The Day After Christmas



‘Twas the day after Christmas, when all through the house

Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse.

The stockings were flung on the floor without care,

The tree, once so proud, now stood lifeless and bare.

Little Sue’s dolly was missing her head,

John’s truck had a wreck when the batteries went dead.

There were boxes and ribbons and wrappings galore,

Huge mountains of trash on the pine-needle floor,

And ma in her undies, and me in the buff

Had just settled down–we’d had quite enough!

I’d had too much eggnog and fruitcake with nuts

And the fudge Patty made felt like stone in my guts.

When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,

I sprang from my bed to see what was the matter;

Away to the window I managed to trudge,

Tore open the shutters, and threw up the fudge.

The moon on the crest of the new-fallen snow

Gave the luster of mid-day to objects below.

When, what did my wondering eyes behold then,

But a huge garbage truck and eight garbage men,

With a little old driver, so lively and quick,

I knew in a flash it was garbageman Nick.

He was covered with filth from his head to his foot,

And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot.

A bundle of trash he had flung on his back,

And he looked like a hobo just toting his pack.

He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work–

Although when he saw me, he turned with a jerk,

And laying a finger aside of his nose,

He offered a gesture I cannot disclose.

He sprang to his truck, to his team gave a yell,

And away they all flew like a bat out of hell,

And there I stood naked, and framed by the sash,

With my gut full of pain and my house full of trash,

But I heard him exclaim as he drove out of sight,

“It’s last call for trash ‘fore we all go on strike!”


The End



I felt a rotting albatross around my neck was hung

The barrel of my .38 was pungent on my tongue

A deadly glass of poison was lifted to my lips

The suicide solution was at my fingertips

But then I realized in the pit of my despair

That suicide is pointless if there’s no one who would care

I found myself decided on a plan so cold and cruel

I grabbed my automatic and I strolled into the school

And all the while thinking that the world would surely heed

The pain that they’d inflicted to make me do this deed

And when the blood-bath ended it was time to end it all

And so I blew my brains out on the high school classroom wall

And now just like the albatross I’m rotting here in Hell

And yet the world remains unchanged as far as I can tell

Stubborn Norwegian



As I was walking home one night, a thunderstorm blew in,

But I would not be hurried though the rain would soon begin.

Lightning arced across the sky in splendid disarray

And for a moment night became as naked as the day,

And though the wind began to drive the rain against my face,

I challenged heaven’s fury, and I kept my steady pace.

The sky unleashed a deluge as the wind began to roar

And soon the blinding sheets of rain had drenched me to the core.

Eventually, the rain let up, the wind began to die

And soon a warm and gentle breeze began to clear the sky.

The stars came out like shining jewels, adorning heaven’s dome,

The storm had passed and now at last, I ran like hell for home!



ae833a2bfc6990113808223ed2083b97Thirty-eight years ago today, my young bride and I stood before a preacher in a friends living room in Mission Hills, CA, and exchanged vows. Since then, we’ve had three children and three grand-children, and a great life together. She passed away five years ago. I’m reminded of a little ditty I wrote for her:

My dear, I don’t care if we live on a prayer,

If our silverware’s just stainless steel,

If our diamonds are glass and our gold is but brass,

Just as long as our love is for real.

The Day that Time Ran Out



The hands of time stood deathly still,

The winds had ceased to blow,

And silence settled on the land

Like softly falling snow.

It seemed the ancient prophecies

At last had come about:

For all things stood just as they were

The day that time ran out.

And on that final, fateful day,

While at my desk at home,

I banged the keyboard frantically

To end this silly p




One day a logical man came to town,

He stopped at the bar and he bought us a round,

We talked all about the upcoming election–

We needed a man with a brand new direction!

He said, “Yes I know, we’re all in the same boat,

But it seems just a waste of my time to go vote.”

We all were appalled, and I asked the man, “Why?”

“Well, my vote doesn’t count, sir, unless there’s a tie,

And the chances of such are exceedingly small,

So you see my one vote doesn’t count after all.”

I jumped to my feet and said, “That may be true,

But tell me then, what if we all thought like you?”

The logical man sipped his beer, cleared his throat,

And shrugging his shoulders, he said, “Then I’d vote!”

Rhyme of the Ancient Astronauts



When we surveyed the planet Earth from deep in outer space

We found that she was giving birth, to you–the human race

And when we came down from above to teach you right from wrong

And show you of the ways of love and how to get along

You said you needed to be free to learn things on your own

And so we listened to your plea and left you all alone

But then, alas, when we returned, we found much to our horror

That what the human race had learned was weaponry and war

So now we watch you from afar, and patiently we wait

Perhaps we’ll wish upon a star while you decide your fate

Accidents do Happened



While driving down the road to town

One moonless summer night,

Oncoming cars, like shooting stars

Seemed merely streaks of light,

And as we passed, so close, so fast

Our lives depended on

That we remain within our lane

Or chance to meet head-on,

So now when I see cars go by

I check my mirror with care,

And hopefully, I’ll never see

An accident back there.


I like poems that rhyme, obviously.  Almost all of my favorite poems from The Raven to Invictus rhyme. I still like Dr. Seuss!  Well, it really boils down to whether the poem is good or not, whatever the form. Still, I have seen some poetry that looked like chopped-up prose. I guess everyone has their own preferences.

The Road to Destiny



The great white limousine rolled down the road to Destiny

And in it sat four revered men of great authority.

Religion and Tradition graced the seat that faced the rear

While in the back Philosophy and Science sat so near.

Now when the road became so rough that forward progress slowed,

Philosophy said, “Gentlemen, let’s try another road.”

“I think he’s right,” said Science, shuffling papers on his lap,

“I’ve been collecting data, and I’ve made a little map.”

Religion would not hear of it, ” ‘Tis blasphemy,” said he,

“For God himself has set us on this road to Destiny.”

“Religion’s right,” Tradition chimed, “it’s been agreed upon.”

And as they argued endlessly, the limousine rolled on,

And in the end, their driver, who was named Necessity,

Would find that he would have to choose the road to Destiny.