bold.
It took a president with a Muslim name,
to kill bin Laden as clones took hold.

Stay the course, of course, of course,
when Russian Afghan fight grew cold.
Giving the Taliban more to reject,
the morality of Western gold.

Stay the course, of course, of course,
starve the Ayatollah's evil plan,
to make Iran great again,
into a moral, conservative land.

Stay the course, of course, of course,
support the Israelis moneyed scheme,
to claim the promised land of yore,
build walls to the unattainable dream.

Stay the course, of course, of course,
watch ISIS and the Syrian doctor's genocide,
conduct historical alteration with impunity,
vigorously promoting eventual self suicide.

Stay the course, of course, of course,
As Qaddafi met his eventual fate.
Watching Palestinians lose all hope,
slaves to the keepers of their land's gate.

Stay the course, of course, of course,
and cater to the evil Saudi oil regime.
While watching the Middle Eastern powder keg,
eventually eradicate any westernization dream.

rwh 5/13/21

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Poem of the Week: 5/7/21

Get It

You've got to get it, get it, get it,
afore you find it's gone.
Afore the morning sun wipes,
the dew from new mown lawn.

Afore the rooster crows his dominance,
to his hens before the dawn.
Got to get up and going,
no time to fake or fawn.

The rat race waits for no one,
to get their act together.
You have to slog on to the end,
whether fair or foul weather.

Through all years with tears and fears,
until the struggle you have won.
No time to take it easy,
holding on is so much fun.

And when you've got it, got it, got it,
was it really worth the struggle?
Was anything left of the way it was,
before it was reduced to rubble?

rwh 5/6/21

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\ Poem of the Week: 4/30/21

Angry Clouds

Angry clouds consumed the sky,
did not let the sun shine through,
no matter how hard it would try.

They were angry, I know not why,
roiling and boiling as they flew by,
dark and dismal images so sly.

Without sunshine the day was so dark,
no color, no rainbow with its perfect arc,
the woods left so dismal, dark tree bark.

Cool winds of fate blew the clouds by,
their turmoil was evident from naked eye,
hoping sun would break through, bye and bye.

Waited for the clouds to bring the rain,
while the anger continued, no rain came,
it was as if the dark were a dry refrain.

This poem was composed of dreary gray,
when clouds obscured everything in every way,
and held back the sun; held it at bay.

But there's no denying a sunny day,
eventually it breaks through,
drives the graying dreary away.

rwh 4/29/21

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Poem of the Week: 4/23/21

Why? Question

We live regurgitate, procreate, party and die,
leave it to philosophers and poets as to why?

Is there intelligent life in the body politic?
It's hard to find among the lofty heretic.

Who is faster, the tortoise or the hare?
Calm tortoise lives long; hare caught in a snare.

Obsessive, compulsive is a way of life.

While we worry our warts into strife.

Cancer we are growing on our great planet,
consuming mass quantities we didn't plan it.

Preferring dirty brown to a green environment,
we dig up the last emerald kingdom for enjoyment.

Our population grows in overdrive,
we are pro-life so that we can thrive.

Consequences of our lack of self-restraint,
we leave up to gods to set itself straight.

But the gods are not coming to save the day,
our nest is disappearing while we pray away.

Why aren't our eyes open to the real plight?
Questions that go unanswered, day and night.

rwh 4/22/21

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Poem of the Week: 4/16/21

Warmed Over

I feel like shit warmed over,
of that there is no doubt.
/It certainly could be the weather,
but I probably will never find out.

Got my Pfizer first yesterday,
can't blame it on that shot.
I felt like this before I got it,
won't lie, I kid you not.

It could be just low blood pressure,
from an over relaxed heart.
Could be good old gas pressure,
knee where my arteries start.

Probably just a compressed fart,
reaching these days, a new art.
So, I'm not going to go there,
let your imagination do its part.

So, if you're ever in the mood,
to feel warmed over like me.
You can join the club of miserable,
as shitty as you can be.

rwh 4/15/21

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Poem of the Week: 4/9/21

In the Bull's Eye

We all seek perfection, but at what cost? Apologies for all of the cliches. But aren't they great!

I had it in my crosshairs but did not find the mark,
did better with an offhand shot, eye/hand lark.

The manuscript in my vision, didn't quite work out,
but didn't miss it by a mile, enough to make me pout.

Always learned by observation, no step-by-step rules,
mastered with a single trial, sometimes complex, tools.

Being not of obsessive, compulsive nature, I let it ride.
Found it easy to take criticism, no skin off my hide.

Found it easier to be a generalist, learning as much as I can.
Being the narrowminded specialist, was not in my plan.

I have hit the target, more times than I probably deserve.
Even when my fastball, sometimes turned into a curve.

By traveling fast, loose and easy, life has been a blast.
Unlike those of tight ass fear, know how to make it last.

Don't need no pain or mood improving drug, just a hug.
Keeps my mind clear of all that fear, warm and snug.

So, if you're looking for me to hit the bull's-eye,
with everything that I write,
you may need to go look in the mirror,
and see if you are wound too tight.

rwh 4/8/21

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Poem of the Week: 4/2/21

Dally

Willy-nilly, dilly dally is right up my alley,
as I face each conflicated overblown day.
My self isolation creating aggravation,
Little obstacles getting in my way.

With messages coming from side to side,
I open my senses ultra-wide,
but every little distraction requires action,
and my schedule for the day starts to slide.

Not to say my work is half-baked,
some of it through the keyhole raked.
Ends up not as beautifully planned,
but more like a pulled tooth still ached.

So, I will leave you with this little ditty,
I know it doesn't look very cute or pretty,
but it's all I could do in the time I had left,
so as not to become puffed up or petty.

Down by the jetty. Well, down already!

rwh 3/31/21

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Poem of the Week: 3/26/21

When Will They Ever Learn?

Where have all the songbirds gone?
Short time passing.
Where have all the songbirds gone?
Short time ago.

Gone to weed and bug kill every one,
short time ago.

Where have all the butterflies gone?
Short time passing.
Where have all the butterflies gone?
Short time ago.

Gone to weed and bug kill every one,
short time ago.

Where have all the flowers gone?
Short time passing.
Where have all the flowers gone?
Short time ago.

Gone to weed killing herbicides every one!
When will they ever learn?
When will theeeyyy ever learn?

Where have all the little bugs gone?
Short time passing.
Where have all the little bugs gone?
Short time ago.

Gone to herbicides and pesticides every one!
When will they ever learn?
When will theeeyyy evvver learn?

Birds and butterflies to zoos and arboretums every one.
When will they ever learn?
When will theeeyyy evvver learn?

Where have all the fishes gone?
Short time passing.
Gone with herbicides and pesticides every one!

When will they ever learn?
When will theeeyyy evvver learn?

rwh 3/25/21

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Poem of the Week: 3/19/21

Acting on Obsession

Have you ever had the urge to splurge,
the hinge to binge, the rage to fill,
the prescription of your election?

The flavor that you savor, ample pie,
topped with whipped cream waiver,
tip you over into a buttery cringe,
that fattens the edge of your affliction?

Do you supersize with craving eyes,
and add "the works" to your concoction?
Does the smell of barbecue and bacon mix,
to put meat on your fatty complexion?

Do you go deep into your Internet hole,
seeking a sexual, new high goal?
When you can't find it on your street bare,
kill the perpetrators right in their lair?

Bet on the ponies for your next big score,
push the button on the one-armed whore,
listening to the bells chime, more, more, more.

There is a pill to solve every itch and affliction,
if one pill is good, two pills are better,
why follow the prescription to the letter?

If one pill makes you larger than life,
then two pills should make you soar,
to grow your mighty insatiable addiction,
until you beg for gore, and more.

Beat me with a stick so I feel better,
we are so codependent down to the letter,
suicide is next for the ultimate high,
why should we let another day go by?

Check your obsessions at the door,
see what you crave, too much, too more,
don't come knocking on my door,
go cold turkey for all I care.

rwh 3/18/21

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Poem of the Week: 3/12/21

Should Be Ashamed

You brag about your legacy,
how fine your children are.
Come down from Adam and Eve,
willed everyone to believe.

Go forth and populate the world,
with all creatures in your dominion.
Care not for their welfare's opinion,
care not for them or their minion.

Take a good look at your life,
when you complain about others in strife,
that they are lazy and on the dole,
what do you know of their life goal?

It's easy to blame others for our situation.
When it could be us that needs examination.
If we are the greatest people on the earth,
why do we insist on pristine, multiple birth?

Are we great by our conspicuous consumption?
Are we responsible for what we have hoarded?
Do we leave our land the way we found it?
Or do we claim it with borders jealously guarded?

We are so successful we have claimed the earth,
deeded hours from our immaculate birth,
we have wasted and squandered our portion,
as though there is no end to our selfish mirth.

In 1968, Paul Ehrlich raised the population alarm,
but few paid attention and just carried on.
Crisis crossroads are ahead, but we are not ready,
we keep postponing, driving our Chevy to the levee.

Don't leave it to your children to solve our worth,
is only your legacy, those to whom you've given birth?
All things great and small need to be saved.
There is no time like now to stop being depraved.

Do the right thing now before it's too late.

rwh 3/11/21

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Poem of the Week: 2/26/21

I Forgot Again

I forgot to do this poem,
not that what I do is naught,
just that I've got so much to do,
my get go just didn't got.

I had all good intentions,
and remembered several times,
but I was doing something else,
so it slipped my multiple minds.

Slipped so far out of sight,
that I was doing something other,
when it popped into my mind again,
like a message from big brother.

Said, "if you don't do this poem right away,
you never will get it done.
Waste another day,
in the mid winter sun."

I got right down and busy,
and cranked this poem out,
It would be on time tomorrow,
and I wouldn't be labeled a lazy lout.

Over and out.

rwh 2/25/21

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Poem of the Week: 2/12/21

Only Knew

If I only knew,
that it would be you,
come into my life,
on that day.

If I only knew,
that it would be you,
come into my life,
and would stay.

If you had a choice,
you wouldn't rejoice,
you would have left,
and wouldn't have stayed.

But you didn't have a choice,
instead, in love you rejoiced,
and though you would have left,
you stayed and persevered.

Love had a way,
on that fateful day,
coming into our lives,
to nourish and to stay.

I'm grateful that you,
was the one who came through,
and that love found you,
too.

For without love to bind us,
without love to find us,
we wouldn't have made it through.

rwh 2/11/21

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Poem of the Week: 2/5/21

Pollyanna

Behind every cloud, there hides the sun,
behind every loss, a gain can be won.

For every cut, stitched will heal,
for every sickness, immunity will repeal.

For every ship that's lost at sea,
a ship may come in for you or me.

The greatest danger is still ahead,
if we put our heads to it, declare it dead.

We were not meant to conquer all,
the higher we get, the greater we fall.

Greed has no place in a glorious future,
blood flows freely without a good suture.

If your cup is half empty, and you wallow in it,
make it half-full in a New York minute.

For there is always a sunny side up,
to a gloomy side down.

Start every day with a smile,
not an ugly frown.

The future is better, because we can make it so.
So make up your mind, which way will you go?

rwh 2/4/21

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Poem of the Week: 1/29/21

Flocking

Birds of a feather, flock together,
but should you or I?

When we sign up to join,
or become a member,
do we all see eye to eye?

There is power in numbers,
whatever our druthers,
do we get our share of the pie?

And when the bow breaks,
filled with too many flakes,
is it time to abandon the lie?

Let's all flock together,
and keep an eye on the weather,
for the flock to suddenly fly.

I don't give a flying flock about flocking,
with my strained integrity hocking,
to those birdies, I say, "Bye, bye."

rwh 1/28/21

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Poem of the Week: 1/22/21

Tarry

Now is not the time to tarry,
for even though you are wary,
the world is in a hurry,
and you must keep up.

Although you may be weary,
and circumstances make you teary,
troubles come in a flurry,
it's time to fill your cup.

Fill it with kindness aplenty,
fill it with strength amighty.
Throw off that cloak of weary,
and take two giant steps up.

For there is no virus stealthy,
that will keep you from being healthy,
when the lines start to get blurry,
make sure to sharpen them up.

Up ahead is a shining reality,
where all are treated with fealty.
Where all will leave behind poverty,
enjoying the bounty they sup.

For the bounty of this earth is great.
We must all share it before it is too late.
Must give all creatures their due.
And do the same for others, if I were you.

Don't tarry, get busy.
Time's a wasting.
It's a long way ahead,
before we are through.

rwh 1/21/21

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Poem of the Week: 1/15/21

A Salt and Batter

Went down to the battery the other day,
took with me a grain of salt.
Could have been a little bit more buttery,
but then, it would have been my fault.

Saw a guy the other day beating his computer,
said, "The damn thing won't turn off!"

I told him Just to remove the battery,
"No thanks to you!" He coughed.

The lawn was in order,
until they came to scoff.
It wasn't orderly enough,
So, they tilled it into tough.

Sent the militants from Arkansas,
down on the DC lawns,
there must be law and order,
or we will all be pawns.

They put up a great battery,
to keep the salt-and-pepper in line,
but the gingham tablecloth wrinkled,
and they all fell off in time.

When the red ones and the blue ones,
get together they provide a vibrant scene,
but those two colors always clash,
providing nothing of a blend in between.

I will take my salt when it is buttery,
and butterfly off into the great fluttery.
Smashed monarch on the windshield of the world,
is not my idea of flattery.

rwh 1/9/21

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