I AM IAMBIC

                    One day he realized that all he spoke
                    Came out iambically in beats of five,
                    Which made him wonder if something was broke-
                    en in his brain—or was he more alive?

                    So many years of writing sonnets might,
                    Day after day, have finally realigned
                    His neural passageways to cause this plight,
                    Altering the foundations of his mind.

                    But then he thought, “Well, this might not be bad;
                    I might get more attention when I speak—
                    Who knows, indeed, I might start a new fad
                    And make our daily lingo much less bleak.

                         But, then again, this might be thought a curse—
                         Though of all evil spells, one could do worse.”

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VERSATILITY

                    I’m not swinging for the fences with each poem;
                    A single or a double suits me fine,
                    So long as I eventually make home
                   Tagging each base, completing its design.

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CURIOSITY

                    How much of what I say do our dogs know
                    When I talk to them all throughout the day,
                    At home or on our walks with me in tow
                    As we go on about our merry way?

                   One word I know for sure they know is “No!”
                   By which they know that something’s not okay:
                   It’s not to do, or somewhere not to go,
                   And what I hope they know they should obey.

                   It’s not that I’m a boss who domineers,
                   Wanting to keep them from their kinds of fun;
                   It’s only when some dangerous thing appears,
                   Something to eat or drink they ought to shun,

                        That I protest and act imperious,
                        For dogs, like cats, can be too curious.

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RECIPROCITY

                    To pet a happy dog will warm your heart,
                    Eliciting her groans of gratitude;
                    It’s how to get off to a friendly start
                    And how to pass an idle interlude.

                    A dog will teach you how to keep in touch
                    By making your affection palpable;
                    Whether your home’s a mansion or a hutch,
                    It’s only happy if your heart is full,

                   And that is what a pup or dog can do:
                   It doesn’t matter where you might reside
                   Or what activities you might pursue;
                   So long as there’s attention you provide,

                       A dog will love in ways few people do
                      With loyalty that’s palpable and true.

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BEYOND INFORMATION

                    The World Wide Web, a wondrous resource
                    For those desiring to stay up to date
                    On breaking news or follow the long course
                    Of history or prep for a debate,

                    Is, nonetheless, not all that humans need
                    To fare well in our foremost enterprise,
                    For it takes more than knowledge to succeed:
                    Our paramount endeavor’s to grow wise.

                    A Global Wisdom Culture is our goal,
                   To be not only well informed but good,
                   Apprised of what makes human beings whole:
                   Knowing not what we might, but what we should.

                       What then’s the foremost project of a mind?
                       Our greatest sapience is to grow kind.

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MAGIC IN THE WEB II

                    There’s magic in the web of formal verse:
                    A sonnet, say, will almost write itself;
                    The meter and the rhyme scheme soon disburse,
                    As if delivered by a fay or elf,
                    Whatever matter’s necessary for
                    The trope or notion that you have in mind:
                    For themes pedestrian or those that soar,
                    This kind of verse is readily designed.
                    It’s true, though, that your mind must be prepared,
                    Well stocked with sundry terms and turns of phrase,
                    So rhyming words may be so aptly paired
                    That every auditor you might amaze.
                         Or if it’s not so easy as I say,
                         You should devise to make it seem that way.

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HIGHER PURPOSE

                        Feeling disoriented and off course,
                        Lacking in purpose and in energy,
                        Your best move is to reconnect with Source,
                        Your inner guide toward true prosperity.

                        Some call it Conscience, others Providence
                        Or both—an inner and an outer mode
                        Of apprehending by some clearer sense
                        A higher destination and its road.

                       The first thing is to quiet your roiled mind
                       Till consciousness grows placid and serene,
                       And ultimately it becomes aligned
                       With higher purpose, clarified and keen.

                            At that point you’ll feel lifted by elation,
                            A sign you’ve found your spiritual vocation.

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TOWARD WISDOM

                    What is the next step in mankind’s advance
                    To raise our consciousness and grow more sane?
                    What higher qualities may best enhance
                    The chances we’ll evolve to be humane?

                    The fate of the whole Earth depends upon
                    Our realizing our full sapience,
                    Growing to be our planet’s paragon
                    So a new Golden Era may commence:

                    A Global Wisdom Culture will instill
                    Those principles and practices that lead
                    Us surely toward an era of good will,
                    For only such a mindset can succeed.

                        Not only heads but hearts must be transformed;
                        Minds must be clarified and cockles warmed.

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KNOWING AND FEELING

                It’s so amazing that the human race
                Has entered into cosmic time and space:
                At last an intellect to comprehend
                How things originate and where they tend,
                Someone to speculate and then construe
                What is imaginary, what is true,
                Inventing science as a means to know
                Then comprehend in time the whole shebang
                Of which our epic poets merely sang.
                Where poetry leaves off, our science starts
                And gratifies or heads if not our hearts—
                Though poets still will have the final word:
                While heads may know, our hearts too must be stirred.

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ARE WE ALONE?

                       There’s no way life on Earth can be unique
                       Throughout the vast infinitude of space,
                       And now we have good instruments to seek
                       Out evidence of such a cosmic race,
                       Who may by now have even found us out
                       In spaceships from some galaxy afar,
                       Though yet such evidence remains in doubt
                       And most reports less credent than bizarre.
                       I’d say a wiser race would bide their time
                       Until humanity had grown sane
                       And able to discern what’s more sublime,
                       Taking our culture to a higher plane.
                            For only then might we deserve to learn
                            What truly noble creatures can discern.

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HOMO SAPIENCE III

                    Just think of all the progress that we’ve made,
                    We human beings, through our intelligence,
                    And yet there’s reason we should be afraid
                    For what we often lack in common sense:

                    Were it more common, we should realize
                    The senselessness of rivalry and hate;
                    We’d seek for ways to demonstrate we’re wise
                    And in our homo sapience grow great.

                   The solitary ego seeking power,
                   Estranged from fellowship, devoid of love,
                   Is motivated only to devour,
                   To crush opponents with an iron glove.

                        Our only hope as humans to grow wise
                        Is via love and all that love implies.

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SPREZZATURA

                         It’s true we are a most amazing race,
                         In spite of our primordial disgrace:
                         We’ve learned to travel now in outer space,
                         And on the Earth there isn’t any place
                         We won’t explore or danger won’t embrace
                         Or when it comes to rhyming (in this case)
                         We’ll aim to pull it off without a trace
                         Of strain as line to line we interlace
                         Exhibiting the most amazing grace.

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MELODRAMA

                   Things start our happily, but then soon turn
                    If not to tragic, yet to grave concern,
                    As our beloved hero is beset,
                    Snared in some wily evil-doer’s net.

                   Anxiety and suffering ensue,
                   And no one can discover what to do
                   To extricate themselves from such distress
                   Or how such wickedness they might redress.

                   Then comes at last a turn of circumstance
                   By acts of cunning or perhaps by chance
                   Revealing happily a way toward grace,
                   A path for saving lives or saving face.

                       In melodrama, one thing’s always sure:
                       That happily-ever-after will endure.

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WALKIES II

                    We take our daily walkies morn and eve,
                    The dogs and I, not only to relieve
                    Their bowels and let them pee, but also to
                    Take in the scenery and have them do
                    Some socializing with our neighbor dogs
                    Or listen down the drain for croaking frogs,
                    Or sometimes roll upon a new-mown lawn
                    Or track where other critters may have gone.

                    Each walk’s a new adventure boding some
                    Excitement or surprise about to come,
                    And only if it suddenly starts to rain
                    Does eagerness convert to clear disdain,
                    And we beat our retreat at trotting speed
                    Back home, pronto, each vying for the lead.

*

AFTER WATCHING
AMERICAN SNIPER

                        There’s nothing any meaner to deplore
                        Than the ugly phenomenon of war,
                        Despite it’s often being glorified
                        And held by many as a source of pride.

                       It’s true that valor, heroism can
                       Accrue in warfare to a valiant man
                       Who risks or sacrifices in such strife
                       His own security or gives his life.

                       But more heroic still are those who cease
                       Such sinful violence and seek for peace:
                       Peacemakers are the heroes of our race
                       Who teach us how in friendship to embrace
                       Our former enemies and realize
                       That only amity and peace are wise.

*

BACKYARD DRAMA

                    It isn’t so much birdsong that I hear
                    Out the back door, although it comes from birds,
                    But rather it’s a caucus moved by fear,
                    A tone expressed almost as clear as words.

                   Some renegade (most likely it’s a cat)
                   Is prowling in the yard upsetting them,
                   An agile and a stealthy acrobat
                   Possessed by some malevolent stratagem.

                   But suddenly it’s silent.  Danger’s passed.
                   Then all the ordinary sounds resume
                   With no more malefactors to be sassed
                   And nothing signaling impending doom.

                       The squirrels now caw and chitter as before
                       With nothing any longer to deplore.

 

*

UTOPIA

                         Utopia’s a place that never was
                         And yet we must imagine it because
                         A better world than ours will never be
                         Without the guidance of a fantasy
                         Envisioning what we might realize
                         By cultivating mores that are wise.

                        A Global Wisdom Culture would entail
                        Customs where love and sanity prevail;
                        Instead of greed and heedless practices,
                        Cooperation is the emphasis,
                        Concern that everyone be well supplied
                        By all that generous natures can provide.

                            Utopia’s a place that yet may be
                            But only if we’re ruled by charity.

 

*

HEAVEN

                              If only we could be enough profound
                              To find a way to Heaven on the ground
                              Instead of seeking for it in the sky,
                              We’d have it here and now, not by and by.

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CHAUCER’S IMMORTAL STORIES

                    The Miller, Pardoner and the Wife of Bath,
                    Among the sundry other pilgrims on
                    Their way to Canterbury, rode a path
                    Of immortality, and though they’re gone
                    (Or never were indeed), what Chaucer did
                    Imagining them, undying now in verse,
                    Will never be forgotten (God forbid!)
                    Since each new generation will rehearse
                    And relish what may seem like history
                    But flowed from an imagination steeped
                    With lore and colored by rich fantasy
                    So when well read, off from the page it leaped,
                    And now and ever after will delight
                    Our hearts and our imaginings excite.

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