Original Poems

Sonnet Boom

 across the pages, towering and slow,
 the words and phrases, measured and precise;
 the aching, felt first centuries ago,
 contained within a uniform device

 that tells what beats and syllables to use.
 although some variations are allowed,
 some things to add, a few that you can lose,
 pentameter, both lyrical and proud,

 contains within its limits, all the joys
 that human kind can feel, as well as fears
 that join into our hearts' increasing noise,
 this golden mix of love and hope and tears.

   these voices, who could not imagine us,
   that we don't understand, but still, discuss.
 while little we predict may yet come true,
 we confidently state that this or that
 is bound to happen, plain as blue is blue,
 and rarely see we're wearing the tin hat

 that indicates we may be way off base.
 but reinforcement comes: the internet
 is good for that. whatever be your case
 there's someone who agrees, and who'll abet.

 so being wrong's a cottage industry:
 a chance to bark, to posture, and to fight;
 we join into this ill community
 and rather would "be right" than "get it right".

   but all of it's unreal, except the mess
   that comes from words carved out of emptiness

Original Poems

The Model Life (5)

 Come sit beside me, let me see you smile,
 If you have one inside that you could share;
 We've been so busy, it has been awhile
 Since we could be together, and be there
 The ways we need to do, to show we care.
  For there's been much to do for you and me
  In these strange times of such uncertainty.

 So let's put down these tablets for a bit.
 The day is young, the night is still at bay.
 And we can take in every ounce of it
 And, maybe, have some fun along the way:
 It's good to work, but just as good to play.
  Together, as we used to do before:
  And, just like then, to sleep still wanting more. 

Original Poems

The Model Life (4)

 I don't deny I love the way you look
 And though it's said to be but shallow praise
 Just one encounter was all that it took.

 The time has passed, now: all the years, the days,
 And still I love to see you being you,
 With all your many attitudes, and ways.

 For what's most beautiful is what is true:
 Not posing, but existing, as you are,
 And how engrossed you are in what you do.

 We have been through a lot, and we've come far:
 You're still my day's bright sun, and night's best star.
Original Poems

The Model Life (1)

 My wife used to be a model,
 But then she grew to hate
 The profession as demeaning
 What it pretends to celebrate.

 And yet, she'll say in passing
 That it wasn't always bad; 
 That for paychecks and for travel
 She was really very glad --

 I know it's not simple, like
 Brief sunlight in bad weather:
 But many things in life consist
 Of good and bad

Original Poems


 we tolerate most anyone
 who'll join in and discuss
 whatever might be on their mind --
 if that agrees with us.

 for with our type of "tolerance"
 there's no one quite a hero,
 since now, we rarely use the word
 unless it's led by "zero" --

 but maybe it's still possible
 to brook some disagreement:
 and let those others think their thoughts
 and just not be