Zug Island

Take me there, please, where men cough and wheeze,

Where emissions and smoke swirl and dance on a breeze,

Where girders and stacks and pipes are the trees;

An oasis of these is Zug Island.

Spellbound, I gaze ‘cross the strait where I stand,

To a factory island — no beaches, no sand;

Instead a fine film of dark soot coats the land.

Life would be grand on Zug Island.

The warm orange glow of a flame paints the sky,

Cargo ships laden with steel pass me by,

A blast furnace calls; I can hear its faint cry. 

My fantasies lie on Zug Island.

Gas, stench, and steam are its gifts to the air.

The River Rouge issues a toxic flow there,

And you may find verdant land, but it's rare.

No worry or care on Zug Island.

 

Zug Island Revisited

  

No beauty I see in these nightmarish scenes

Of smoke-blackened buildings and monstrous machines,

Hills of scrap metal and rusty ravines;

No ends, only means on Zug Island.

A sample of air shows traces of lead,
Forecasting storm clouds of danger ahead;
Left to continue unchecked it will spread.
My heart beats with dread for Zug Island.

Then there are strange haunting noises therefrom,
Described as an eerie rumbling and hum;
A monotone drone, in scorn named by some -
The Devil's Steel Drum on Zug Island.

Weigh the effects and consider the cost;

The resources, trees, and land we exhaust,

The water and air, polluted and lost.

What bridge have we crossed to Zug Island?

Tinseled Trash

Strip the garland from the garbage

and the tinsel from the trash.

Lose the perfume from what's putrid
and adornment from the ash.

Drop the spangles from the sewage
and what's gilded from the grime.

Take the ribbon off the rubbish

and the sequins from the slime.

What you're left with has no value,

of no use and of no need;

An emporium of emptiness

produced by corporate greed.

Stores are stocked with trifling trinkets,

 And our homes with junk as well;
A consumerism nightmare
From a plan laid out in Hell.

 

Once I saw a UFO

 Once I saw a UFO,
It flew from sky to sky.
I could not say to where it went,
It simply left my eye.

Late that night, while sound asleep,
I felt a presence near;
It probed my brain, it scanned my form,
From back to feet to ear.

Suddenly, there came a thought:
Sleep paralysis was this.
It was a dream and nothing more;
I drifted back to bliss.

UFOs yes, space creatures no;
A fact needs proof to be.
From countless stars and galaxies,
No aliens we see.

From Bach To Bieber

I don’t understand how some fans can rave,
for the pop star they call Justin Bieber.

J.S. Bach himself must roll in his grave
and in disbelief cry, “Ach, du lieber!”

The Illegal (A Parody Poem)

He grasps the bag with crooked hands;

Close to the cash that he demands,

Wrong'd by the lawful world, he stands.

The silent bank alarm now calls;

He watches cops outside the walls,

And like a culprit dolt he falls.

  

The Eagle by Alfred, Lord Tennyson:

He clasps the crag with crooked hands;

Close to the sun in lonely lands,

Ring'd with the azure world, he stands.

The wrinkled sea beneath him crawls;

He watches from his mountain walls,

And like a thunderbolt he falls. 

Advice On Playing The Lottery

Don't wait till you're old and tottery,

With bones as brittle as pottery,

And eyes so weakened and watery.

Play now dammit! Win the lottery!

Tuscany Days

 Vivid views softened by late summer haze
help me imagine these Tuscany days.

Autumn mums add to a flowery scene —
a scene from a place where I've never been.

Sampling some cheese and a Classico wine —
our cedars become rich grapes and a vine.

The lawn's a meadow of grasses and herbs;
a sanctuary that no one disturbs.

Cracked asphalt becomes a cobblestone lane,
leading to this — our "Italian" terrain.

Under an awning, we sit and unwind,
savoring moments with no cares in mind.

Strains of Vivaldi's Four Seasons are heard
in counterpoint with the song of a bird.

All beheld from a small bistro table,
playing its part in this Tuscan fable.

Strip The Frip

Some people say that the clothes make the man.
Put on a suit and voila! Dapper Dan.

Oh, doctor, lawyer, firefighter, priest;
Shed those costumes, are you somehow decreased?

Doff civvies, don uniform, and one becomes
A serious soldier. Cue brass band and drums!

I love being naked; you get what you see.
I am what is happening. It's what defines "me."

Clothes can be a visual comment on wealth;
Be the Gymnosophist for spiritual health.

Come right out of nature and lay bare your souls.
Don't be fooled by facades. Don’t get trapped in your roles.

Free the body of the frippery it loathes. 
Strip the frip. Live now. Don’t be “made” by your clothes.

Marianne's Song

 

Dwelling in this restful place,

time and time I see your face,

and again I am reminded

of a precious love so rare.

As two flowers that bloom as one,

living on through cloud and sun;

an example of affection,

is the treasured life we share.

Like the softness of a mist

are those cherished lips I've kissed —

you remain my special someone,

holding me in your embrace.

Life’s busy stream does freely flow,

containing fears and cares although,

one comfort there is everlasting;

your tender touch of charm and grace.

Rhyme For An Orange

Reading a play on a Labor Day Picnic,

I take time to peel an orange.

 And now, having savored two segments of it,

Back to act three and some more Inge.

Gregory 1954 - 2019

Like the night sky bejeweled with starlight

Won't display ‘til the bright day is gone.

So it goes with the loss of a loved one —

Memories after death will shine on.

‘Twas my fortune that I had a brother;

‘Tis misfortune that we’re now apart.

Yet fraternal bonds keep us together

And lend strength to my grief-laden heart.

Worcester To Woonsocket

When travelling from Worcester to Woonsocket,

you don't need to ride a great moon rocket.

You need only wheels. More precisely,

a car or a truck would do nicely.

To tour the sublime Blackstone Valley,

you don't need to join a road rally.

A single car; that's what I'm thinkin’

will get you from Mendon to Lincoln.

A journey to Glocester from Leicester — 

by jet plane? — Oh, surely you jest, sir.

You need not be wise or omniscient,

to see that a car is sufficient.

Would you steer a speed boat down river

from Uxbridge, intent to deliver 

yourself to the town of Pawtucket?

I say go by car, or else truck it.

Mirror In The Morning

Mirror in the morning,

What face do you reflect?

A keen enquiring visage,

That does study and inspect.

As I stare and wonder,

At the likeness in your shine,

I’m fraught with thoughts confusing;

Which eyes are really mine?

Flashing form and figure,

From a surface smooth and thin,

What would your picture be without

My experience within?

So when at last I leave you,

What fills your glossy plane?

With no one to peer and ponder,

What does that glass contain?

Mirror In The Evening

Once again I’m taken

To the mirror in my room.

And gaze upon the image there;

The self that I assume.

The countenance is strange to me;

This reflection I behold.

Signs of age are posted there;

Once young, it now looks old.

Is it “my” face in the mirror?

Is my being captured there?

Or is it an illusion,

Born of One that is aware?

These thoughts and doubts do blind me

Even though my eyes are clear;

Lost in an optic echo,

Far away from now and here.

Butterfly, Butterfly

Butterfly, butterfly,

Flitter gently, flutter by.

Wondrous sight, wingèd sprite,

Grace my view, oh flow’r in flight.

Butterfly, Butterfly,

Float the breeze and beautify.

Stop and start, dip and dart,

Your display is nature's art.

Enlightenment Sleuth

Seeker of Truth — Enlightenment Sleuth;

to what ultimate goal do you climb?

Is it not here on this Earthly sphere?

Is it not in this instant of time?

Concepts and thought spin dreams and we’re caught

in the merry-go-round of the mind.

Try as we may, we can’t find a way

to leave image and ego behind.

Where do we look — through words in a book?

Oh, the answer seems so well concealed.

Secret it’s not — we simply forgot:

in this moment the answer's revealed.

Left on its own, the silent Unknown

brings to light what it once seemed to hide.

With duality gone, thoughts are withdrawn

from the myself and True Self divide.

Snow Squall Land

No thoughts of lacy snowflake kisses;

That chance of flurries never misses.

I don’t mind shovelling much but this is

More than I can stand.

I hoped it’d wane, and so I waited,

Instead it waxes unabated;

It seems the Snow Gods must have hated

All that I had planned.

I don’t know why I bothered waking;

My limbs are tired, my back is aching,

And yet more snow the clouds are making.

“Stop it!” I demand.

Oh, how it snowed last year. Remember?

Four months and more from mid-December.

But Heaven’s sake, it’s just November

Here in Snow Squall Land!

Chopin's Art (A Prelude In A Major)

So fervently one yearns

to hear those sweet Nocturnes

A Waltz of charming grace

smooths frowns upon my face

I’m blissfully imbued

with notes from his Prelude

His Fantasy makes whole

the fragmentary soul

.

How pianists improve

when clever Études move

The Polonaise I hear

brings grandeur to my ear

Stars heavenly shine through

his dazzling Impromptu

Thus filled with Chopin’s Art

a joyous and rapt heart

Gifted

I cannot grow an ambrosial garden,

But I take time to smell the fragrant flower.

I could not master a musical instrument,

But divine sounds I hear each day, every hour.

I tried and failed at becoming a healer,

But I so fully feel all that I touch.

I never learned to be a gourmet chef,

But I savor food and fine wine oh, so much.

And I could never paint or draw worth a damn.

See the art God has sculpted!

How gifted I am.

Behold The Planet

Behold the rocket; look at it soar,

blazing on high with a deafening roar.

Millions of dollars – don’t ask me what for–

recklessly shot into space.

Behold the 'dozer; look at the ways

verdure and nature are treated these days.

Millions of acres of trees we do raze;

carelessly wiped from Earth’s face.

Behold the soldier; armed to the teeth,

with missiles above and land mines beneath.

Millions are dead. Oh, please take the sheath

and put your sword back in its place.

Behold the planet; we must be astute,

and realize it is the tree — we're the fruit.

And if it's not treated as such, our pursuit

to conquer will be our disgrace.

Musical Alms

Harmonious strains through my ears fill my heart;

Oh, the euphoric lift from that euphonic art.

Mellifluous melody, a sweet dulcet measure;

My being absorbed in such musical pleasure.

So soothingly, pent up emotions unlock

with Beethoven, Schubert, Hayden, or Bach.

I would give to the poor, needy soul precious alms

of Mozart, Handel, Chopin, and Brahms.

For You, Valentine

No diamond-bright star or ruby sunrise

Compares with the sapphire glint of your eyes.

I could not more wisely spend of my time

Than gazing at gems, so rare and sublime.

And why should I care which plans we pursue?

The time of my life is my time with you.

Our fancies and schemes, the frolic and play

Are born of the dreams that we share today.

I'm thus incomplete; my essence half-done,

Unless we should live together as one.

What lifeblood does beat in this heart of mine?

A passionate love for you, Valentine.

The Pinery

This sand and pebble shoreline in time was designed

By the lake’s incessant waves —  wild and unconfined.

Among the rocks and driftwood strewn along the strand

Footprints trail off from the beach to more verdant land.

Through coastal dunes, a boardwalk marks the wending way,

While junipers and beach grass add to the display.

Under shagbark hickory, dirt paths carry on

To a forest of red pines, silent and withdrawn.

Trees of an oak savanna nearby persevere,

Screening a sun-steeped meadow and the white-tailed deer.

Above, three turkey vultures idly soar along,

And a scarlet tanager chirps its “chick-burr” song.

The old Ausable river teems with buzzing life

Yet placid is the water, cool and free from strife.

This is the place I go to when I lose control;

Oh, how these waves and woodlands soothe my weary soul.

Capturing The Hunter

From Earth to the Moon,

I’m soaring and soon

I’ve said my goodbye to Mars.

Round Saturn then past

blue Neptune at last

I’m wandering through the stars.

So swiftly I race

‘cross these jewels of space;

a familiar form fills my sight.

It’s Orion I see

– giant Hunter is he –

light years in his width and height.

From Rigel to sword,

from his belt then toward

great Betelgeuse I do fly.

From humble Earth he’s

been captured with ease

by just a glance from my eye.

A Rural Christmas Scene

In the valley down below 

stands a farmhouse in the snow.

Rolling hills of evergreen

gently frame the tranquil scene.

O’er a stream that cuts the ridge, 

sits an oak-plank covered bridge.

And a Sunday-meetin’ church, 

high above the bank does perch.

Lamps that glow from windows warm, 

smile at clouds that threaten storm.

Soft gleam in the twilight makes

tiny stars of falling flakes.

Bridge and buildings charm the nights

with their strings of Christmas lights.

 How those decorations shine

in these scene-rapt eyes of mine.

Images of joy and cheer 

may not last, but never fear:

Memories won't likely fade 

of the Season so displayed.

Play On!

Some may feel that my verse is quite flimsy,

But mostly, my words are intended as whimsy.

A dubious poet and writer am I,

But I play where my thoughts and ideas do lie.

And when thoughts of past and future take flight,

I find that my being is ticklish and light.

So, "Play on!" I say to my frolicsome mind,

And leave all my worries and guilt far behind.

On A Scotch Pine

Hanging there is a dangling cat

With a knitted scarf and a matching hat,

Silent bells, and a pewter boat,

A ceramic girl in a red felt coat.

Someone sits on a frosty sleigh

Above tiny wreaths and a small bouquet.

Angels fly near a rocking horse

And on top there sits a bright star, of course.

Furthermore many branches hold

Pretty twinkling lights and a garland gold.

All these baubles and trinkets bloom

On a tall Scotch Pine in my living room.

Sleep Restfully

Sleep restfully,

Dream peacefully,

Rhythmic breathing, rising, falling, in and out, and then you

Wake easily,

Smile happily,

Turning, stirring, stretching, yawning, in the dawn and then you

Stand steadily,

Go quietly,

To a window shining light, you lift your face and then you

See the rising sun.

Oh, the gentle sun—

Feel the warming sun.

One, Two, Haiku!

Lying on the lawn;

rich mix of rustling colors

resting in decay.

---

Sprouting from the tree;

Life’s dazzling celebration!

Death can never stay.

Thoughts on Questions and Theories

Questions, conjecture, and theories abound;

Some of them groundless, some of them sound.

Born of desire, the mind feels compelled,

To reach out and grasp what cannot be held.

The past and the future are offsprings of thought;

I must attend to the present if I am to be taught.

Questions, thoughts, theories — best placed on a shelf,

When attempting to know the Unknowable Self.

Ode To A Doomed Kite

In May I just might

buy some kind of a kite

and smile at the sight

of its fluttery flight

How lovely and light

while string tethers it tight

at its heavenly height

against blue sky so bright

Then quickly it quite

by chance rolls to the right

and is smashed to smithereens

by the evil evergreens

Nunc Est Bibendum

Fill the glass and raise your drink

and give each one that ritual clink;

then celebrate the spiritual link

that binds more than we think.

For you will find upon this Earth,

nothing lacking nor any dearth

of bounteous beauty, wealth, and worth

from That which gives all birth.

Nunc Est Addendum

So drink up now, and do not stray

from this moment or else you may

find to your sorrow and dismay,

you’ve missed this precious day.

Wake Me

Wake me, please

With a soft voice,

or a gentle touch,

or naturally, easily at the end of a sweet dream.

These I prefer

To a jackhammer,

or a sledgehammer,

or a nightmare about hammerhead sharks that do teem.

Ode To A Burger And Fries

The challenge from www.poetryexpress.org/: Write a poem of 4 to 9 lines containing the words "mustard," "piano," "elastic," "moat," "notorious."

With a moat of mustard surrounding pickles,

the ubiquitous burger lies

there next to its notorious companion;

the oil saturated french fries.

In the ritual lunch, my pearly white teeth

like ivory piano keys stand

ready to bite into heaven, but alas —

texture and taste — elastic band.

This Departure

My departure

today elicits a sigh;

A sigh as soft as a zephyr’s touch;

A touch so lightly caressing your face;

The face that warms all of my memories.

These memories I treasure like precious gold;

Like the gold adorning your graceful hand;

The hand I will hold upon my return.

My return makes bearable

this departure.

Words From An Instructiphobe

When assembling a table or chair from Ikea

The instructions may give you the following idea,

"I'd be better off figuring this out myself.

But what are these parts and what's with this shelf?"

Then it's assembled without the dumb guide

And you look the job over with satisfied pride.

Then you say, "Hold on a sec, where do I use

all of these leftover bolts, nuts, and screws?"

William Butler Keats And John Yeats

Oh, no one beats Yeats or Keats

For words so sublime and rich.

But of those greats, Keats and Yeats,

I'm never sure which is which.

August Beach

Bathed by the sun, and clothed by the breeze;

moment and mind, at one and at ease.

Naked I stand with sand on my feet,

hearing the waves and shore as they meet.

Watching the gulls in effortless flight,

blue sky bedecked with wings grey and white.

Tasting with joy the redolent air;

 senses are full, while body is bare.

Zephyrs so mild, soothing and soft,

 render relief — with no clouds aloft.

And when I’m hot, the lake cools my skin.

This day provides, without and within.

Man Or Lemur?

Late last night while fast asleep,

a strange dream dreamt this dreamer —

A tiny basal primate was I,

from toe to head to femur.

Living 'neath a canopy

with vines that hang like streamers,

then slumber broke and I awoke —

a man, and not a lemur.

The Mist of Ego

Death gives us urgency to complete

all of our dreams and our goals toot sweet.

Also, death shows that we cannot know

how we will drift in life’s changing flow.

Ego when faced with impending doom

fights to avoid its intended tomb.

This we can use against ego’s clutch — 

 rest in the soul where it does not touch.

Spirit will rise; there’s no need to quiz.

One day you’ll find that your ego is

 gone like the mist which at break of day 

fights with the sun and then shrinks away.

Mid-Day Cricket

Do you dare attract a mate, O mid-day cricket,

Calling all alone from your light-dappled thicket?

Chirp, chirp, chirping ‘neath a hazy, August sun;

You’ll find more competition when this long day is done.

Grand Legends of the Old West

General George Armstrong Custer

Oh, that bastard cuss Custer

just couldn’t cut the mustard.

And thus the dastard bit dust.

His last stand was a mass bust.

---

Wyatt Earp

What is a man?

Consider Wyatt Earp; why he wasn’t worth a burp

when it comes to the measure of a man.

Real men are good and kind; they show love; are more refined 

than those thugs such as Wyatt and his clan.

---

Wild Bill Hickok

You cannot say it’s fact that he enjoyed to kill,

but many men were slain by the guns of Wild Bill.

The lesson to be learned is, brutes like Hickok fall

 at the hands of punks like the vengeful Jack McCall.

---

Billy the Kid and Jesse James

When compiling a list like this 

of such legends, I’d be remiss

if I did not mention the names

Billy the Kid and Jesse James.

Were they heroes, like Robin Hood;

mainly good and misunderstood?

Ruthless killers is what they were:

Filthy dog and a loathsome cur.

Marianne

she’s like a rare gemstone, yet delicate as a flower

she shines like a sunrise, and she’s soft as an evening breeze

her voice is music; it sings to me like a melody

yet her silence expresses deep emotion; unspoken, like the trees

her love burns brightly, yet soothes me like cool water

and her heart is gentle, yet strong as a sail unfurled

she’s here, now, in this small humble place

but in my life she is boundless: she’s my everything; my world

Up Or Down?

Somewhere in a climate hibernal

A man wrote a poem in his journal.

He intended his verse

To sound heavenly. Worse.

It best was described as infernal.

Ah, Seasons!

Ah, Spring! — hearts sweetened by flowers;

chill ousted by warmth

and more daylight hours.

Ah, Summer! — the weekend of seasons;

vacation with sun

and fun without reasons.

Ah, Autumn! — comes harvest and crisp air;

landscapes of color,

and ducks in the mist there.

Ah, Winter! — where snow brightens dark skies.

A new year of life

will spring from what now dies.

How to Pronounce "Pepys"

It is said that one Samuel Pepys

Had the best diary by bounds and leaps

He penned of a plague

In a style far from vague

His account of it gave me the creeps

Winter Chickens

Winter chickens, slim their pickin's,
Peckin' in the snow.

Cluckin' through unlucky beaks,
“Where did that damn seed go?”

Your Christmas Gift

I woke today and thought as I got dressed,
That I among all men am truly blessed.
Beauty beyond what I’m clearly seeing
Touches every aspect of your being.

Your love’s a present given from the heart;
A gift so dear where price tags play no part.
And that is why I say this time each year
I want for nothing but your presence near.

Jessie: October 1993 – April 2010

She was just a dog, you know, a canine after all;
Simple-minded; eat and sleep, and at times fetch a ball,

She'd madly chase a squirrel, or see mailmen and bark,
Go for brisk walks down the street or maybe in the park.

She'd greet you gladly at the door when your day was done,
Then get her toy and look to you for lively play and fun.

When you took the car somewhere she hopped in for a ride,
Then back home when you'd relax, she'd curl up by your side.

And what comfort late at night as in the bed she lies
And greets you with that eager look when finally you rise.

Just a dog? I take that back. Those words I now regret.
She was a loving family member, more than just a pet.

How much she enriched our lives! Thus the thought occurs —
We know that since she touched our hearts, that also we touched hers.

Lancaster

As was his nature, he behaved like a cat,

Chewing on this, eschewing that.

Purring, prowling, stirring, growling,

Quite unconcerned as to the dog’s howling.

In early days, he chased birds and mice,

And fought other cats at least once or twice.

Alternately, he’d be peaceful and purr,

Or run through the house like a brown blur of fur.

Now his meow — an intended lion’s roar —

Will not echo through these halls anymore.

But he lives on in our hearts, for he was till the end,

A loving presence, a dear pet, our friend.

Ode To A Garbage Pail

Contained therein lies a mélange
of bittersweet orange rinds
and earthy potato peels,
attempting to blend harmoniously
with once-desired red meat
and yellowish-white egg shells.

The aroma gently wafts
in undulations
toward unwilling yet receptive nostrils,
like shimmering heat waves
from ebony asphalt
on an airless midsummer's afternoon.

A Lothario From Ontario

There once was a man from Ontario

Who wanted to be a Lothario,

But his problems were such

That he couldn't rise much

With regards to his ol' ding-dong-derry-o.

Some Shoveling Advice

When shoveling in snow cold and brisk

Beware of the dangers and risk.

Remember this please:

"Keep back straight, bend the knees"

Or you'll find that you've slipped a disc.

God's Words To Adam's Better Half On The Day Of Banishment From Eden

Leave,

Eve.

Peter Patter (The Security Man)

A security man (though a fair sort)

Used to pat people down at the airport

Till the day he got slapped

'Cause he misjudged and tapped           

Where the skin is less tan and the hair short.

Dusty Cowboy

After hitting the trail 

where I rode hill and dale, 

I retire to the tub 

to get a good scrub. 

What method’s a must 

to wash off this dust? 

The cleansing solution 

is in this ablution.