The Emperor of Poems

I finished with my reading of your prose -
Your latest now composed for all to see,
And almost all of those you know agree
There flows profundity from words you chose.
So cleverly your thoughts you did expose
Their meaning from before my eyes did flee.
But devotees would think you walked the Sea
of Galilee and on the Sabbath rose.

Emperor's clothes, your poems, like in the story,
Are senselessness. You strut them out immense
In their pretense, a void shown in glory.
No consequence for you.  No innocents
Calling out your poems are desultory.
Amongst the dense, you reign with providence.

Glad

Thank you, God, for making me a female,
One that's strong and cheerful and alive!
The weaker sex? I guess!  If being frail
Serves me. I can anything contrive!
Tire flat?  Out of gas?  I use
Femininity when in a fix.
I do it oh so charmingly - this ruse-
Used by clever chicks. It's politics!
Those that share my gender cast a spell,
And in our sex are pleasant aspects found.
In art of conversation we excel.
By friendship and by loyalty we are bound.
Penis envy?  Me?  I like your plan,
God; I'm glad you made me not a man.

Beach Days and Creatures Slain

The car I'm in is headed for the sea.
Sun of Washington neath a woolen hood.
Sky and I are grey and nothing's good.
Next- in a museum is a murderee-
A deer, neck clenched by teeth; she cannot flee.
First memories are these from my childhood.
Below that captured doe I stood and stood,
Captured too by the blood and morbidity.
Why they had to force me from that scene
Of Grizzly on his prey, I can't quite say.
My facade is cheerful and serene.
No fearfulness or hopeless sad display
Would I essay, and yet there is unseen
A child that surveys a bleak beach day.

Dreaming Dale

My mother's second marriage and a godsend!
One became my mom's devoted son.
Sharp, exuberant, red-haired, and fun.
To everyone he met a truer friend
Could not be had than he who would defend
Righteousness, who with steadfastness won
Success.  In life, he would not be undone
Until he met with Fate, an early end.
Struck and life snuffed out and all aghast.
It finished fast-no time to blink; inhale!
He passed beyond the veil with wisdom vast
(What treasure you amassed, beloved Dale).
Though in my dreams with us here he is cast,
‘Tis there he serves our God and does prevail.

The Test of Martyrs' Faith

What horrors met by saints of early days-
Be slain or fed to beasts or nailed to trees!
I fathom not the dread my breast would seize
On being led, then dragged and set ablaze;
To hang from a stake and gag in the stinking haze.
Did they try to flee or instead fall on their knees,
Beseech God grant them courage. . .courage, please
to stand the ghastly fate of devotees?
And would I gainsay Christ to escape such doom?
I cannot say; my faith as a gospel bearer
wavers though I know quite well to whom
I owe devotion.  Faced with the tomb. . . with terror,
Oh, would I bravely go to join the groom
Whose bridal gift than all earth's best is fairer?

To Write Like Shakespeare

A time I wrote a sonnet someone said
It seemed the style of one whom I admire,
That writer world-renowned, now centuries dead
And silver-tongued, whom I would dare aspire
To emulate, and would I could approach
In quantity one-tenth of what he wrote,
Its quality beyond the least reproach,
My words sweet fruits served up in a compote.
To simmer with precision every phrase,
Then cunningly arrange them as my goal
To fit the mold of Elizabethan days-
This role I wish to play with heart and soul.
A sonneteer of note I long to be
And fill the world with lyric potpourri.

Latest Addiction

So much I have to do and every day
Like exercise, do chores, and go to work.
I also watch TV, and eat and play;
That latter group I surely do not shirk!
But then along that new contraption came
Which soon appeared in almost every house,
And life since then has never been the same.
We want an answer; simply move the mouse.
Yet too much knowledge makes me feel undone;
There's only one thing I'm addicted to.
A seasoned letter-writer, I have fun
When sending instant messages to you.
My thrill is getting E-mails from a friend.
I never want to see it have to end!

Crackers For Carrots

If carrots peeled for dipping, cut in strips
Could keep their beta-carotene, yet taste
Like crackers Ritz when placed upon my lips,
What bliss!  But they do not. Ah! - such a waste!
And if that low-fat yogurt which they're dipped in
Were luscious onion-flavored sour cream;
Instead of drinking water I sipped sin-
A frothy shake the flavor of my dream;
The nectar on my tongue that I would feel
If everything nutritious tasted sweet,
And dull or nasty foods could just taste real
Like melted cheese, potatoes fried or meat.
If only what I hated tasted good,
I'd diet not, but eat all that I could!

Freya's Peace

My vision this is Freya in her house;
A pastoral tranquility the sound
Surrounding pretty Freya and her spouse.
A gentle cloud, she floats around and round,
Moves room to room, and drifts upstairs to down.
She has no need to fret or rush about.
A countess she can be and don a gown;
Inside her ballroom dance and not go out.
And in a garden spot when troubles mount,
Perhaps she sits; for solace, writes, head bowed
Or dips a brush in paint, and by her count
Is showered with the all that love's allowed.
For in the lovely manor; on its grounds
Imaginings and dreams can know no bounds.

Heir to the Magic Kingdom

From England's realm he came with poetry
To grace our little kingdom on the Net,
Wherein we spoke in rhyme or verse done free.
And he was like no other I had met.
His muse had gifted him a special flair.
And whether he depicted pain or pleasure,
He made us think, or laugh, or simply care.
Inventiveness he showed; it was his treasure.
He has sarcastic wit, and yet he's mild;
A king of gypsies searching for his soul,
Wise yet meek and playful as a child.
Our empress' heart he touched and then he stole.
We do not know his face, so love is blind
To his physique; we love instead  his mind.

Greed Speaks

Oh, gimme, gimme, gimme, gimme this,
And gimme, gimme, gimme, gimme that.
If anything there be that I should miss,
I'll send you back to get it; I grow fat . . .
Voluminous I seem, for I am greed;
Your neighbor's car and house and lawn I want,
And more than what he has becomes my need.
Without it ALL I know I shall grow gaunt.
Because I am a void you cannot fill,
Incessantly I clamor to be fed.
A demon and unseen, I'm growling still;
Unsatisfied, I'll scream into your head.
I'll grasp and squeeze and bleed your inner core
Till Charity who clung can stay no more.

Sonnet on a Lost and Found at Gold's

I called you guys today (misplaced some lotion).
I figured it was there where I'd just been.
I thought between the devil and the ocean
Were you.  To tell me straight would be a sin!

"I cannot say,"said someone, "if it's here."
I asked, "But can't you take a look and see?"
"I cannot tell you on the phone, my dear."
I asked why not; she said, "It's policy."

I next spoke to the manager and learned
In case what I described by phone were not
a one they'd thought to be mine; they'd be burned
Were I to say, "You've lost what I have sought."

So do you not have lotion there, or do you?
I swear no matter what, I will not sue you!