Poem of the Week: 10/2/26

Fed Up

Okay, all you citizens,
It's time to straighten up.
There's more to citizen governing,
Than trinkets in a pauper's cup.

It's time that you examine,

The cult that you are in.
Is it worth losing your soul to it,
Or escaping from the din?

Leaving unhealthy, wasteful, deadly,
Habits, influencers, attitudes and sin,
To think for yourself, by yourself,
For what to cast out and what to grow in.

You know where the fault lies,
And you know what to do,
So, get out and vote for yourself,
You have it in you.

Don't be swayed by false money and fame,
Don't sit around loyally following and blame.
Think through who the best candidate is,
Vote for those candidates carrying the flame.

If you're fed up, get out on the street,
Protest, petition, boycott and serve,
The drums of a new order,
Making life from your verve.

If you think your vote doesn't matter at all,
Just letting our great country fall,
Into the hands of those no one can trust,
It's not up to them; it's up to us all.

rwh 10/1/26

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Poem of the Week: 9/25/26

Falling

Doing a single flip,
Off the high board,
Landing face first,
Numb an unfelt sword.

Raising one water ski up,
Skiing wildly on one ski.
My ski tip drops catches water,
Catapulted hit hard: numb I be.

Standing on the cliff edge,
Given an unfriendly stupid push,
Stark fear of jagged rocks below,
Grabbing edge adrenaline rush.

Reaching for the sandpit,
My left hand doing it wrong,
A broken wrist the result,
Twenty-day cast wasn't long.

Thrown out of the rolling car,
Sweet grass and dirt in my face,
The car passed over me,
Surviving with stitches in knee.

Lying paralyzed in bed,
Afraid to go to sleep.
Falling backward into a spin,
Thoughts I couldn't keep.

On a slippery porch,
Rushing out lost my feet.
Spine bumping each step,
My shoes on the street.

Stepped off the curb,
To a small patch of ice,
Heard the back of my head crack!
A home run sweet spot not nice.

Skating at the rink,
My skates lost their grip.
Fell hard on my left elbow,
Felt my left bicep rip.

Reaching to put a suitcase,
In a carrier a top our car,
Fell to my right elbow,
Ripping my bicep without a scar.

Reaching to paint from the top step,
I fell backward over laurel 20 feet.
Landed on my back on a down slope,
Slid flipped and landed on my feet.

Caught my shoe heel,
On the top step metal edge,
Broke my plastic ankle support,
Teetering on life's hedge.

Reaching for the rail,
On the top step catching my breath.
Found myself teetering again,
But luckily not fall to my death.

My briefcase in front of me,
My knee landing in place,
I pivoted over it rapidly,
Smashing concrete to my face.

Tripped on my carpet,
Flew headlong into the wall,
Left a concave sheetrock dent,
No broken neck in that fall.

With one step to go,
Into the carpet below,
A fractured eye orbit,
Bloody headache for show.

After many falls and stitches,
I reconsidered my walk,
Got into a wheelchair hoping,
Never in fear to balk.

Still caught on the brink,
Of a serious tip often,
My heavy wheelchair stopped,
Not becoming my coffin.

With rescuers nearby,
To save me once more,
How I got through all of that,
I can't believe anymore.

rwh 9/24/26

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Poem of the Week: 9/18/26

Like

I used to like the word, like,
For it was positive in tone.
Not over blown or flowery,
A “thumb up,” while on the phone.

Just a little ambiguous,
Preceding love's scary line,
Before taking that big step,
“I like you,” was just fine.

Or providing a similar situation,
Preposition to a similie,
To clarify a point.

Today, I hear like way too much,
It grates upon my ears.
A new kind of double speak,
From exchanges with peers.

The only way to stop it,
Is to let it burn itself out,
Like, you know, you know, before,
Of that I have no doubt.

rwh 9/17/26

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Poem of the Week: 9/11/26

Tawny

Jean and Jan were Dad's favorite cousins,
The talk of their little town.

They dated celebrities in their youth,
Until they settled down.

Jan married a prominent physician,
Good reason to stay around.

Jean followed her mother to California,
Became a plug board computer programmer,
Part of the great war effort there,
Air Force base Rosie the Riveter.

She postponed marriage until very late,
And lost the only child she bore.

When her husband died, too,
To fill the loneliness gap.

She bought and flipped homes,
As her new business knack.

I came to California in 1966,
And looked Dad's cousin up.

By then she had bought,
A frisky, blue grey poodle pup.

She named her, Tawny,
For her color, I suppose.

But it did not match her perfectly,
Like misnaming the color of a rose.

Tawny was bought for profit,
With purebred puppies for sale.

But she loved to entertain us,
With her speed and ball catching skill.

Tawny was a born swimmer,
And taught her puppies in the pool.

She was loved by everyone who saw her,
By Jean, most of all.

She loved to catch balls at the beach,
Until she choked with sand.

But didn't stop her antics,
After we gave her a helping hand.

Jan divorced her husband,
And came west to stay with Jean.

Took two puppies for her own,
In the growing poodle clan.

When Jan died unexpectedly,
Jean took her two puppies in.

Then when she passed in her bed,
Four poodles guarded her to the very end.

rwh 9/11/26

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Poem of the Week: 8/28/26

[Sung to the Melody of Amazing Grace]

ICBM (I see bm)

ICBM, ICBM,
How great the sound,
Of unholy rockets,
Leaving the ground.

At once they are lost,
But they can be found,
Bursting through the clouds,
Half a world round.

Holy shite, holy shite!
They cried in vain,
Caught in the shit storm,
Of that deadly rain.

Once, oh, so lost,
Constipated I be,
Thanks to ICBM,
I am now free.

Just a piece of shit,
Left on the ground,
Waiting for the dogs,
To come 'round.

Dogs eat shit, don't they?

rwh 8/25/26

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Poem of the Week: 8/21/26

The Last Second

Notice: Update your Office Suite,
My life blood as an author,
Not because it is so neat,
Or because it is so sweet.

It's automatic, so I let it go,
It's usually very quick,
And never, ever slow,
Just an effortless little trick.

As usual, it finished every step,
Lickety-split, until the last second,
When it hung up for a moment,
Faltered for a long minute.

An hour went by,
And then another two.
The longest second,
That ever came into view.

I entered a Microsoft chat,
And talked to their AI.
I asked for a live agent,
She hung up, Bye-Bye.

I finally got through,
To a real live agent, who,
Tried everything he could,
To figure out what to do.

But asked me to go,
Where they fix Macs, too.
With his narrow tools,
Nothing he could do.

Two Apple guys helped me,
Until they also gave up,
On that last second undone,
Last bitter drop in the cup.

I checked once more,
If the update was still late,
Was told when I tried,
“Your apps are all great.”

“You are now up-to-date.”

rwh 8/19/26

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Poem of the Week: 8/14/26

Legacy

What is it we leave,
When we leave this earth?
Is it something great,
Or the fact of our birth?

We can go down in infamy,
With some despicable deed.
Blame it on heredity,
Born with the devil seed.

Or we can do good work,
Even an uncommon quirk,
Recognized in the end,
That we did more than lurk.

In the shadows of anonymity,
Where with our privacy we hide,
Contributing little to humanity,
Except our offspring with pride.

Fearful to speak out,
Fearful to even trust.
Living our lives out,
Only to end up dust.

Part of the fodder,
Of the great war power machine.
With a marker you served,
But nothing else, between.

But an author has legacy,
If we write and write well.
Put it up on the Internet,
Given time, time will tell.

rwh 8/6/26

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Poem of the Week: 8/7/26

Creating Our Future

For a million years,
Homo roamed in fear.
Prehuman species,
Struggled, year to year.

There was no guarantee,
Anyone would survive.
Whims of the environment,
Determined dead or alive.

It's not exactly clear,
When Homo sapiens arrived,
Control over the environment,
Allowed some to grow, thrived.

But life was very uncertain,
Death came fast or slow.
Elders sought constants,
From above or below.

Gods softened nature's whims,
And comforted great pain.
Kept them warm and dry,
In the cold winter rain.

But the curious mind,
Never stood still.
It wanted to learn,
Climb the next hill.

From farming to cities,
From civilization power,
Progress was unstoppable,
Until the last hour.

In the long history of humanity,
Humans are now in control,
Of the course we will take,
Let the drums roll.

We are on the verge,
Of destroying our own nest.
And don't seem to notice it,
With each selfish quest.

It is only through cooperation,
And worldwide concern,
Will we save Homo sapiens,
Watching the world turn.

rwh 8/6/26

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Poem of the Week: 7/31/26

Pushing

Everyone's pushing something.
Whether they know it or not.
I'm pushing scientific reasoning.
Debunking unscientific rot.

Some are pushing religion.
Some are pushing family.
Some are pushing politics.
And some are pushing money.

Some are pushing exercise.
Some are pushing fantasy.
Some are pushing conspiracy.
And some are pushing insanity.

Some are pushing wellness.
Some are pushing nature.
Some are pushing stars.
And some are pushing nurture.

Some are pushing recovery.
Some are pushing health.
Some are pushing star wars.
And some are pushing stealth.

So, whatever you are pushing.
Please accept the fact.
See if you could write something else.
Set course on a new tack.

Stop taking your weight loss pill.
Unsubscribe to your influencer pal.
Get a life worth living for others.
Free yourself from obsessive hell.

rwh 7/30/26

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Poem of the Week: 7/24/26

Video War

We love to hold our flag up high,
Honor our country with our lives.
It's them or us in the fight for right,
As though it was something divine.

Where we got that notion,
Is somewhere lost in time,
Perhaps, innate aggression,
Deep in our predator mind.

We love mono to mono struggle,
May our hero in the battle succeed.
But war has become big business,
Built on money, loyalty and greed.

We can now do war remotely,
From our AI video screens.
Not seeing the whites of their eyes,
As we blow them to smithereens.

Regretting the collateral damage,
But not very much; rather deny,
After all, they are just the enemy,
Terrible, bad people we can't rely.

We practice on our video games,
and watch our movies of war.
We are always the good guys,
With God on our side once more.

We all want Star Wars to come,
We're bored with cold war politics.
Where we can duke it out with evil,
Outer space aliens and AI tricks.

Or our next-door neighbors,
If they don't readily comply,
In our greedy lust for power,
Growing as years go by.

rwh 7/23/26

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Poem of the Week: 7/19/26

Lost Poem

Two days ago,
A poem I didn't writ,
Was lost in space,
In the fog of battle.
Hoping against rope,
I haven't lost my wit.

Complifations of the,
Technicaliity kind,
Are consuming mass,
Quantities of my mind.

My normal routine,
Is going to the hell.
Every time I start,
My mind rings a bell.

Better fix that glitch,
Before it's too late,
Before I miss again,
That important new date.

So, I'm playing ketchup,
With this mighty tome,
Just the essentials, please,
Write down to the bone.

rwh 7/19/26

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Poem of the Week: 7/3/26

Rockets' Red Glare

Our ancestors huddled in the trees at night,
Their only solace from predators beneath,
Starry heavens above so bright, a relief.

Occasionally, seeing wispy curtains of blue-green,
That came and went like a fitful dream scene.

And then, there was lightning, lighting up,
Their world vividly for a moment, all around,
Punctuated by a following, terrifying sound.

Kind of fury that must've been gods' wish,
Both thrilling and frightening, no small “swish.”
But often, a loud “crack!” that split the air,
And even the times it killed those there.

Bringing heavy rain and other helpful relief,
From the heat of the day and the thirst,
From dried up water hole, only dew on leaf.

But fire that came from the ground and the sky,
Both softened the food and warmed the soul.
Fire was kept burning through toil and care.
Fascination in the flames stared at a while.

Ingenuity produced powder burst into flame.
Gases produced provided great thrust.
Soon rockets were launched and,
Projectiles were thrown like a wind gust.

Colors could be found in the mixture as well,
Fireworks were created to continue the spell.

A formula used for both fun and for war.
Like lightning, with both awe and terror,
Fireworks, a metaphor for war found there.

Old Glory was produced from sight and sound.
And practiced for celebrations come 'round.

So that never again would that sound and fury,
Be found 'cross the land of the free,
And the home of the brave, hopefully.

rwh 7/2/26

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Poem of the Week: 6/26/26

Technicality

It started with a little technicality,
That grew into a can of worms.
To describe without banality,
IB'd have to come to terms.

The solution was so simple,
That it shouldn't have taken much.
As easy as popping a pimple,
For those with the magic touch.

But each approach tried unraveled,
Into a more complicated form of pit.
Like a road never even traveled,
Going down without ever out of it.

Cost in time and man/woman power,
Not to mention gadgets and other stuff.
That grew exponentially hour by hour,
Until totally having had enough.

Pulling hair was not really enough,
That little glitch had you inch by inch,
By the gonads and other painful stuff.
An itch you could not scratch or pinch.

Going down into total crazy,
Decide to give up the ghost.
Declare the technicality lazy,
Head for the nearest coast.

rwh 6/25/26

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Poem of the Week: 6/19/26

Political Parties

I grew up thinking,
Parties were for fun.
Everyone get together,
Imbibe a bit,
Talk and dance,
Eat too much,
On the run.

But joining,
A political party,
Is really a different,
Kind of game.

Where everything,
Is dead serious,
You must swallow,
Your personal choices,
Accept the party line.

It's all or nothing,
To party with them,
Where the only goal,
Fortune and fame.

To hell with the,
Real issues faced,
The party agenda,
Traced and retraced.

It's all about money,
Not about what's right,
Stray from the agenda,
And you're in for a fight.

So, stay independent,
Don't join them at all.
Don't donate to them,
And watch them fall.

Party all night long,
To election night's call.

rwh 6/18/26

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Poem of the Week: 5/29/26

Crippled Cartography

The remote, close by, island of Disability,
Needs a new map of its hidden sites.
So that we can navigate there safely,
Knowing where to go when disability bites.

There is the metropolis of Cripple,
Where all the amps and gimps reside,
With Burroughs of Quadriplegia, Paraplegia,
Where wheelchairs are the only ride.

In the mighty Burrough of Amputee,
There are no more pegs and hooks,
The new line of technological marvels,
Makes it an athletic place for the books.

Across the island there is Blindside,
Where all the tourists come to see.
But all the signs are in braille,
Must ask the locals where they be.

Nearby, Twin Cities of Deaf and Dumb,
Who do not communicate at all,
One, so silent, one must sign to talk,
Other, so silent, only the birds call.

The growing village of Cerebral Palsy,
Is a pretty agitated, lively bunch.
You must carefully listen to them,
But not when they're eating lunch.

The small, declining village of Polio,
Is an aging, dying out, group of folks.
Numbers stopped growing ages ago,
When the vaccine broke virus yolks.

And then, there's Multiple Sclerosis,
A devil of a town to try to visit.
Occupants into wild avenues of cure,
Like bee stings, needle pricks in it.

Another changed its name to Autism,
Newly discovered spectrum of lore.
So many declared autistic these days,
Hence, the name of Retarded deplore.

Veer off path to Muscular Dystrophy,
Where Jerry's cute little kids reside.
Until he was found out just using them,
Now having steroids make them bloat wide.

Wander into that deep Depression,
Where so many are down and out.
They named an economic trend,
For it, making us all, pout.

Finally, there is crazy Psychotown,
Where so many brain disorders live,
From schizophrenia to catatonia,
Where some take, and some give.

So, if you're going to Disability,
Be sure you know the map's fact,
That once you arrive at a disability,
There's fat chance you'll ever get back.

rwh 5/28/26

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Poem of the Week: 5/22/26

Utter Nonsense

Here pontifically written,
Are nonsensically words,
To jolt you out of boredom,
You inconsequential turds.

Center around the synapse,
Of your titillating tile nerd,
And defoliate your intentions,
Of your galloping gertie herd.

You know, I know the answer,
Before you broke a word,
Your spittle on the pencil,
Provoked a tightened gerd.

To dare not procrastinate,
Arriving way to swoon,
Like a dove without wings,
That brought down the room.

Metaphorically meandering,
Calming your hair in place,
Wringing poetry from universe,
Surviving the human race.

Words come easy,
Words come slow.
Words disappear without a trace,
This word must now go.

rwh 5/21/26

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Poem of the Week: 5/15/26 .

I See People

When my eyelids struggle open,
From what may have been sleep.
I often see clearly strange people,
That should make my skin creep.

But they flash by my eyes,
Very quickly and then are gone.
They pose no threat to me,
Or the dream I had been on.

Instead, they are in full color,
In contemporary, ordinary attire.
They pose no threat whatsoever,
Illicit my curiosity, not ire.

Some of them are younger,
and some of them, middle-age,
But none of them are old ghosts,
Quickly gone like a turned page.

Some of them move quickly,
Across my large bedroom.
Others appear close to me,
Like my caregivers in the room.

These images are totally new,
Don“t fit the traditional ghost view.
Instead, they are non-threatening,
Appear infrequently, few.

I“ll leave it to your own conclusions,
If you see them, too.
While I will fade from the page,
Turn it, you always do.

rwh 5/15/26

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Mine Eyes

Mine eyes have seen the thousand lies,
That have broken so many lives.

He is trampling out the villages,
Of both the innocent and unwise.

He has loosed the fateful lightning,
Of his powerful military swift sword.

He has gathered riches around him,
In a mighty personal gilded hoard.

He will not see or hear it coming,
Like the chairman of the board.

When his loyalists all desert him,
And he is no longer the anointed lord.

rwh 5/6/26

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Want 26 Poem of the Week: 5/1/26 .

Semi-Colon

Semi means to be only half there,
It requires something else,
To be fully aware.

My father was a truck driver,
He drove semis in his work.
We all knew was a tractor, trailer,
Anyone who didn't, was a dork.

The word has been absconded,
By a semi-conductor company.
Making that electric brainiac,
That drives the AI symphony.

Worse, there is a foundation,
Using that seminal word,
To help the down and out,
At least, what AI heard.

Worser yet, the semicolon,
That weak punctuation mark,
Or that other abomination,
No one wants their butt to park.

Cuz if you have half a colon,
And it comes out way too fast,
With a semi-colon of that kind,
Your days on earth won't last.

rwh 4/30/26

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Poem of the Week: 4/24/26 .

IM Dash

You won't find me in the dictionary,
But you might find my EM cousin.
For I am the dash of dashes, divine,
You'll find me by the dozen.

I'm old 100, 220, and 440 yard dashes,
Now universalized to metric meters.
Find me in short dashes to market,
Or upon which expression deters.

A dash of this, and a dash of that,
Makes the hash, not taste so flat.
How much is a dash, you inquire?
Don't encourage a cook's ire.

Always thought just hyphen and dash,
So many couldn't even distinguish.
Come to find out there's an EM one,
Like I never learned my English.

A hyphen joins two words,
Into a new compound word.
Until common usage grows,
And the n-word becomes nerd.

A dash designates apparently nothing,
For I know not where it's used.
It's disappeared from the lexicon,
Probably because being abused.

The — is mighty confusing,
Whether to put a space,
Before or after it, I wonder,
Is downright amusing.

Putting a space before and after,
Seems to be the preferred way,
But why bother with all the extra spaces,
When brevity seeks its day.

I guess I'll dash off to other tasks,
With this one, I am dashingly done.

rwh 4/22/26

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Poem of the Week: 4/17/26 .

Promise of Spring

Like a breath of fresh air,
Cometh the spring.
A promise of everything,
Under its vast wing.

A chance to start over,
After all was lost.
Regrow new beginnings,
Whatever the cost.

A time when all is new,
And the world turns to green.
A time to refresh, start over,
Like mating birds on the wing.

So, get busy, and to the task,
Spring is very short, will not last.

rwh 4/16/26

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Poem of the Week: 4/10/26 .

Carolina Chickadee

A little friend has been stopping by,
A long way from its home.
But this is also its territory,
Where it can freely roam. .

The little chickadee came,
Into my tiny backyard.
Hopped around merrily,
Like a singing bard.

Going, "Chicka dee, dee, dee."
its warning sweet and low,
That there are cats about.
So other birds would know.

Had me remembering long ago,
In the snow-covered frozen north,
How they brightened up the dreary cold,
Out foraging fervently to and fourth.

It's good to see them nesting here,
After 40 years in the neighborhood.
Knowing that feathered cousins are dying,
Having them here is, oh, so good.

rwh 4/9/26

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Poem of the Week: 4/3/26 .

Wishy-Washy

I must write this poem before I get old,
Some leaders accused of being,
lackadaisical, timid and meek,
not at all decisive and bold.

Like all the sharp stones,
get thrown up on the beach,
Worn by wind and water,
Into soft, rounded edges,
Lambs to the slaughter.

Wisdom within reach.
Not with hate-preach.

Best to be wishy-washy,
And learn to be wise.
Scrub knowledge from stone,
The fastest way to glory,
To get the best prize.

For in the end what counts,
Is not fortune and fame,
But to live your life well,
And keep your good name.

rwh 4/3/26

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Poem of the Week: 3/27/26 .

Beautiful Interloper

There is an interloper in my mint bed,
It's not that kind of interloper I dread,
But the kind I like, instead.

It's one of the first to appear,
As sunlight falls upon my green mint,
In spring, this infant time of year.

I didn't plant it, that I recall,
Perhaps a seed fell from a pot,
Many years ago, in fall.

My partner thought it damaged the mint,
Yanked the beautiful interloper viciously,
From its bare spot with evil intent.

I tried to patiently convince her,
That it wasn't the intruder's fault.
But she ignored me anyway,
Assuming its implication by default.

Recently, popping up purple amid,
Lush new mint meat wrapping leaves,
She decided that she likes them,
And is giving them her reprieve.

Interloper no more, a welcome guest,
Another bird introduced addition,
To our migrant garden with all the rest.

rwh 3/26/26

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Poem of the Week: 3/20/26 .

Fart Congestion

They say that fart congestion,
Is on the rise.
Destined to bring the fart,
To an early demise.

Probably due to fast and,
Highly prosperous eats,
Designed to clog the fart,
And its pounding beats.

But it's affairs of the fart,
Are probably the cursed,
Stress of those relationships,
Can make the fart burst.

A leaking fart is the worst,
It may be necessary to bare.
If the correction doesn't take,
Some fart spotting there.

Take care of your fart,
Get it on the right track,
You might lose her,
With another fart attack.

Be silent, oh my fart.

rwh 3/19/26

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Poem of the Week: 3/13/26 .

Bot Invasion

A bot invasion is underway,
As elastic as plastic,
Invading our privacy,
Tripping the light fantastic.

They've infected my email,
With offers so sweet,
If I click on those offers,
I'm in for a treat.

Once they get into my,
Taxes and bank account,
They will raise hell on my,
Identity and I will lose out.

Of all that I've saved,
In a lifetime of trust,
To where I can't trust,
Even those I must.

For once these evil,
Invaders get in,
They will strip me clean,
Of all that I've been.

We must slay them,
Like drones in the sky,
Or suffer the consequences,
As we helplessly cry.

rwh 3/13/26

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Poem of the Week: 3/6/26

All the Songs (My Apologies to Willie Nelson)

It's hard to write a song these days,
To come up with new lyrics,
And melodies that please.

[Chorus]

For all the songs,
have been sung before,
Their words and melodies,
Out forevermore,
Like lost lovers,
We still adore.

[First Verse]

Every time I try,
To write a new song,
An old phrase,
Or an old melody,
Just comes along.

[Chorus]

For all the songs,
have been sung before,
Their words and melodies,
Out forevermore,
Like lost lovers,
We still adore.

[Second Verse]

When I've finished a song,
I'd really love to share,
When I look it up,
It's already there.

[Chorus]

For all the songs,
have been sung before,
Their words and melodies,
Out forevermore,
Like lost lovers,
We've had before.

Third Verse]

With all the love songs,
Written by others before,
I've given up the ghost,
And let AI write the score.

[Chorus]

For all the songs,
have been sung before,
Their words and melodies,
Out forevermore,
Like lost lovers,
We still adore.

Last Verse]

With this song,
I rest my case,
Songwriting these days,
Is just a waste.

[Chorus]

For all the songs,
have been sung before,
Their words and melodies,
Out forevermore,
Like lost lovers,
We still adore.

Yes, all of the good songs,
Have been sung before,
Let's all just enjoy them,
Rather than trying more,
Evermore, Evermmooore.

rwh 3/6/26

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Poem of the Week: 2/27/26

Survival Imperative

Looking back at time,
Some 14 billion years.
Appears to be a big bang,
The sum of all fears.

All that exists,
Exploding into space,
Filling it with hot dust,
Star incubating place.

Gravity pulled stars,
Into galaxies of grace,
Gravity holes in center,
Mind bending chase.

Stars grew too large,
Exploding in place,
Or grew too small,
Into red dwarf face.

Exploding stars created,
New elements from old.
A process so violent,
Impossible to behold.

When it all came together,
Molten, round a small sun,
The Earth was born, so rare,
It may be the only one.

A Goldilocks planet,
Not too hot, or too cold.
With a sun just right,
Not too young or too old.

Where water was plentiful,
Molten Iron core to yield,
Atmosphere with weather,
Protected by magnetic field.

Geological upheaval common,
Creating mountains and valleys,
Water and wind erosion,
Softening the edges and alleys.

Where life came about,
In a molecule rich stew,
A single cell amoeba,
Ancestor of me, and you.

Where everything ate,
Everything its own way,
Some of it, predator,
Most of it, prey.

Instinct to intelligence,
Intelligence to tools,
Humans took charge,
Of predatory rules.

The strongest survived,
Took everything we think,
While the weak perished,
Their bloodlines extinct.

Greed for more is ingrained,
In the predatory mind,
In humans this greed,
Is one of a kind.

It has reached the point,
On our fragile small sphere,
Where we're eating our existence,
Through ignorance, I fear.

Predatory behavior must change,
If we are to ultimately survive.
Eating our earth to thrive,
Will leave no one alive.

rwh 2/26/26

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Poem of the Week: 02/20/26

My Pome

Hears a pome I thot I rote.
I'm not a pote of any note.

Jes lik to cee my pomes in prnt.
Where I ken fume an vent.

My desirs, like, came an wint.
Theys always, like hevn sint.

To the gurl of my drems.
My hart busting the sems.

I'll end thes pome for now,
Cuz, I thnk she wus a cow.

rwh 2/19/26

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162 Poem of the Week: 02/12/26

The Mess

Everything is a mess,
And nothing seems right.
When I try not to miss,
It misses out of sight.

The weather is crazy,
And so are my kin.
When I pick up a daisy,
A rash itches my skin.

The sky is falling,
With that guy at the helm.
I'm not of his calling,
Certainly, not of his realm.

I'm up to my ears,
In alligator muck.
With all of my fears,
making me upchuck.

So, if you're in a mess,
And want to get out.
Don't read this poem,
It'll leave you in doubt.

rwh 02/09/26

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Poem of the Week: 02/06/26

Love Is

Love is in an infant's eyes,
Love is in strong family ties,
Love is innocence becoming wise.

Love is old and love is new,
Love is me and love is you,
Love is never, ever, blue.

Love is natural and benign,
Love is easy on the mind,
Love is the best you'll find.

Love is what can make you cry,
Love is what can make you lie,
Love is what can make you die.

Love is hard to completely define,
Love is often different over time,
Love is like aged fine wine.

Make love, not war, while you live,
Make the world better as you give.

rwh 02/05/26

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Poem of the Week: 01/30/26

Mistakes Made

Mistakes I've made a plenty,
In a long and action filled life.
Always trying to be kind,
Never wanting to create rife.

Some mistakes were easy to fix,
By simply making the act right.
But some mistakes were forever,
Never fixed or bid, “good night.”

I have had sleepless nights from some,
While others gave me no cause to worry.
Some, I rushed quickly to correct,
While others, I was in no hurry.

Mistakes have shaped my life,
In many good and bad ways.
But I have had better luck than most,
Many more carefree than worried days.

So, if you worry about making mistakes,
Always careful about what you do or say.
My advice would be not to be uptight,
But let mistakes help shape your way.

rwh 01/29/26

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Poem of the Week: 01/23/26

Freeze Again

It sneaks silently down from the north.
A killing machine as efficient as any,
Ever devised by man.

Yet essential to so many species.
That rely on it for an annual cycle,
Of life because they can.

All water-based life is in danger.
As internal water turns to ice.
For organisms that can stand it,
Pressure, like a reverse vice.

Without a way to keep us warm,
Humans' blood vessels burst.
When gangrene sets in after,
A slow death is the worst.

Even atoms are affected,
When the temperature drops.
their fundamental movement,
Slows and eventually, stops.

Much of outer space is frozen,
Locked in dark matter's grace.
It takes a cataclysmic explosion,
To heat a very small place.

In one tiny solar system,
Warmed for four billion years,
One minuscule blue tropical planet,
Has withstood a billion tears.

Every time a freeze creeps in,
With it, our greatest fears.

rwh 01/22/26

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Poem of the Week: 01/16/26

Use Me Blues

Chorus

You use me up.
You use me down.
You use me like a clown.
You'll never stop using me.
As long as I'm around.

[Stanza 1]

I thought you were my friend.
My partner to the end.
But you done cheated me.
Broken. while you bend.

[Chorus]

You use me up.
You use me down.
You use me like a clown.
You'll never stop using me.
As long as I'm around.

[Stanza 2]

I was so open.
To all you asked.
Little did I know.
That it wouldn't last.

[Chorus]

You use me up.
You use me down.
You use me like a clown.
You'll never stop using me.
As long as I'm around.

[Stanza 3]

Now I am way down.
Deep in the blues.
With nothing left.
For you to use.

[Chorus]

You use me up.
You use me down.
You use me like a clown.
You'll never stop using me.
As long as I'm around.

Deep in the blues.
With nothing left.
For you to use.

With nothing left.
For you to use.

rwh 01/11/26

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Poem of the Week: 01/09/26

When I Die

A tribute to Don McLean's lyrics that are
second to none and using his music for this one.

[Verse 1]

Long ago when I was young,
Rock 'n' roll was number one.
Listening to WLS on the car radio,
When powerful AM was the way to go,
And we really had no other choice.
Still hear his “Because it's hard“ voice.
But 1963 in Dallas made me quiver,
Shortly after, paralysis would deliver,
And I wouldn't write a word again,
Couldn't even hold a pen.
But I returned to college by fall,
Determined to follow my call.

[Chorus]

Goodbye to the hot rod days,
Have to think of it as a phase.
Those good old boys I left behind,
Always had a different mind,
Riding rockets and being kind.

[Verse 2]

Joined the religion of civil rights,
Rallied against foreign war fights.
Could always dance fast and real slow,
Wooed freshman girls, but let 'em go,
Marryin' wasn't then on my mind.
Grass was greener in their eyes,
Always left me for more stable guys.
The summer of love left me lonely,
But 1968 would deliver from Dion,
Bobby with Abraham, Martin and John.
Questioning the track I was on.
Hope being an astronaut long gone.

[Chorus]

Goodbye to the hot rod days,
Have to think of it as a phase.
Those good old boys I left behind,
Always had a different mind,
Riding rockets and being kind.

[Verse 2]

Theoretical engineering not my style,
Studied philosophy for a brief while.
Left industry in my wake,
College teaching began to take.
A kind of freedom to explore,
Opening up poetry's golden door.
Disco reigned across the dance floor,
But I loved rock and soul to my core,
Beatles, Jackson 5, Prince and more.
Eight tracking Janice crying out,
Jimi's guitar wailing his doubt.
While we all felt their mortal pain,
They left us standing in the rain.

[Chorus]

[Verse 3]

We all cheered when the wall came down,
But trickle-down policy made us frown,
And regime changing wasn't my style,
John Lennon imagined it before most,
From Vietnam on, failed by a mile.
And “Can't we all just get along? “
Rodney King's declaration, my song.
When college teaching lost its vibe,
Bloated administration saved my hide.

He said, “Let's turn this place around.“
And for a while we did, but found,
The accountants sang a different tune.
Money flowed to the top and left the room.

[Chorus]

[Verse 4]

Rollin' the highways coast to coast,
Border to border what happened beyond, to toast.
Radio turned up the most.
Had to come to an end.
A new kind of rollin' host,
Driving becoming a ghost.
Until, from a wheelchair bound,
Another 165,000 miles was found.
Flying with zero pressure controls.
Writing my voice like never before.
Rollin' out novels, stories and more.
Technology saved my mortal soul.
While loving human hands,
Helped me make every goal.

[Chorus]

[Verse 5]

I feel the ones that rap their pain,
But slam poetry was never my game.
It's the old songs that stir my soul,
The ones that I remember and sing.
The ones that make my heart ring,
For when the final bell tolls.
And time has come full circle,
I'll remain young growing old.
Wondering if I've gained wisdom,
For which I am sometimes told.
When I die, don't bury me,
In that riverside calm with my clan.
Spread my ashes in the wind,
Everywhere I've ever been.

[Chorus]

Goodbye to those carefree days,
Have to think of them as a phase.
Goin' to a better place and time,
One that will always rhyme.

rwh 01/08/26

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Poem of the Week: 01/02/26

Days of Yore

Refrain

Raise a glass to those days of yore,
To all the ones gone before,
To all the ones lost in war,
To all the ones lost and poor.

To all the things left undone,
To all the chances left unwon,
To all the regrets under the sun,
To all the loves lost in fun.

(Refrain)

To all the writers we have known,
To all the artists who have flown,
To all the musicians still unknown,
To all creation's light not shown.

(Refrain)

To all the wonders yet to come,
To all vying to be number one,
To all world changing under the sun,
To all freedom and equality for fun.

(Refrain)

Raise a glass to those days of yore,
Hoping for a better world and more.

rwh 01/01/26

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