Wednesday, April 29, 2009

The Noble Goat

The cloven hoofed surefootedness
The long and splendid coat
All added to the handsomeness
Of Farmer Tory's goat.

The folks would come from miles around
To pet and give it corn
For what was not (not what was) found:
It only had one horn.

The horn grew from its center head
And straight, not curved, it grew
The docile beast was gently led
To let the children view

And many hopefuls threw a wish
And let their dreams be born.
They brought the creature costly gifts
And called it unicorn.

And though the goat no power had
Nor magic did possess
The care and feeding made it glad,
And gave them happiness.

Friday, April 24, 2009


A word can hold one's character
In infamy or fame
A connotation that assures
Of whom we try to name.

Though most escape a single word
The least we do is try
To coin a sound that can be heard
To mention someone by.

I find that when I know a friend
Arises two or three
Associating words to pen
Whom they appear to be.

My dog, for instance (rest his soul)
Heard Hero, Snap, or Sniffy,
(Or dog or come or here's your bowl)
Which brought him in a jiffy.

And though our names be multiplied
They still can't fully claim
To capture all we are inside--
So little in a name.

Storm Horse

The night was drenched in deepest black
The road was steeped in rain
He had to bring a doctor back
To ease his brother's pain.

The family car was broken down,
The bicycle was flat,
The storm had taken out the phone;
Three miles there and back

He set out on his lonely walk
When right before his eyes
A glowing horse leaped in his path,
One of enormous size.

It spoke to him; he rubbed his eyes
And doubted what he saw
But all it did was emphasize
The strangeness of it all.

"I cannot help but be myself.
You may or may not live,
But I have leapt into your path
My services to give.

I'll take you far and take you fast
To where you want to go
But if you slip or lose your grip
You will be seen no more."

He recognized the pooka
From his book of Irish lore
And thrilled at doing something
That he'd never tried before,

He took the creature up upon
Its offer of a ride
Convinced that if he lost his cause
He'd just as soon have died.

It spun aloft and quickly flew
Along the country road
And typical of pooka lore
It tried to lose its load.

He held on till his heart grew faint
His breaths came scarce and sparse
Yet gripping somehow still remained
Aboard that wild horse.

The doctor found upon his porch
A tired and tattered man;
With great surprise and mild reproach
Returned him in his van.

His brother was attended
And his arm put in a cast
His broken bone now mended
And the peace restored at last.

The pooka sometimes visits
Though just one can see his form:
The fellow who will not forget
The journey through the storm.

Wednesday, April 22, 2009


Circular pie of plenty
Designed in slices to share
The scent of warmth and spice
Fills the air.

I know of none who dislike it
(Though some prefer only cheese)
Once ready, sure to please!


Kelp is green and kelp is thin
And from it we get lecithin
Abundant fodder of the sea
Where would the world of humans be
Without the substances we've found
When kelp is harvested and ground?

Friday, April 10, 2009

Bought Farm

Our lives would not have space and thought
If no one's farm were ever bought

With all who've walked the earth still here
Like overpopulated deer.
I reevaluate my stance
On why I'm given time and chance
And wonder whom the soul might be
Who lent an earthly space to me.

Tuesday, April 7, 2009


Now the smoke that curled around
The circled often billowed flame
Awarded rise to blackened ground
And carved the beast a fearsome name

Now as the night began to crawl
Upon the barren evil mount
The bellow of a dragon's call
Arose on scales that had no count

And while in singing thus he spent
The air that gave his sound its wail
The thickened vines were often rent
By movements of his massive tail

Yet no more did he challenge call
That thus the air again was rent
For somewhere in the darkened vale
A second bawling roar was sent

No more the darkened mist could hide
The hideous aspect of his face
For flame that cast a morbid light
Revealed the foe's approaching pace

The monster rose up from beneath
Yet still he would not yield his cave
But steeled his stance and bared his teeth
Determined he his home would save

And when the foe rose from the rocks
At angles met two sets of horns
While fury frayed their pointed locks
And great exploding sparks were born

They clawed and bit while throwing flame
(Which did not serve their purpose well
But vented rage and lit the way)
Till finally the intruder fell

And thus defeated, drooping rose
To drag his weary body home
Till time, and food, and long repose
Restore his strength and mend his bone.