Poem of the Week: 12/20/24

Living Hard

All I ever wanted to do was live hard,
And die easily, healthy on my birthday.

Things donÕt always turn out the way we want,
And I wonÕt end up off the Earth that day.

Seems IÕm to suffer multiple inner insults,
Before I ever become close to that way.

After a month daily suffering that floozy flu,
IÕm death warmed over just doing my daily due.

I wonÕt give up the ghost tomorrow after all.
I guess they didnÕt get my call.

rwh 12/19/24

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Poem of the Week: 12/13/24

Holy Cow!

The cows came home,
precisely at six,
And somehow I knew,
I was really in a fix.

I hadnÕt milked a cow,
Since I was a kid,
What I was doing with forty,
Nearly blew my lid.

Got online immediately,
To my acquainted friend,
Milk maid was at my door,
Knew a cowÕs front from end.

Hired her on the spot,
She milked every damn one.
Sold the milk to an organic store,
We were making money hon.

That was many years ago,
And we are still having fun,
Branched out to having children,
And always on the run.

Glad it wasnÕt chickens home to roost!

rwh 12/12/24

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Poem of the Week: 12/6/24

Crumbling Walls

Walls are crumbling all around,
Getting softer, flakes fallen down.

Ashes to ashes, dust to dust.
Decay to decay, rust to rust.

World still changing since before birth,
Just in our limited time on this earth.

Walls have come down very fast.
Walls that were made to last.

Some walls were made to crumble.
Some were custom made to bumble.

Lines can be walls written on paper,
Lines can be weapons of a keeper.

Must keep colors within the lines.
Must keep the colors so confined.

Keep the white center ringed by the black,
Keep the white meat for afternoon snack.

rwh 12/5/24

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Poem of the Week: 11/29/24

Thankful for You

IÕm thankful for you, for all you do.
And thankful that the sky is still blue.

IÕm thankful for the time we spent together,
All that weÕve done in spite of the weather.

I'm thankful for you saving my life.
Thankful for you easing my strife.

IÕm thankful that you are my everything,
Old Sol greets the morning and the birds sing.

Thankful that anger never comes to your door,
Because life is too precious to waste it for more.

Most of all, IÕm just thankful for you,
I would have died without what you do.

Continue the fight until the end,
And my love for you will never bend.

rwh 11/28/24

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Poem of the Week: 11/22/24

Liberals, Dreamers, Futurists and Scientists

Liberals, dreamers, futurists and scientists,
Make progress without ever raising angry fists.
They do it by logic, reason, truth and trust.
Not loud slogans untrue, power and lust.

Liberals want to make life fair for all.
An equal playing field for their call.
Believing in enterprise and free will.
Not in some danger that we must kill.

Dreamers are those who fantasize a lot,
New ways of thinking that theyÕve got.
Philosophers and seekers into the fore,
Exploring ideas never thought of before.

Futurists are thinking ahead for humankind.
With predicting tools like the science fiction mind.
Some may be too fantastic to ever become real,
Sometimes, surprise us, how accurate they feel. <

ScientistsÕ curiosity have no limits or bounds,
Seeking the truth of history in burial mounds.
Nothing is too large or too small for their thrust,
Often controversial for those who donÕt trust.

Jesus, Buddha, Gandhi, and Martin Luther King,
Showed us what progress non-violence can bring.

Continued angry violence will bring down everything.

rwh 11/21/24

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Poem of the Week: 11/15/24

Most of Us

People who just ride along,
have always been peons to power,
spend their lives for their song,
looking for solutions to the hour.

Complain a lot about what's wrong,
rely on their friends for the truth,
few have the guts to lead the throng.
Following rituals from their youth.

Think that happiness is wealth,
while ignoring those in need,
giving pennies instead of dollars,
succumbing more to greed.

Wasting their years in pleasure,
ignoring their long term wealth.
taking risks without any measure,
ending their lives with no health.

Losers that are singled out,
by the powerful that be who,
play the system and have clout,
over the likes of me and you.

Are you a gainer or a loser?

rwh 11/8/24

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Poem of the Week: 11/8/24

Truffles from Trump

Let them eat caviar, truffles and fine wine,
that will satisfy them while they whine.

Lower the prices of gasoline, rent and beer.
Militarized defenses from irrational fear.

Drill baby drill, while the climate heats up,
burn our breadbasket, empty natureÕs cup.

A pittance of taxes relief to the poor,
while the favored wealthy get much more.

Plan stacked against the common man,
controlled by the wealthy because they can.

Thanks to the crumbs provided so well,
floods, fires, tornadoes and droughts are swell.

Extinctions are coming just round the bend,
no demigods will save us nearing the end.

rwh 11/8/24

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Poem of the Week: 11/1/24

Scary

Why is scary held so dear?
Especially, during this time of year?

Perhaps because it is rooted in primal fear.
There's a thrill that comes from fear that's safe.
Like when lightning strikes close to one's ear.
or bullets miss from a fighter jet's strafe.
And adrenaline surges with feelings so clear.

It's the adrenaline rush that everyone wants,
not the reality of pain or death that's near.
With children it's lessons of what to beware,
with adults it's reliving old superstitious fear.

When one has memories of fearful nights,
the thought of scary once more, delights.
ItÕs the craving of that adrenaline rush,
brings one back to those times so much.

Movies and television thrive on the thought,
escaping agony and death is what one ought.
They feed the same franchise year after year,
as people hooked come back for the fear.

But the real danger lies in our fear that is real,
our children will be killed by going to school,
instead of lessons of understanding and respect.
with tools of destruction available to the fool.

Fear should be safe and fun in a scary way,
here today in entertainment, gone the next day.
No longer should there be wolves at the door,
future generations should fear no more.

rwh 10/31/24

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Poem of the Week: 10/25/24

Flashpoint

Scientists predicted for over seventy years,
while industry chugged on with deaf ears.

It was all about comfort, convenience and profit.
No one was concerned about scientific posit.

Especially since powerful money ruled politics,
easily dismissed predictors of doom as lunatics.

Gradually as handwriting became clear on the wall,
false studies of the powerful slowed progress to a crawl.

Business as usual for the rich, powerful and great,
while the aware world struggled to not be too late.

Effects of global warming were clear and alarming,
some struggled how to begin old habits disarming.

But polar researchers and nomads already knew,
below the surface an insidious danger brew.

Thousands of years of permafrost revealed,
with it a thick block of ice with methane sealed.

Methane, natural greenhouse gas, so misunderstood,
burning clean in our houses instead of oil or wood.

But, released to the air in massive amount,
methane became a threat beyond all doubt.

By that time governments were on the case,
to reduce their carbon footprint's face.

However, were too little and way too late,
God fire was waiting at the northern gate.

Called the Great Flashpoint for those survived,
a new phase of the earth had suddenly arrived.

rwh 10/24/24

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Poem of the Week: 10/18/24

Running in Place

It's good to leave the rat race,
get out of that crazy pace,
no longer windmills chase,
simply just running in place.

No need to go off far,
by plane, boat or car.
No need to experience more,
don't even have to leave the door.

Have memories enough for that,
to know just where I am at.
Running in circles not for me,
just running in place where I'll be.

rwh 10/17/24

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Poem of the Week: 10/11/24

Wrath of the Sea

Our home was an island,
on a tranquil, placid sea.
There was no finer place to live,
no finer place on earth, to be.

Where the sea was always warm,
and the trade wind breezes blew,
fauna, fruit and flora flourished,
and every day was like brand-new.

But the sea grew higher and warmer,
with each new anniversary year.
When the annual storm season came,
with renewed rainfall, nothing to fear.

All around us the warnings were clear,
knew the warnings were right, and yet,
nostalgic about what we knew so dear,
pretending to be unaware of the threat.

From far off the warning to evacuate,
reached us in our lovely, tranquil state.
But we decided to ignorantly ignore it,
until we saw the cloud and it was too late.

In the distance, the cloud was ominous,
like something we had never seen before.
It was dark and churning with anger,
lightning flashes, we could almost hear it roar.

Tides pulled the water away from our shore,
like nothing we'd ever seen before,
they came back rushing over the beach,
and lapping at our home's front door.

The wind came up in a fury of sound,
as we huddled inside from the scream.
It tore away, piece by piece, our home,
as if we were inside some terrible dream.

But, as our home was torn away from us,
water rose waist deep and the roof was gone.
We scrambled to save ourselves all night,
while crying and praying for the dawn.

With the morning came a tranquil period,
where the sun shone through for a while,
but all around us our world was destroyed,
turned from beauty into a massive junk pile.

And then the water and wind came again,
there was no place for us left to hide.
As I watched my family washed away,
I tied myself to a palm tree and cried.

When it was finally over and quiet,
where I saw once everything thrive,
I looked for and found no survivors.
I was the only one left alive.

With hot sun, no food and no water,
I struggled each day just to abide.
But when that final day came,
I just surrendered and died.

rwh 10/10/24

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Poem of the Week: 10/4/24

Come Rain or Shine

Come rain or shine, there's work to be done.
The better the plan, more time to have fun.

For those that neglect what they need to do,
will find that eventually, it catches up with you.

You want to be healthy, wealthy and wise,
pay attention to your studies, and not otherwise.

For when you realize it may be too late,
there is no returning to go back to that gate.

So be prepared early for the ups and downs,
and your life will be happy with fewer frowns.

There's no denying the serendipity of fate,
prepare for the inevitable before it is too late.

rwh 10/3/24

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116 Poem of the Week: 9/27/24

Tsunami of Time

Waves of time and change,
roll on from sea to shore.
Continually changing seashores,
into something they weren't before.

It can be overwhelming,
when waves take away breath.
As we roll with the weight,
needing mythical, Atlas heft.

If only we could surf on them,
in wild abandon youth.
But those days are gone,
with that behavior uncouth.

We all drown in the end,
through no fault of our own.
For our lives are not forever,
given only a very short loan.

rwh 9/26/24

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Poem of the Week: 9/20/24

Cliche Crunch

When push comes to shove, and,
you're between a rock and a hard place.
When the going gets tough, and,
the tough just can't get in the race.

You'll be surprised what you'll do,
when you're down and out.
When you're on the street,
dumpster diving without doubt.

If you don't have a pot to piss in,
just go piss on the ground.
If you're in the doghouse,
it's better than the dog pound.

If your penny wise and pound foolish,
join the credit card gambling crowd.
Spend yourself into poverty,
then bitch about the dole loud.

Nothing's surer than death or taxes,
except for the privileged few.
They make billions without taxes,
but still die, leaving the debt to you.

rwh 9/19/24

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Poem of the Week: 9/13/24

On Thin Ice

Just when things are going smooth and nice,
suddenly, we find ourselves on thin ice.

The solid foundation we built under our feet,
starts cracking and falling apart in the heat.

When we are close to going under and cry out,
it's good to have a safety net without any doubt.

For the world goes round with ups and downs,
filled with happiness, laughter, sadness and frowns.

It is then when we know how to get off the ice.
With a foolproof safety net of our own device.

So that happiness and prosperity will follow our days,
driving out the misery of earlier, much riskier, ways.

rwh 9/12/24

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Poem of the Week: 9/6/24

Winds of Change

The winds of change tear at my edifice door,
strange new changes never heard of before.
Keeping house in order a much greater chore.
Starting to wish change would come no more.

But the fickle wind of change cannot stop.
Its invention is the engine climbing to the top.
Some change is good, other change is bad,
later to find out, the best change ever had.

For those who are aging and losing their grip,
the strong winds of change began to rip.
They may complain or grumble of their fate,
or simply give up believing it's too late.

How ever the winds of change affect us,
they will continue to howl without any fuss.
for it is only because we make them real, fuss.
their head strong winds, we begin to feel.

rwh 9/5/24

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Poem of the Week: 8/30/24

Crazy World

AI is supposed to make contacting companies easy,
but instead, the stupid pleasant voice drives us crazy.

Slave, weed and water garden crops all summer,
when we can just buy them a lot cheaper, bummer.

But when the soil dries out and becomes barren and infertile,
feral invasive rare spices, greens and mints jump that hurdle.

Buy convenient contaminated commercial water in plastic,
driven from mostly safe city water by hype, fantastic.

Sympathize with the victims of war on both sides of the battle
But as victims pile up, the battle escalates along with its prattle.

Floods in low-lying areas leave more to replace every year,
but we continue to build back, holding memories way too dear.

We are off to a stupid colonization of the Moon and Mars,
when the Moon was ours 50 years ago, Moon rock in jars.

Feared another dinosaur/human extinction meteor on the way,
found out that a simple deviation of orbit would save the day.

With powerful space-based telescopes, the universe is ours,
but the more we find out, the less we know of its strange powers.

Value our personal babies above all sense and reason,
our population becomes more unsustainable, each season.

Love our fat confined pets because they fill us with glee
Have we ever asked them if they want to be wild and free?

Waste a lot of time thinking about what happens after death,
but no one has ever returned from that place for another breath.

There are many more crazy things if we just think about them,
all we have to do is realize it's crazy and cut it off at the stem.

rwh 8/29/24

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Poem of the Week: 8/23/24

When Stress Comes

When stress comes unexpectedly into our lives,
the only thing to do is face it head-on.
For there are bees let loose from their hives,
to sting us until we get them long gone.

But, busy bees of the hive hierarchy,
redirect, multiply and newly begin.
They have little memory of past regress,
as they rebirth over and over again.

When you know you have swatted them,
with what you thought was a final blow.
Only to return later with the same old,
same old as though they didn't know.

After reminding them that they cannot win,
with their tiny bee brain mentality,
it is time to put their perpetual ruse,
into the trash bin of perpetuity.

When through with the new reminder,
it is time to stop working and relax.
Once you put that queen bee to rest,
stress will subside, but never totally lax.

The nature of stress these days,
multiplies in many, many ways.

rwh 8/22/24

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Poem of the Week: 8/16/24

Cream in de Coffee

Put de cream in de coffee,
and swirl it all around.
Make you morning get up,
and go to sunny nook found.

Put de cream in de coffee,
listen to de birdies sing.
de morning, never be brighter,
den when de birdies do dey thing.

Savor in de sunshine,
let de cool breeze cool cup.
It's off to work we go,
won't eat until we sup.

Put de cream in de coffee,
and swirl it all around.
Make you morning get up,
and go to sunny nook found.

We launch de boats a rowing,
into de surf crashing round,
with all our might we heave and ho,
till boat and body calm found.

Finally, on de sea of green,
we raise our sail white, clean.
Throw out our nets to fate,
harvest what de nets glean.

Put de cream in de coffee,
and swirl it all around.
Make you morning get up,
and go to sunny nook found.

Sometimes we be rich,
sometimes we be poor.
But that's de fate of fishing,
de ocean, she keep score.

And den we climb de coconut tree,
so de wife can make de supper,
be careful you kids down dere,
You noggin be split like de cracker!

Put de cream in de coffee,
and swirl it all around.
Make you morning get up,
and go to sunny nook found.

rwh 8/15/24

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Poem of the Week: 8/9/24

Psychologic

Are you a psycho or are you sane?
Just being sane, is so inane,
boring and dull, to say the least,
nothing to tame, no evil beast.

Codependency is really nice,
helping your partner in his or her vice,
follow the rules chapter and verse,
dual condition gets worse and worse.

Do you have a stigma that won't go away?
Stigmatized royally every single day.
You carry your stigma on your sleeve,
getting everyone's thumbs-up to believe.

Having an attention disorder is so fine,
scrubbing your manuscript clean every time.
But you never seem to get it clean enough,
rearranging words never seemed so tough.

Depression begets recession in all you do,
brings you down, so you write like it, too.
the doldrums never seem to go away,
write them off, then shuffle off one day.

Agoura phobia holds your fear so tight,
you can't leave the house day or night.
Confined to your own little safe room,
write your heart out, no face on Zoom.

If you take the socio-path to false fame,
lie like a rug, claim others to blame,
until you are finally discovered, found out,
house of cards falls, but still don't doubt.

It's nice to be bi or tri-poler in thought,
switch manic, depressive whenever ought.
Write like a maniac, and then, chill out,
complain in writing you had another bout.

To be a schizo, is nicest of all,
going off like a bomb before you fall.
Never know what you are going to do.
Write about it and you can be famous, too.

Maybe a serial killer or an assassin at heart,
pilfering or scamming, just doing your part.
Insanity keeps us all wondering what's next,
writing breaking news about the next hex.

rwh 8/8/24

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Go Green

Go green, go green, my son.
Don't go doin, what we old have done.
Don't go runnin after greenbacks, son,
for only a short term greenback fun.

Green is good, green is fine.
Green sustains us, over long time.
But chasin greenbacks destroys green.
Short term wealth all burned and brown.

Green will make Mother Earth bloom again.
Green will make us healthy and wise.
No more treadmill for fortune and fame.
See health and goodness on the rise.

The long run will always be green,
but it's better if we can still be seen.
If gone from the landscape we love.
We have burned our candle clean.

rwh 8/1/24

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no face on Zoom.

If you take the socio-path to false fame,
lie like a rug, claim others to blame,
until you are finally discovered, found out,
house of cards falls, but still don't doubt.

It's nice to be bi or tri-poler in thought,
switch manic, depressive whenever ought.
Write like a maniac, and then, chill out,
complain in writing you had another bout.

To be a schizo, is nicest of all,
going off like a bomb before you fall.
Never know what you are going to do.
Write about it and you can be famous, too.

Maybe a serial killer or an assassin at heart,
pilfering or scamming, just doing your part.
Insanity keeps us all wondering what's next,
writing breaking news about the next hex.

rwh 8/8/24

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Poem of the Week: 8/2/24

Go Green

Go green, go green, my son.
Don't go doin, what we old have done.
Don't go runnin after greenbacks, son,
for only a short term greenback fun.

Green is good, green is fine.
Green sustains us, over long time.
But chasin greenbacks destroys green.
Short term wealth all burned and brown.

Green will make Mother Earth bloom again.
Green will make us healthy and wise.
No more treadmill for fortune and fame.
See health and goodness on the rise.

The long run will always be green,
but it's better if we can still be seen.
If gone from the landscape we love.
We have burned our candle clean.

rwh 8/1/24

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Poem of the Week: 7/26/24

Coming-of-Age

In tribal times coming-of-age
meant passing into a new stage
from childhood dependence
to adulthood and independence.

In technological times
things have changed.
The path to adulthood
as been rearranged.

Youth are dependent
much later in life.
Much freer from challenge
responsibility and strife.

With disposable income
they freely dispose of.
Waste many precious years
on frivolity fun things they love.

Week Buying things they don't need
chasing every Internet flash
keeping up with their peers
borrowing for more cash.

With their education over
reality finally rudely arrives
their debt is enormous
taking the rest of their lives.

For the few that are frugal
take responsibility early on.
is a blessing
as they take over
parents gone.

rwh 7/25/24

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Poem of the Week: 7/19/24

Cracks

Cracks in the foundation,
cracks in the walls and floor.
Cracks around the windows,
that creep in under the door.

Letting wind and dust enter,
while the vermin sneak in,
snakes, spiders, rats and roaches,
along with the occasional sin.

For no mind is totally free.
Wise cracks by comedians galore.
Perhaps there is wisdom there,
but age cracks appear more.

None free from mental cracks,
the kind that easily attacks,
rendering some to be slacks,
while others simply seek quacks.

Cracks in society,
cracks of all kinds.
Don't do anything about them,
just let them blow our minds.

The core of our being,
all cracked and falling apart.
Where do we begin?
Where do we start?

rwh 7/18/24

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Poem of the Week: 7/12/24

My ICBM

I love my ICBM.
I love my ICBM.
Blow us all up.
from here to when.

As a kid. safety rockets I flew.
The real ones too dangerous.
for the likes of me and you.

But the military has rockets.
capable of reaching outer space.
With warheads on them.
put other countries in their place.

If we are going to fire them.
I want to ride along.
Ride one of them all the way.
while singing my favorite song.

With mutual destruction.
we'll all go away. anyway.
So why not take the ride.
to mark my final day.

But if I see them coming.
about to watch them hit.
and know it is the end.
all I will say is. "Oh shit!"

They should have named them.
ISBM (I see bowel movement).
for as they say in Wisconsin.
"Shit happens. No shit."

rwh 7/11/24

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Poem of the Week: 7/5/24

Domino

Domino, Domino, all fall down.
Get in line lockstep loyalty,
to the one and only, clown.

Mass consume the mighty word,
of lies and promises absurd.
Lazily let the promises cure,
your every concern, your fear.

Apprentice to the celebrity chosen one,
promising you everything under the sun.
Practicing his art of the deal,
it's from you that he will steal.

Don't you know you're living the lie,
puppets to the king of total deny?
DonÕt you know that youÕre the one,
fearing every conspiracy under the sun?

Nationalism in a worldwide economy,
paralleling a former German dichotomy.
A strong voice keeping everyone in line,
shouting his slogans in goose step time.

Don't you know you're marching to,
wrong Pied Piper's loyalty to you?
Your lockstep grasp will all fall down,
realizing he's only the wealthy's clown.

rwh 7/4/24

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Poem of the Week: 6/28/24

The Fix

Why do people think that taking,
something will make them better?
Is it just in our nature to overdo,
or didn't we get the letter?

Is it peer pressure to fit in,
or to take the offered dare?
Don't we innately know,
it will lead eventually, nowhere?

We talk of addiction as a disease.
Yet partake new highs with ease.
To cure all kinds of self-doubt,
eventually, just to turn us out.

While I ponder these questions out loud,
I will take my blue pill and be proud.
Drinking it down with my favorite crowd,
anything, to get my brain in a cloud.

rwh 6/27/24

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Poem of the Week: 6/21/24

Always

You always have my back,
making up for what I lack.

Likewise, I always look out for you,
making your life better, brand-new.

We are quite a pair, the two of us,
together, we work with little fuss.

I don't know what I would do,
if ever, I was without you.

rwh 6/20/24

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Poem of the Week: 6/14/24

Serendipity

Life is not determined and the future is unknown.
We should not fear what is coming but let our mind roam.
For everyone experiences both ups and downs.
But most of us have many more smiles than frowns.

Be open and accept what life has to offer.
Believe not those who have answers in a coffer.
Explore the possible and be willing to change.
For in every life there is freedom to range.

When serendipitous opportunity comes along,
don't shirk it off thinking only of assumed wrong.
The risk is not as great as others might think.
And, the world is certainly not poised at the brink.

rwh 6/13/24

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Poem of the Week: 6/7/24

Doggy Does

These are funny quips that I have experienced
of what dogs do from several dogs I've known.

When 2-year-old twins,
get on a destructive path,
and push a beehive over,
Rags, you fight the bees bravely,
save the tykes from their wrath.

When accidentally locked inside,
two weeks, your food and water outside,
while our family on vacation,
you eat the curtains true to your name,
Rags, survive to greet them come home.

A cute little puppy turned bad dog,
you are dropped off 30 miles away.
But Barney, you have a sense of home,
and are back for food and water the next day.

Named Tippy for white tips of feet and tail,
you are not yippy until mama comes home,
you leap to kiss her on the face, no disgrace,
so glad to be let out of house jail to roam.

Tippy can get nippy with Peggy, a lab/boxer mix,
Peggy is a killer, but not very, with her peers.
So, Tippy nips at her ears and runs off quickly,
if she were not a dog, it would bring her to tears.

Tawny could catch any ball on an upward bounce,
but her many pups, her talent, had not one ounce.
On the beach, she would chase the ball crazily fast,
coming up with a mouthful of sand at last.

Schatzi (Sweetheart) was a freezing stray,
that Mom started feeding one cold winter's day.
She had many pups like Pete in her life,
first litter in a hole dug in a ditch from strife.

Pete spent all winter below zero in tall grass,
so we built him a doghouse for cold and for hot.
He recovered in that house after being hit by a car,
but survived, only to die in there after being shot.

Deprived of protein, with a roach leg smile,
Jazz would declare his capture for a while.
Quick to attack and then, settle down,
as if on a leash keep an eye me a mile.

Lie under my wheelchair until heard a "click."
Avoiding getting his hair jerked by my wheels.
But, when he would sneak on the bed with me,
I would throw him to the carpet, head over heels.

Jazz's poopies were dry as a bone he never chewed,
he fertilized the lawn where one could walk barefoot,
without ever stepping on slimy, stinky doggy do.
Learned from my ex to only feed him dry dog food, too.

You wouldn't find Jazz begging for treats at the table,
but loved his monthly meds wrapped in cheese.
His toenails never needed to be cut or trimmed.
He ran ruts in the lawn chasing intruders with ease.

On outings, Jazz always kept me in sight.
An invisible leash that he held to quite tight.
He sensed that if ever in danger I was the one,
he would run to and jump in my lap just for fun.

I remember these dogs for their amazing ways,
will remember them always to the end of my days.

rwh 6/6/24

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Poem of the Week: 5/31/24

Charlatans

Prophets, preachers, pontiffs and proselytizers,
pontificating to those they know are just losers.

Comforters, conspirators, counselors all,
conspire to gather the weak to their call.

Imposters, inquisitors, influencers of ilk,
impose fantasies on others smooth as silk.

Politicians, pundits, spread their pall,
purging their opponents with a war call.

So many believers and so few with concern,
so many just following others to learn.

When will they ever recognize charlatans,
embedded in their midst like chameleons?

When will they ever think on their own?
When will they, their own mind, call home?

Answers to those questions is close at hand,
but when will free will overcome joining the band?

rwh 5/29/24

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Poem of the Week: 5/24/24

Remembering Maria

Maria Fernandez was more than sharp,
her Mayan heritage shown on her face,
and her way with numbers was so good,
it put even the best, in their place.

She came to me as my graduate assistant,
the very first from Belize to our school.
She distinguished herself with her work and study,
even flirted with me one day that wasn't cool.

Always trying to keep distant from my students,
I didn't respond to her initial, striking notion,
I could have married her sister who followed,
while Maria married well, someone of station.

One day, Maria came to me with her newborn boy,
on one of many visits to continue studying and employ.
She kept in touch like some students of mine did,
I was pleased with her success that she never hid.

When I learned of her tragic death, I was shocked.
Something that left her beloved community rocked.
The war on drugs forcing young people to gangs,
where lawlessness reigned over everything locked.

The sad truth is that Belize has fallen to ruin,
leaving so many countries devastated by our lust,
for a quick high thrill, money and guns,
promulgated by the very leaders we trust.

rwh 5/23/24

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Poem of the Week: 5/17/24

Bluebird

Bought a Bluebird at auction a long time ago,
refitted it all summer, welding cots in a row.

Painted it blue, to fit its name,
used it as his college apartment,
parking rent much less than the same.

When spring break came after winter's snow,
he signed up students who wanted to go.

Drove through the night from way up north,
to reach the southern border's warmth.

After a heated debate on where to go,
drove to Acapulco across Mexico.

Spent the week there on the beach,
Bluebird's crowded comfort within reach.

But some objected to cozy quarters,
where privacy no longer matters.

Drove them all home, some happy, some mad,
but an unbelievable adventure they had.

For all that long journey, day after day,
required only a fan belt fix along the way.

In the end, he made a profit in his Bluebird,
probably became rich for not being a nerd.

rwh 5/15/24

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Poem of the Week: 5/10/24

Military-Industrial Complex

Tear the military-industrial complex down!
Pull it up from its roots from the ground!
No longer let hate and arrogance rule the world,
destroying everything thought against, found.

Employed for defense for ownership un-found.

We cannot own the earth and its priceless ground.
We cannot use it anymore for personal wealth,
we are destroying ourselves and our very health.

There is no defense from defending by offense,
there is only misery, pain and regret.
Some of the world leaders are still aggressive,
and haven't figured out what is best, yet.

Until we grow up and tear the military complex down,
every year thereafter, we'll face every day with a frown,
And blame every problem on imaginary threats,
when we haven't figured out it's ourselves, with regrets.

How many have died in useless high-tech wars?
How many ideologies have failed from their own weight?
How many of our world's people actually hate other's guts?
How many years will we continue in the same old ruts?

Until we wise up and tear it all down,
you and I will watch the world get destroyed,
while we explode every giga pound.

rwh 5/9/24

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Poem of the Week: 5/3/24

Done That

So often it seems
I've done others' dreams.
Been there, done that
in a life full to the seams.

Rode the train into Union Station
like Abe Lincoln used to do.
Viewed his memorial alone at 2 am
descending Washington Monument, too.

Enjoyed bears three times in the wild
picked off a flying pheasant with a 22
caught a musky when I was only 13
walked beside a bull elk in Alberta, too.

Spent two days in the Cairo Museum
Dinosaur National Monument hidden gem
Pagsanjan Falls Japanese in long johns
El Fuego erupting from the air back then.

Enough Forrest Gump encounters
with great people from before
learning they are just like you and I
striving to know and do more.

Drove Northwest to Prince George
BC
Southwest all the way to San Felipe, Baja
Southeast to Miami, Northeast to Hartford
and everywhere in between much more.

I don't need a bucket list
having done more than most.
Have toured foreign countries
with local friends as my host.

I'm content with my memories
to write of the adventurous lore
that insatiable desire to know,
seeking, but finding so much more.

rwh 5/2/24

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Poem of the Week: 4/19/24

Pendulum Swings

Congresspeople on the cusp,
who's opposing who?
Pendulum swings one way,
and then, back again, too.

Just who is right and who is wrong,
I will leave up to you,
but you better not make the wrong choice,
if you want us to be happy, not blue.

Pendulum swings from right to wrong,
from good to bad like in the song.
Why pendulum swings from good to bad,
in spite of all of the data we've had?

The old seems to be new again,
in the eyes of the pampered few.
They cannot see innovation's role,
for we the peopleÉ all of you.

Do we want a bright new future,
or do we want the oppressive past?
answer is in how the pendulum swings,
when our final votes are cast.

rwh 4/18/24

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Poem of the Week: 4/12/24

Conjuring

It was written in stone, on clay tablets, papyrus,
parchment, linen, paper, plastic and in bits and bauds,
paintings, glyphs, of successful kills on cave walls,
accounts kept of possessions traded in simple stalls.

Bragging of emperors, kings and warlords of battles won.
Pronouncements of prophets, soothsayers, philosophers,
gurus, clairvoyants, preachers and influencers under the sun.
Putting words to what passed down legends had done period.

History written by those and for those only in control,
those written by opponents destroyed in the flaming toll,
that has taken more lives down through the ages,
than famines, pestilences, disasters in their deadly role.

Countless have read and reread the old documents,
coming to new conclusions to meet their current needs.
Conjurers continually stirring the pot to turn it their way,
while so many on the receiving end of injustice, bleeds.

rwh 4/6/24

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Poem of the Week: 4/5/24

Flower's Power

Can you imagine what it would be like,
if everyone knew the power of flowers,
to renew, encourage and excite?

To greet us in the morning sun,
with their cheerful faces open bright.
and their alluring fragrance spreading,
all day into the evening half-light?

Both a joy to see and smell,
while providing for the great and small.
Insects flourish from the nectar and pollen,
while hummingbirds hover above all.

If you see a wildflower where it shouldn't,
think twice before you cut it down.
For wildflowers are just like all the others,
serving all nature without a frown.

rwh 4/1/24

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Poem of the Week: 3/29/24

Time to Repair

When the smell of spring is in the air.
it's time to clean and what repair.
damage done by many winters' leave.
from base of the foundation to the eave.

A time to breathe easy, a time to mend.
A time to take stock, all the way to the end.
For to leave things in shambles is not right.
when we go into that deep dark night.

Put things in order and clear the cobwebs.
for all around, new life comes forth, ebbs.
Seasonal, not like the more often tides.
but also important for what there, abides.

So one can relax, turn face to burning sun.
bask in the summer heat one more time.
before this life, this life of plenty, is done.

rwh 3/28/24

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Poem of the Week: 3/22/24

Jack and Jill (Fractured)

Jack and Jill went up the hill,
to fetch a pail of water.
When they got there,
the well was dry,
unable to get what after.

It began to rain, so Jack kissed Jill.
Happily, they rolled on the wet ground,
doing more than kissing with laughter.

With two buckets full, and bodies, too,
they left the hill with merry chatter.
Jack slipped on the slippery slope,
fell, broke his crown, with Jill tumbling after.

At the bottom, Jill called for help,
with their empty buckets and disaster.
Three months past, and Jack recovered,
while Jill seemed to grow a bit fatter.

Nine months past; Jill could no longer go,
up the hill to fetch a pail of water.
Jack had to do that task twice each day,
only to return to coo at his daughter.

rwh 3/11/24

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Poem of the Week: 3/15/24

Winner

Who doesn't want to be a winner?
They preach we all are a sinner.
Do we have to sin to win?
A question swallowed with dinner.

For every winner, there are many losers,
to win, we have to be our very best.
But to lose, we are not really losers,
just didn't do our very best on the test.

But there are many kinds of contests,
we can always find one we are best at.
Where we can excel above all others,
become a winner from doing that.

Sometimes, it's only persistence.
Waiting out the odds for a very long time.
When we are the last one standing,
there is no competition anymore to find.

A winner by default, waiting it out,
is a wonderful strategy worth trying,
if your health is not in doubt,
before you make it, end up dying.

But if you perfect a single skill,
like memorizing trivia to the hilt,
and go to Scotland by the Moors,
may get higher scores in a kilt.

If you choose the middle road,
you will never be a winner.
But just another bit of matter,
out of the universe's inner.

rwh 3/14/24

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Poem of the Week: 3/8/24

Pondering

In the springtime, late-summer and fall,
I linger by the pond, pondering it all.

Watching how nature renews itself every year,
and then, marches through seasons clear.

With all of the creatures reaping the best,
of new birth, growth, maturity and harvest.

Before the cold winds of November blow,
in midwinter, most sleep beneath snow.

Those that don't, hanging onto life,
waiting for spring to end their strife.

All creatures, both large and small,
depend upon the pond for their all.

Many lessons can be learned,
Pond-side, pondered and earned.

For those that have or take the time,
the blessings are great, they find.

If everyone had a pond to contemplate.
Life would be so peaceful and great.

rwh 3/7/24

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Poem of the Week: 3/1/24

Hides of March

March may arrive like a lion,
sleeping off the last kill,
made while he was lying,
by the pride lioness's will

March Madness has nothing on,
the lunatic, crazy March Hare,
basketballs go bouncy-bounce,
my gloves lined with his soft hair.

I have no reason to beware the Ides,
it's just the 15th of the cyclic moon,
bad things happen to tanned hides,
Caesar ignored it's coming soon.

When the Saints come Marching in,
you won't find me in that number.
I'll be sitting with a tonic and gin,
watching birds and animals asunder.

March may go out like a lamb,
but I won't be fleeced just yet,
it will be April and Uncle Sam,
to try that trick, I firmly bet.

So, if you're hiding in a former,
March Hare secret rabbit hole.
Please let my hide get down under,
before that Eagle takes its toll.

rwh 2/29/24

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Poem of the Week: 2/23/24

Poem of the Week: 2/23/24

Death Race 2024

Every twenty years there is held in this place,
the almost dead presidents race.
They get together on a cold windy beach,
to compete for the prize within their reach.

This year the contenders rose before dawn,
before spring breakers or 500 race was on.
At the Daytona Beach to race to the end,
like the jalopies they drove around the bend.

Of the world as we know it and off the end.
Who would win the race, it would depend.
This year, the contenders were easy to spot,
all of the likely age, but Barack was not.

He was not experienced or wise enough,
to enter with the others in a race so tough.
With Bill, Dubya, Donald, Joe and Jimmy,
for winning this race was no easy, gimme.

Bill came riding on a rogue named Hope,
Dubya relied on a longhorn at a lope.
The Donald had a confiscated helicopter,
Joe had an 18 wheeler, Teamsters, the Pope.

They all laughed at Jimmy's peanutmobile,
burning genuine renewable peanut boil.
But he was the dark horse to win this race,
the oldest and wisest in the wholy place.

The race started with a furious pace,
where the Donald's bellow led the chase,
all up and down the beach his sunoranged face,
scattering spring breakers' from their peace.

But he was disqualified for defrauding the end.
Bill had too many harassment cases to mend.
Dubya's ride got dehorned, couldn't fend.
Joe's big rig broke down and passed wind.

Slow wins the race has always been true.
Jimmy and his slow boat cruised right on through.
Left nary a mark on the pristine beach sand,
sailed to the finish line with oblivion on hand.

Who may win in twenty years more is anyone's guess,
they might all pass off into oblivion leaving this mess.

rwh 2/22/24

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Poem of the Week: 2/15/24

Dinosaur Love

If we think of birds as lovey-dovey,
getting together in a friendly covey,
what about dinosaurs, did they love?
Won't get the answer from up above.

Feathers discovered on dinosaur remains,
making them more birdlike it seems,
roaming what is now the Great Plains.

Did they sit on their feathered nests,
sharing the warm hatching task,
we think only mothers know best?

Did they sing love songs and lullabies,
to each other and to their chicks?
From their skulls they could vocalize.

Did they guard their babies from harm,
from other of their kind so jealous,
to want to destroy their family's charm?

That was 65 million years ago or more.
Perhaps, we'll never know for sure.
But discovery surprises us all the time,
may find dinosaurs knew how to rhyme.
rwh 2/14/24

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Poem of the Week: 2/9/24

Borders

All creatures evolving on the earth,
are bordered by their circumstance of birth.
By river, mountain, ocean, heat or cold,
contained within these boundaries till old.

Birds of the air are free to fly,
but their flight territories bordered by.
Fish of the oceans free to swim,
but not free to swim in water's grim.

But humans have no borders, bounds.
Wherever we go, creating new towns.
We create boundaries with property rights,
with mores, edicts, laws and legal fights.

No limits to discovery of time and space,
finding out what boundaries need replace.
A fine line between grace and disgrace.
Ignorant mores and borders we must replace.

We must create borders by war no more.

rwh 2/8/24

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Poem of the Week: 2/2/24

Calm

Even after the worst storm,
there comes a time of calm.
When the sun breaks through,
bringing warmth, clear and new.

Life can be taxing this time of year,
with so many obligations bringing fear.
So many worries of things undone,
unexpected troubles on the run.

We need to set aside a time to think,
our place in the sun or a pleasant wink.
Leave for a few moments, din of the day,
let all your cares, just mentally drain away.

Some call it meditation, some call it, Zen,
whatever you call it, you need to get in.
Whenever you're feeling a bit overwhelmed,
a moment of calm and silence is held.

Think of our ancestors and what they went through,
our lives are like heaven compared to what they knew.
So just relax and float downstream for a while,
and turn that sour puss of yours into a smile.

rwh 2/1/24

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Poem of the Week: 1/26/24

Too Hot

When it rains, it floods.
When the sun shines,
land is parched and dry.
Mountains are crumbling,
rolling down to the sea.
The oceans are boiling,
edged with algae to fry.
One of our food sources,
as underground, we try.
And only go out in the sun,
with our titanium suits on.
Steel is rusting in place,
while plastic is everywhere.
Part of the food chain,
we were told to beware.
Our world is poisoned,
with our industrial waste.
We didn't know when to stop,
consuming in our haste.
Let the machines take over,
where we left off.
Perhaps things get better,
while we just cough.

rwh 1/25/24

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Poem of the Week: 1/19/24

I Want to Be a Drone

I don't want to phone home.
Don't want to live all alone.
Don't want to gas guzzle roam.
I want to be a drone.

Fly high overhead and see,
just what the bird's perspective be.
Be able to fly so wild and free,
a whole new world open to me.

Be more than a sky streaker,
much more than a loud speaker.
far more than a scene stealer,
more like a universal truth seeker.

Learn more about Earth, my home.

rwh 1/18/24

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Poem of the Week: 1/12/24

Cutting Back

When life becomes too complex,
we want to return to simpler ways.
Sometimes yearn for times gone by,
we think of as the good old days.

But like a favorite flowering bush,
improved by pruning here and there.
But often find that the new branches,
lead us down paths to beware.

Simplify, downsize, and give to the poor,
for you never know if you will arrive there,
overburdened with excess hubris,
could be someone else's good fair.

For when our time is over,
matters not what we have on hand.
It matters what we left behind,
was it stuff or something grand?

rwh 1/11/24

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Poem of the Week: 1/5/24

Winter Snow

Softly fluttering down,
through frosted windowpane.
All seemed a bit warmer,
than earlier, in the rain.

By morning covered over,
land all blended to white.
Transformation quite stunning,
muting fall's left over blight.

First thoughts were of sliding,
down the nearest hillside slope.
Even if only had cardboard,
a sled just a Christmas hope.

Knee-deep in every direction,
challenging a hunting stalk.
Getting up early in the morning,
to shovel clean the walk.

Sliding off the road,
getting stuck in the ditch.
Part of driving snow and ice,
cold to the bone winter witch.

Fairyland of winter beauty,
growing old near winter's end.
With dirty snow everywhere,
ice and slush snow's friend.

Spring warmth melting away,
crusty snow and ice to mud.
So glad to see the sun again,
with no more snow and crud.

rwh 1/4/24

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