Pascal's wager

Does God exist, or does he not?
A coin toss shows you what you've got:
If "heads" comes up, you've won it all;
If you get "tails," you take the fall.
There is no other choice for you;
You have to bet, and so, you do.

September

September seemed far off, back then, in May,
And May was when we had a lot to do,
A life to fill, with love, and work, and play,
And goals to meet, before our time was through.
We played the game as fairly as we could,
With more wins than losses to remember.
Time sped more quickly than we thought it would,
And before we knew, it was September.
Now shadows lengthen as the days roll by,
And leaves are brittle, as they fall to earth,
The breeze is colder, now that winter's nigh,
Warm days are gone, and we regret their dearth.
The cold will soon prevail, but then the spring
Will come, renewing - almost everything.

The future is now

When I retired, I made a vow;
Forget the future, live for now.
The fickle years fly by too fast;
Who knows which one will be the last?

When I still worked, I donned a suit
Before I made each day's commute.
Today, my suits are in disuse,
And I don't polish any shoes.

Also, I sport a full grey beard
Where once my naked face appeared,
I relish all the time I've saved,
Once wasted by me when I shaved.

Be wary of the Kraken

The Kraken is a giant squid
Who waits for prey once he's well-hid
Somewhere upon the ocean floor,
According to old sailing lore.

When he wants food, he'll seldom fail
To snag an unsuspecting whale,
And happy if he wins the fight,
He'll fill his belly for that night.

Ships that want to save their bacon
Must avoid the wily Kraken;
His tentacles will never slip
If they surround a passing ship.

He'll drag it down beneath the waves
Where other ships lie in their graves.
He's doom to ships that sail too slow;
Beware! The Kraken lurks below.

Land of opportunity blues

I had a good career, but I don't miss the grind; it's done.
Retired, my time's my own, and I use it to have fun.
But, I'm sad for graduates today, their careers can't start;
They're still at home, with mom and dad, it almost breaks my heart.
They drank the Kool-Aid, studied hard, and now they get to see
No jobs are out there in this "land of opportunity."

There are some jobs available, and stuff that they can do,
Like selling burgers, or ice cream, but even those are few,
Or retail sales, like selling clothes, at stores inside the mall;
That beats the aggravation, when they never get a call
For jobs they were trained to do, which is why they went to school;
They walked the walk, and talked the talk, and now they're played the fool.

To hear the sounds

Songs lack for music when unsung,
Bells never toll when they're unrung;
Poems have a voice, and must be heard;
Say them aloud, but sing the words.

The politician

Every slippery politician
Holds a partisan position,
But he'll soften it with euphemism
To hide his blatant party-ism.

He'll sweet-talk voters very well
To sell stuff that he's told to sell,
And he'll strive to gain affection,
Always seeking re-election.

His wealthy owners let him know
Without their cash, he'd have to go,
So he parrots lines they taught him
And talks fast; that's why they bought him.

On the Pluto mission's success

At last! We know how Pluto looks,
An item for the history books;
The New Horizons, NASA's probe,
Has sent photos of the tiny globe.

It lies four billion miles from earth,
And what we learn will prove of worth;
The voyage took nearly ten years,
But now, its great success is clear.

But, where are our priorities?
What matters most? To you, to me?
It looks like war will still endure,
And, as for cancer? Still no cure.

And, will we ever find relief
From poverty, and hunger's grief?
Although we've had a huge success,
We've ancient problems to address.

To own the sky

Skilled Daedalus built feathered wings,
And asked his son to test the things.
He made the wings with wax for glue,
And thought the sticky wax should do.

He warned his son the wax could melt,
But Icarus, foolhardy, felt
He was impervious to harm;
The warning caused him no alarm.

The feckless boy, immune to care,
Soon launched himself into the air,
But flew too near the burning sun;
Both wings fell off, and he was done.

The dream of flight, and own the sky,
Is brave, and noble, worth the try.
That time, it came to no avail,
And so, we end this sorry tale.

What I believe

If people ask what I believe,
I tell them, I believe in change
In everything that I perceive
Across the breadth of nature's range:

The soft rain falling down on me,
The lightning flashing in the sky,
The thunder crashing fearsomely,
And sun returning by-and-by;

The summer buzz of bumblebees,
The calmness of a clear fall night,
The crispness of a winter freeze,
All change; as sure as day to night.

Portrait of a girl from Pompeii

The girl is powdering her nose,
A brush and mirror in her hands;
The artist caught her mundane pose,
Familiar still, to any man.

What notions fill that pretty head?
We'll never know, they're lost to time;
Pompeii and she are long-since dead,
But here we see her in her prime.

Two thousand years have passed, and yet,
The mural of the girl still gives
A hint of her brief pirouette
Through life, and love, as though she lives.

Intelligent design? Or not?

Some call Intelligent Design
God's plan for life, and his outline;
But doubters say life's profusion
Has its source in evolution.

Believers claim the plan's God's law,
And science lacks sufficient awe;
The battle lines are sharp, and strong;
Each side insists the other's wrong.

Religion swears God's plan is key,
And science has to bend the knee.
Who's right? Who's wrong? Both sides seem sure;
With luck, the cosmos will endure.

Clowns

Each time the circus came to town,
That night, I'd try to stay awake,
So terrified about the clowns,
They'd give me dreams rhat made me quack.

To me, they're all grotesque and mean,
And slimey creatures to the core,
Exaggerated and obscene,
Nightmarish ghouls that I abhor.

A family portrait

The camera caught a pleasant sight;
My mother's family, bathed in light.
The image sharp, the picture shows
Them as they were, so long ago.

Grandfather wears a solemn face.
The children stand straight in their place,
Afraid to make the slightest gaffe;
Grandmother tries hard not to laugh.

They're all long gone, but I can see
Their vivid, sweet humanity,
The warmth and hopes that they display
In an old photo from that day.

Pigeonholes

We call the old people, "seniors citizens,"
Vanilla words that segregate the old,
But well-meaning; it's a harmless title -
We certainly would never condescend.

Then we describe the people next in line
As middle-aged, not sure of what that means;
Except, they obviously aren't kids,
But they're too young to lump in with the old.

Finally, we have youth; ah, golden youth,
A time to flourish, enjoy, and find love!
We call youth beautiful, exciting, fun!
We smile at its mistakes (we made some too).

The labels make us feel smart, and cozy,
Cocooned and snug, and knowing where we are,
But they can't change the quality of truth;
We're simply people, living out our lives.

I never heard my father laugh

I never heard my father laugh,
Or ever saw my father cry;
Attempts at humor were brushed off,
When bad news came, his eyes stayed dry.

Strong passions that he may have felt,
Emotions to perplex his soul,
Were reined in when the cards were dealt;
To win the game, his only goal.

I know he learned his lesson well,
I've wondered how he learned to hide;
What part of him he had to sell,
And if he knew that something died.

The pterodactyl

The pterodactyl was a sight,
A dinosaur equipped for flight;
He ruled the skies before the birds,
But now, alas! he's been interred.
As evolution's plan can show,
When birds arrived, he had to go.

The praying mantis

When Praying Mantis couples court,
Their love affair is soon cut short,
For, after hot sex with her date,
The female gobbles up her mate.

The scent of love

The scent of love's a rare perfume
That conjures spring, when flowers bloom;
It haunts us like a song, once sung
When we were innocent - and young.

The telling scent of love will make
A man risk all, and undertake
His heart's desire to be complete.
Oh, love's alluring, love is sweet!


The promise in his lover's eyes
Will tease of where his future lies,
Beguiling him to think of ways
Their love may perfume all their days.

He hatches plans, and she concurs,
And calls his soul a twin of hers;
Two joined as one, she's sure they'll be
In love for all eternity.

Their love is real, and makes it clear
Its heady fragrance has no peer,
But, conquered by love's perfumed spell,
Perhaps they trust the scent too well.

Pronunciation

With English, sometimes, you just guess,
And trust your luck will find success
With words as spelled, and how they sound.
(The differences can be profound.)

The natives rhyme the name with "cow,"
In England, in a town spelled, "Slough";
The local folks think that's a breeze.
(Don't mispronounce it, if you please.)

If you're a snake, you'll shed your skin,
Whatever odd-named town you're in.
In Slough, you'll stand out as it's "sloughed."
(Make sure you rhyme the word with "stuffed.")

In Slough they won't slough off a romp,
But don't attempt it in the swamp;
Another word for swamp is "slough."
This time, you rhyme the word with "goo";
(A synonym for Slough is "slough.")