February 12.19

 

With a-one and a-two

it’s the goose soft shoe

a shuffle and a step

ponderous schlep

slip and slide

to far pondside

with list to lee

graceful like me

I frown and sigh

why don’t they just fly?

 

February 2.19

 

The deep deep woods

is guarded by

a small small troll

two inches high;

he’ll challenge you

with round round eye

in little hole —

a sly sly spy.

If you would walk

his white white earth,

you pay his toll,

the tax on worth,

not in penny-ante cents

but still still pause

of reverence.

 

 

With many thanks to photographer Mary Jo Bassett.

And also thanks to Johnny Gruelle,

who introduced me to the deep deep woods in his Raggedy Ann stories ever so long ago.

 

January 26.19

 

Hey, cold robin!

It’s winter! Did you know?

You think “early bird” means

worming in the snow?

I get that winter’s

the first sign of spring

but you’re pushing

that red-breasted harbinger thing.

 

 

January 16.19

 

Excuse me, Eminence.

I really must ask:

do you think you’re hiding

because of the mask?

Incognito

with that wing?

Camouflage

is not your thing!

You’re subtle

as an advertisement,

the scarlet feather

of self-aggrandizement.

 

 

With apologies to Nathaniel Hawthorne.

January 12.19

 

Breakfast is served

if you’re not too picky

if you don’t think slimy

pondweed is icky

if you’ll brave the snow

and duckgooseflesh

you’ll savor an entrée

delectably fresh.

 

(Well, at least I didn’t make any cold duck jokes.)

 

 

Disconnections: December 27.18

 

In brittling world

a tiny hermitage

with patient

weathered visage

awaits

to offer what it can

though small and rude:

walls and roof

and solitude.

 

 

Yet more thanks to photographer S.W. Berg.

 

Disconnections: September 4.18

 

When it’s too hot to hum,

there’s nothing to do

but sit on a zinnia

and wish for a brew.

 

 

Every so often, dear reader, I have the urge to add “Burma Shave!”