Why I’m Not a Painter

If this poetry thing doesn’t seem to pan out,
then I’ll see what the fuss around dancing’s about.

But then if it seems dancing’s just not my thing,
I know I’ll succeed if I learn how to sing.

Of course, if my singing results in complaints,
I could see what it takes to start learning to paint.

But then if my paintings just fail to engage,
I’ll carve myself out a career on the stage.

Though if we find actors in oversupply,
I’m sure with some work I could learn how to fly.

But if, flapping my arms, I just fall down to earth…
I’ll go back and I’ll see what those poems are worth.

Order of Operations II

Women and children first, perhaps, but dessert not the least if the last.
Measure twice before your horse crosses the bridge too fast.
Be sure to count up all your chickens before you take that leap,
And look at the cart that’s here today when tomorrow it lands in a heap.
If you can save nine when a business bites once then you’ll find that a quick stitch in time
Will spill the milk over the hatching pleasures better late than never twice shy.
So you’d best be born yesterday like there’s nothing gone tomorrow,
And you’ll find you can fit a month of joy into a day of sorrow.
But just circle back at the end of the day, and you’ll find it’s that stage of the game
where whatever you do and whatever you say, it just turns out the same!

Two-Way Street

Poetry has a way of
making the world

interesting.
Start by imposing

your own meaning on it,
but then sit back

and let it show you
what it’s really made of.

Doomed

Of impending extinction a sign
is a species’ clear failure to rhyme.

The rare Purple Turtle
from the start was infertile.

And the Great Turquoise Tortoise
succumbed to rigor mortis.

The Curse of the Noodle

[for Bruno, and for all musicians who can’t keep their hands still]

Musicians all know of it, scary but true:
The Curse of the Noodle, ba doobie doo doo.

Just sitting quiet, guitar on your knee,
The Noodle is waiting, ba doobie doo bee.

You scoff if you think this might happen to you,
But the Noodle is coming, ba doobie doo doo.

And just when you shouldn’t play, I’ll guarantee
The Noodle draws closer, ba doobie doo bee.

Your fingers now stray—one note, and then two.
The Noodle will get you, ba doobie doo doo.

Rehearsal derailed, and you’re on a spree,
The Noodle has struck! Ba doobie doo bee.

Ba doobie doo baba doo baba dee doo,
The Noodle has claimed one more victim: it’s you.

The Abecedarian Choir

A is for Alice who solos alone
B is for Basil a bass to the bone
C is for Chris and his cri de la coeur
D is for Dixie behind a closed door
E is for Elsie who lisps like an eel
F is for Flora who has all the feels
G is for George who’s a bit of a grunter
H is for Hal who halloos like a hunter
I is for Isabelle whose voice is a spell
J is for Justin who’s still just not well
K is for Katie who carries the top part
L is for Larry who catches the dropped parts
M is for Mark who marches in place
N is for Ned who nods to keep pace
O is for Olive who knows all of the songs
P is for Pleasance who just plays along
Q is for Quentin the quietest tenor
R is for Rhoda a rhythmic dissenter
S is for Sophie soprano at heart
T is for Tristan who’s twisting his part
U is for Ursula’s long ululations
V is for Vladimir’s blessed cessations
W is for Winifred’s winsome reprise
X is for Xander who tries not to sneeze
Y is for Yasmine who yells at the men
Z is for Zach who starts over again

Wrong Notes: A Counting Rhyme

One is no problem—we all make mistakes.
Two still ain’t bad, but it gives me the shakes.
Three’s when it really starts getting less fun.
At four a soprano will call 9-1-1.
Five triggers worrisome heart palpitations,
and altos start doubling up their medications.
By six you’re reduced to hiding your face,
and once you hit seven, they make you a bass.
Eight makes an octave, but you’re off more than that.
Miss nine and the bank repossesses your cat.
At ten the conductor makes horrible scenes.
Eleven, it’s time to call in the marines.
But just miss a dozen, or anything higher,
and it’s bad news blues—you’re out of the choir!

In Case of Fire

In case of fire, break glass.
(Hopefully it was full of water, and can douse the flames.)

In a case of wine, keep glasses intact.
(You’ll need them, unless you plan to drink it all yourself.)

In case of a water landing, find something to inflate.
(Note that the nearest hot air bag may be behind you.)

In case of discrimination, call the police.
(They will have more criminals sent over immediately.)

In case of bad weather, remain indoors.
(It will leave once it realizes no one wants to play with it.)

In case of a tie, carefully extract each player, one limb at a time.
(If not playing Twister, have them review the rules.)

In case of a necktie, find another job.
(Preferably one with a more casual dress code.)

In case of disaster, re-aster as soon as possible.
(Seeds may be started indoors and planted outside after the last frost.)

In case of hyperbole, panic.
(There is literally nothing you can do and we’re all going to die.)

In the majority of cases, the minority is outnumbered.
(But most of the time that doesn’t happen very often.)

Anticipation

Tokyo 2020, to compete in the discus.
Unidentifiable sounds on the roof, the night before Christmas.
The perennial lottery: boy or girl?
The last nut on a tree nervously eyeing a squirrel.
Teenagers turning into adults.
A lugubrious doctor stalling before giving you your test results.
Using only a rope bridge and a blindfold to cross a gaping abyss.
Your first kiss.
Guards on city walls, tracking the approach of oncoming crusaders.
Substitute directing for a choir of 4th-through-8th graders.
A midnight trip to Uruguay.
Tomorrow’s lecture to 500 people on a subject you were introduced to yesterday.

Whether it lead to bright or dreary ends,
Anticipation itself can be quite an experience.

Afterwards

Porcupine petals and daffodil fur—
    I don’t think this is the way things were.
Elephant feathers and tusks on a jay—
    I’m positive they didn’t start that way.
Polkadot suit with a plaid top hat—
    I don’t think zebras should look like that.
Turkeys in tutus and minks in sarongs—
    Something just tells me that’s got to be wrong.

Parties are always a whole lot of fun,
    But there’s so much to tidy up after you’re done!

You

Who are you? What is your name?
What are you like? Perhaps we’re the same.

Do you roar like a lion when bedtime’s too soon?
Do you howl like a wolf when you see the full moon?
Are you wise like an owl? Quick like a cat?
Can you find your way through the dark night like a bat?
Do you slouch like a sloth when you’re just feeling tired?
Do you buzz like a hummingbird when you get wired?
Are you strong like a rhino? Fierce like a bear?
Can you climb a tall tree like a squirrel on a dare?
Do you swallow your lunch all at once like a snake?
Or in bits, like ants taking crumbs from a cake?
Can you run like a cheetah? Hop like a bunny?
Do you laugh like a loon when you hear something funny?
Are you graceful and elegant, poised like a swan?
Do you sing with the birds serenading the dawn?
Can you swim like a whale? Swing like an ape?
Can you fly like a hawk in your superman cape?

Well, judging by all of the answers you’ve stated,
I just have to say that—I think we’re related!

The Python

Here is quite a useful tip, about your average python:
       That judging by the shape of it, you know just what’s inside one.
The long and skinny ones, they can’t have eaten too much lately,
       But when the bulge looks like your Aunt, then you can pass by safely.

On Choosing a Pet

I asked my mom to buy a horse.
She says that there’s no room, of course.

The thought of owning a giraffe
just makes her shake her head and laugh.

And as for a rhinoceros,
she told me that’s preposterous.

When I brought home a wild yak,
she called Tibet to take it back.

I thought she’d like a cute red fox.
She threw him out and changed the locks.

And then that poor tarantula,
she drove off with a spatula.

I said “How ’bout an ocelot?”
but she just yelled an awful lot.

And when I caught that rattlesnake…
I’m pretty sure those tears weren’t fake.

I just can’t make my mom agree—
I guess that means she’s stuck with ME!

The Squid

Where’s the squid?
He went and hid.

Why?
He’s shy.

Was he embarrassed to run out of ink?
Yes, I think.

When his friends found him, what did they say?
It’s okay.

Did he feel better then, the squid?
He did.

The Three-Toed Sloth

I lounge in leafy luxury, atop my toothsome tree,
It’s luscious, yes, and languid, my arboreality.
For folivorous flavors I select amongst the best,
With suspended animation, I chew a bit, then rest.
Tri-dactylicly I clasp a branch, with bradypodal claws,
I lure the leaves down to my lips, then open wide, and… pause.

A Good Friday Blessing

May your Fridays be good, and your Thursdays be holy,
Your ambitions high, and the speed bumps lowly.
May your Mondays come late and the Saturdays early,
With the time in between spent more or less purely.
May your Tuesdays ignite in you zeal and zest,
To push on through Wednesdays and all of the rest,
And then when it’s Sunday, I pray that you’ll find
Renewal of energy, heart, soul, and mind,
As He renews gladness, hope, and mankind.

Goodnight, Gita

At night, Lord, when I go to rest,
remind me that I did my best.
Remind me always: every day
—in work or leisure, pain or play—
that everything I’ve done I do
so I can give it back to You.

Help me see that all my actions
(taken wholly, or in fractions)
are just simply mine to do—
results of them are up to You.
Then even when I’m in the act,
I’ll feel Your presence as a fact.

Today’s behind me: bad or good,
honored or misunderstood,
all of it I now release,
relaxing, and then finding peace
here in the thought that if I could
have done it differently, I would.

There’s one more bucket under bridge,
one less pudding in the fridge,
one more mistake I won’t replay
(or, not in that specific way),
and maybe one more good deed done,
a smiling glance that cheered someone.

So there You go, and welcome to it.
That’s my day, and it’s the truest
thing to say that I don’t mind
You taking credit for the kind
of things that every day I do:
they’re all just stepping stones to You.

What was the question again?

Absolutely, positively,
    You betcha, it’s a go,
Affirmatively, definitely,
    Yes ma’am, no problemo.
Do bears go catholic in the woods?
    Mm hmm, sure thing, why not?
I’d love to, bet your boots (or life),
    Of course, that’s what I thought.
Okey dokey artichokey,
    Yes indeedy, yeah,
Indubitably, by all means,
    Yes siree Bob, ja.
Aye aye sir, por supuesto,
    As you wish, mais oui,
Roger that, 10-4, amen,
    It’s sure okay by me.

On Elation

What can be said about elation
that the elated, seeking consolation
from their joy, will go to books for?
-Adrienne Su, “On Writing”

What can be said about elation
is less of joy than of vacillation

between itself and its opposite.
A strange fact of life is that

it’s a rollercoaster: if you seek
its pleasures, you’ll have also to take

its pains, the downs with the ups.
The need for consolation erupts

later, lower, past the laughter.
So why does so much “Art” try to plaster

the dark side of life on its billboards?
That is not the truth any more

than a false picture of everlasting
elation. The art we must master

is to find the joy within the sorrow,
that ever-present thread we can follow

that guides us to a state of oneness,
where opposites merge into fathomless

peace. Any state can be uplifted,
thus—and Art can be the catalyst

that carries us, reminds us in our fears:
this life is more than it appears.

Things I Have Replaced So Far This Month

Everything seems to be falling apart.
You want a list? Well, here’s a start:

The water heater sprung a leak.
A plumber fixed that just last week.

The public toilet also cracked,
so he did that too, and then went back.

A printer for receipts had lost
a crucial part, so it was tossed.

Two overhead fluorescent lights
impersonated gloomy nights.

The new A/C at least was meant
to be replaced, and so it went.

My laptop went insane before it died;
I couldn’t revive it, however I tried.

New MacBooks have no CD drive;
the SuperDrive broke when it arrived.

My router took its wireless cue,
and did the worst that it could do.

The one at work took up the theme,
and now is turning slightly green.

My apartment had its pipes replaced.
The walls are finally now refaced.

My LASIK-ed eyes of perfect glance,
Again need extra assistánce.

I’d like to swap my guitar strings…
But if things ain’t broke, then don’t fix things!