Tuesday, January 31, 2017


                     She’s such a little sweetheart, Tiggy is,
                     A cuddle-pup who sits beside my hip
                     In my recliner as I’m writing this
                     Inspiring me on my poetic trip.

                     But in another mode, she’ll be a hellion,
                     Cavorting with my mother-in-law’s two dogs
                     As if she were inciting a rebellion
                     And harrying squirrels as on our walks she shogs.

                    But at her sweetest, snuggled in our bed,
                    Pooped out from the adventures of her day,
                    Between both Kim’s and mine, she’ll lay her head
                    And with her fluttering paws keep ghouls at bay.

                        She’s Tegan, Tiggy, Tiglet—our sweet pooch
                        Who’s eager always for a hug and smooch.


Monday, January 30, 2017


                     That space and time go on and on and on
                     When contemplated may well blow your mind;
                     Such dismal vastness when pondered upon
                     Will make you wonder if it’s all designed,
                     And if that’s so, then to what rational end,
                     And are we human beings its highest goal,
                     For if so, then we surely need to mend
                     Since in our ragged state we’re less than whole,
                     And holiness lies further off, a dream
                     We wistfully believe we might achieve
                     And of human religion its high theme,
                     The grandest hope to which our kind can cleave,
                          And we’re too smart now not to realize
                          That Homo sapiens sapiens must grow wise.


Sunday, January 29, 2017


                     Like Donne and Herbert, Crashaw, Vaughan, I am
                     A Metaphysical in my own verse,
                     A formalist, as well, who gives a damn
                     About the lyric measures I disburse,
                     That they be musical in beat and rhyme
                     And that the meter and the meaning chime
                     While I consider mysteries and causes
                     Philosophers have pondered through the ages
                     But do so in the shapeliest of clauses
                     As sonorous ruminations fill my pages.
                          Though clever I may be, I realize
                          I still have far to go if I’d be wise.


Saturday, January 28, 2017


                    Death’s now a specter, lurking somewhere near,
                    A factor of the cancer that resides
                    Within my depths, an ever-present fear
                    That, despite hopeful treatment, still abides.

                    Now, given this, what’s there that’s best to do?
                    Awakened to the brevity of life,
                    What hopes and goals are worthiest to pursue
                    Instead of passing time with idle trifles

                    Such as this . . . or is this something more
                    Important than a hobby, but an art,
                    A daily way of probing to my core
                    Amalgamating both my head and heart?

                         A record, at the least, I will have left
                         So those I leave may be the less bereft.


Friday, January 27, 2017


                      To contemplate the marvel of our being
                      And of our cosmic Source beyond all seeing
                      Is an inevitable exercise
                      For Homo sapiens in growing wise,
                      Since cosmic wisdom we shall only see
                      From the perspective of Eternity.


Thursday, January 26, 2017


                    One day it dawns to wonder why we’re here,
                    And if by sciences we’ll figure out
                    Just how such complex creatures could appear
                    And if there’s elsewhere that such life could sprout,

                   Which reasonably, I think, must be the case,
                   Given the size of the known Universe,
                   And what’s beyond in that unfathomed space,
                   And what from its great womb it might disburse.

                   Although our potent sciences have yet
                   To verify the probability
                   That aliens with intellects like ours
                   Abound, we’ll find that out eventually.

                       Then when we’ve probed and penetrated space,
                        May what we find be a far kinder race.


Tuesday, January 24, 2017


                    I realize, while writing in this chair,
                    With Tig tucked by my hip, that I forgot
                    To feed the squirrels now waiting there
                    For the handfuls of nuts that I allot
                    Them every morning, freely cast about
                    The lawn and scurried after eagerly
                    While others in the trees still bray and shout,
                    Which I’ll interpret now as thanking me.
                    I’ve learned it’s best to keep Tiggy inside
                    Throughout this feeding frenzy of the squirrels
                    And Gyp as well, two dogs they can’t abide,
                    As much as such a romp would please our girls.
                         And thus our early morning ritual goes,
                         Which now has yielded something to compose.


Sunday, January 22, 2017


                    Don’t let a wayward syllable upset
                    The perfect harmony of your couplet
                    Which should proceed along with tripping ease
                    Through measures calculated by degrees,
                    But one misstep will awkwardly undermine
                    The otherwise perfection of your line:
                    Now if you have an ear for such precision,
                    You’ll note the word above that prompts derision.


Saturday, January 21, 2017


                    Rekindling each day my sense of awe
                    And marvel at this vital, teeming Earth,
                    Despite the curse of Death’s all-ravening maw,
                    I praise and celebrate its wondrous worth
                    And reckon elsewhere in the Universe
                    What happened here has also happened there,
                    And similar planets similarly disburse
                    Organic molecules, and on them fare
                    Creatures like us who have in time evolved
                    In sensibility and intellect
                    And, better yet, have amiably resolved
                    Those issues that for us have often wrecked
                    Our prospects for achieving amity:   
                    May they come here and teach us how to be.


Thursday, January 19, 2017


                    Rekindling each day my sense of awe
                    And marvel at this vital, teeming Earth,
                    Despite the curse of Death’s all-ravening maw,
                    I praise and celebrate its wondrous worth.

                   Although our Source remains a mystery,
                   Good orderly direction nonetheless
                   Invests the Cosmos with fecundity,
                   Perhaps an entity we can address

                   As God or Lord and thus personify:
                   Our Father in the vaporous heavens above,
                   The ruler of all realms beyond our sky,
                   Whose principal command is that we love.

                        We are the creatures of Creative Mind
                        And to produce like wonders are designed.


Tuesday, January 17, 2017


                      Again, our little cuddle-pup’s tucked in
                      Beside my hip, as I sit here to write,
                      Just pondering where my poem might begin
                      And whether aimed at insight or delight.

                      But now at hearing kitchen sounds
                      Suggesting that her breakfast’s being made,
                      She quickly lifts her agile self and bounds
                      Towards the spot where her food bowl is laid.

                      Though mundane as the subject of a verse,
                      This little episode, in after-years,
                       May be relived and serve then to disburse
                       More recollections of our bygone dears.

                            But wait!  Stay here in this delightful Now,
                            Enjoying this, before I take my bow.