If you can read it, she will eat it.
She has a taste for books
and envelopes and papers.
They’re everywhere she looks!
They motivate her crawling.
They spur her to great heights.
(She also has an interest
in her mom’s reading light.)
She probably wonders why
we seem to really care
about those little markings
at which we often stare.
One day she’ll understand
why we do what we do.
It’s really quite simple:
we have a taste for books, too!
I Won’t Write a Poem Today
I won’t write a poem today.
I don’t care what you may say.
You may beg, but there’s no way–
I just don’t have time.
I have other things to do.
I’d rather clean out chicken poo.
All these things I say are true–
unless, of course, they rhyme.
This Could Be a Song
It’s been one of those days.
It’s been one of those weeks
when getting pushed down
has reached a peak.
We keep walking, talking
about where we ought to be
so that we keep moving, doing
what it takes to be free.
This could be a song.
Just put the words with notes.
Sing it to your children;
tell them this is how life goes.
Life sure takes it out of you
until something’s got to give.
Sing high, sing low, sing “We don’t know!
Lord, teach us how to live.”
Things fall apart.
They call it “entropy.”
Which is why we’re always running
out of energy.
And our lists get longer
as our patience runs thin.
It gets out of control, and all we know
is it’ll happen again.
This could be a song.
Just put the words with notes.
Sing it to your children;
tell them this is how life goes.
Life sure takes it out of you
until something’s got to give.
Sing high, sing low, sing “We don’t know!
Lord, teach us how to live.”
If we think it will be easy,
we won’t see this through.
We’ll be blind to what it takes
and what others have to do.
We might put off our serving
until our own needs are met,
Soon we’d be dying, finding
we’ve not been satisfied yet.
This could be a song.
Just put the words with notes.
Sing it to your children;
tell them this is how life goes.
Life sure takes it out of you
until something’s got to give.
Sing high, sing low, sing “We don’t know!
Lord, teach us how to live.”
Country Block
There is a country block
with a city on one corner
and my friends live on one mile
and my family on another.
Each day we do our best work,
working side by side.
We have each other over
for a meal most every night.
And on weekends we go swimming
in the ocean ‘cross the road
or go hiking on the mountain
on this country block I know.
Sunshine On a Cold Day
Sunshine on a cold day
can’t take all the cold away.
Socks are warm when freshly dried.
I pull them on and look outside.
Crystals swirl like dryer lint
and the sunshine makes them glint.
Eggs
Maybe they think it’s time for us to go.
Maybe they want to see us move far, far
away. Maybe they know.
Time to go wash the eggs off the car.
Maybe they think that all we have is trash.
Maybe they think that that is who we are.
Someday (maybe) they’ll know.
Time to go wash the eggs off the car.
Poems for Sale
Poems for sale!
Fresh poems for sale!
Order them
by pigeon mail.
I’ll tie them to
your pigeon’s tail,
and send him back
on the next light gale
so they’ll come fresh–
not one bit stale.
Yes, that is how
I’d pay my bail
if I were in
the county jail.
Poems for sale!
Yes, poems for sale!