Making Her Mad (Again)


She frowned at me and said,

“Sometimes you know just

What to say to make me mad!”


Ergo I answered her thusly,

“I’m dubious, woman, that

Any scientist or magician,

Much less yours truly could

Contrive some technique to

Compromise the integrity

Of your ample brain case

And commence a rewiring

Of your emotional circuits

To enable us to assume

Command of your helm–

All just to make you mad;

You do it all by yourself.”


She lost her temper

At my words and said,

“You just did it again!”




Thanks to my mead-swilling ancestors,

I had a predisposition to drink.

One day I was found face-down

In the middle of a busy street,

And later blew a point four five

On the way to the hospital–

A lethal dose–but I survived

Thanks to my mead-swilling ancestors.

the spell

young witch

there at her table

in soft candlelight

she peers at her crystal

and scries

her chalice and athame

gleam in the night–

she is young

but incredibly wise

she sees a dark man

who had murdered his wife

and is hiding inside some motel

so she calls on the goddess

the giver of life

for the power she needs

for a spell

she takes up her clay

and she makes a small doll

then she binds it with thread

and a knot

she draws down the moon

and looks into the ball

and she calls for the man

to be caught

she won’t cast a spell

that would hurt anyone

but she will ask

that justice be done

she knows to do harm

would be harming herself

for we all are connected

as one

A Curious Man


One day a curious man came to town;

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

We talked all about the upcoming election–

How 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 us, then, what if we all thought like you?”

The curious man took a drink, cleared his throat,

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


The Lesser Sin


The white-haired old lady

Cradled the lilacs

In her arms and wept.

For some reason

She thought I had

Brought them to her

From the old farm

Where she grew up.

“Thank you so much,

Young man,” she sobbed,

“You have no idea

what these mean to me.”

She squeezed my hand.

And there, in her eye,

Something magical!


I had really picked

The lilacs right outside

The building, but she

Touched my soul,

So I chose the lesser sin,

And quietly left.