Some far back time now lost to sight
one of deluged rains squeezed from night
streams a-flood, winds with galed force
such weather brewed - this tale's source.

A Spring replete with constant rains
soon overspilled their useless drains
bridges lost, scattered far down stream
such wanton waste - tis story's theme.

Leaking roof, tiles lost - no eave
house percolated like a sieve
house where drunken Willy lives
such allegements - this fable gives.

Thunder's crack heard after lightning's flash
tree limbs  tossed by wet wind's whipping lash
rattled Willy's jangled nerves, until had need
calmed his fears, with sips of home-brewed mead.

Rain blown down tall chimney's bight
fire's heat turned wet, steamed all night
wallpaper soaked, soon unpeeled
walled-mice turned out - loudly squealed.

All night through next day, deluge fell
many thought cast by some devil's spell
Willy later told, rain a blessing
but of why - left them a-guessing.

For without mice within those walls
his food unstolen - rains gave cause
house soon dried, though walls left unpapered
foul odors gone - airs evaporated.

Willy died two years further on
just before house completely gone
finally fell-in, due to mold and dry rot
this fabled story alleged true - like as not.
August 29, 2001

Stomped her feet, umbrella left unfurled
aunt Louise let her in - hair uncurled
door left unclosed, gain soft breeze of summer's rain
tea-ed and talked, as usual - most from lips of Jane.

How women can wear their day hours on end
as both talked same time, gain what ears may lend
til rain ceased, cold tea turned bitter - time to leave
umbrella re-furled, though drops still dripped from eave.

Even as were leaving, both tongues waggled on
til words spoken could not be heard - Jane finally gone.

Takes a bit of tea and crumpets
to keep lies alive, rumors not cheap
women's friendship often trumpets
not the truth - but what presumptions steep.
September 20, 2001

Best that Mike would do, worst he could have done
yet when he really tried - was worst of all
years later Michael died, then came his son
worse ever did - far better than his pa.
September 21, 20001

I have never been to Saint Ives
nor met one wed with seven wives
nor asked how many left Saint Ives
let alone - those sacks, cats and kits.

Tis such stories, words strangely writ
inane insanities of wits
idle humors of English twit
but a silly rhyme - writ for Brits.
December 21, 2001

With wide smile and eyes held bright
handed me her gift Christmas night
two hand-sewn shirts within, green and red
my smile gave thanks with what lips said.

Then pleased her with my kiss, as if to flirt
thereafter quickly left to change my shirt
when returned dressed in red, so proudly done
first words she spoke - Don't you like the green one?

For with a woman's hope you never win
their minds think quite otherwise - scourge of men
clever how always gift you of things in pairs
no matter which you choose - the man always errs.
January 22, 2002

Could God's wrath invent such a scheme
even Devil itself could not dream
enwrapping some simple innocence
with a foul satanic malignant theme?

Could such hate evolve in one's heart
seven demons would fear to chart
entrapping All as its consequence
presuming each played their part?

Perchance if have doubts of what I say
look no further than some Shakespearian play
whose keen wit contrived what twisted schemings may
characters each one has met - his wanted prey.
March 3, 2002

Her fleeting glance caught me unaware
as stood close by, so debonair
I simply smiled to please her by
ten years, eight kids - no need ask why.
October 16, 2002

Once upon a time, long ago and far away
words written in rhyme told with lies, words might convey.
How a proud egg once fell, shattered its fragile shell
all the King's men were notified, til King's horses were mortified
all did not go well, for none could repair egg's broken shell
king and all his men tried using glue, but those horses quietly withdrew.

What happened thereafter, but king's men loud laughter
of that event naught was said, assumed shattered egg was dead.
How lean Jack and his fat wife shared use of their dinner knife
ate their meat fat or lean, til licked their platters clean
an issue of good health, though had lots of wealth
Jack refused to eat his fat, but skin and bones after that.

Until Sprat's  wife grew very fat, so large had to eat where she sat
died from over-weight soon turned black - never heard what became of Jack.
Three men in a tub, each would daily scrub
until ran out of soap, found their tub wouldn't float
tub found far too small for three, to sail the open sea
of what happened thereafter, children tell with their laughter.
There once was a clock, all night wagged its tock
day and night it hourly tolls, heard by mice in hidden holes
til one mouse became mad as hell - that hourly clang of tolling bell
soon devised a clever plan, required - but where it ran.

Chose that late hour of one, scampered with practiced run
as its pendulum out-swung, caught his tail - died where hung
unknowingly he dangled, swinging movement had strangled
when completely entangled, became severely mangled.

Until clock finally quit, dead mouse gave cause of it
house unheard clock's constant tick, nor escapement wheel's click
its death occurred at one, hour - mouse had planned to run
such occurred late at night, high-hung - without a fight.

Sad tale of mouse's Death, children hear with bated breath
this story seems harshly crude, old Mother Goose rather rude
far back in those times of yore, folks stout-hearted - loved their gore
like Grimm's grim fairy tales, still sold at old book sales.
That pease-porridge hot, but a simple plot
a few liked it hot, rich preferred it not
what this tale merely suggests, its long usage now well attests
mattered not, whether bought or sold, in just nine days - would quickly mold.

But who can truely say, some preferred either way
in whatever shape or form, hot or cold or simply warm
yet you most admit, either way - pease porridge unfit
eaten but by few - for it tastes like glue.

If ever tempted to try, make sure pease completely dry
must be boiled in chicken fat - fairy-tale won't tell you that!
Back in late middle ages, despite what told by sages
children were often bred, with no brains in their head.

Tales written but never dated, when poor people uneducated
folklore was all they knew, t'was their only clue
from old sources once new - their knowledge quickly grew.

Those harsh times, suppressed by vicious means
ruled by Kings and wicked Queens
rough place to raise your kids back then
only Shakespeare - could put to pen.
May 8, 2003

Now here's a ruddy tale to red-blush a woman's cheeks
shouted by bloody pirates, their foulish language speaks
loud-mouthed damnations spoke with contaminated lies
cursed and swore with vengeful tongue, should their hot angers rise.

Forty-man crew ruled by that tyrannical Captain Cain
no brother of Abel, despite resembles similar name
before years of Good King George, when sailed Spanish Main
plundered from captured vessels - taken for ill-gotten gain.

Til after thirteen years, old Neptune met with fatal Fate
must liquidate ship, crew and captain - for their rampant hate
soon came to pass, when monstrous waves sank both ship and crew
years after, where, when and why - late History finally knew.

This silly ditty, which can be sung to Row, row, row your boat
describing Captain Cain and crew, some unknown author wrote
now seldom sung, but two centuries past - sang with lusty tongue and throat
words too brazen for women's ears, here will not offend with actual quote.

Those battle-scarred war-veterans, sailors who sailed under assumed names
in dingy Spanish taverns, Chinese ports of ill-repute, those - no one claims
late nights when in port, rum-filled tankards - sang from inebriated brains
gambled away their shore-pay, to earn cost of wanton taverned dames.

This ancient tale still told for lies it tells - the last of Captain Cain
filled with cold devil's blood, lived like a cruel tyrant so proudly vain
all now lie beneath Neptune curse, their hands bound with an eternal chain
who long ago sailed those seven seas - as well as old Spanish Main.
May 13, 2003

Just ridiculous how two brothers debated with equal strength
as each loudly bantered about Infinity's infinite length
Ned thought his view of infinity, infinitely more consistent
Charlie's alleged estimation - found definitely more persistent.

Ned countered - persistence would not lend Infinity, infinite worth
Charlie only smiled, for knew had Ned stymied - words had given birth
two contentious brothers, their constant battles had no proof nor cure
because of their constant banter, neither Ned nor Charlie - were ever sure.
May 12, 2003

When Knights of old were brave and bold
when Dames found foaled were bought and sold
when Bishop's pockets lined with gold
those were days - when old England proud.

When Kings born wise and Queens told lies
kingdoms with size, usurpation tries
when Widows spied and Gentry lied
those were days - of old English pride.

When omens believed, Fools perceived
when Maids deceived by whom conceived
when Widows aggrieved, left bereaved
those were days - when old England cried.

When nights gave mirth for Poor and Serf
fresh morning's birth bred headache's worth
plowed their turf for what brought of earth
those were days - when old England thrived.

When Princes bred all night in bed
what Maidens shed, should not be said
with faces red, each turned their head
those were nights - how old England wived.

Where Monk's prayers were sung, as church bells rung
when arrows twanged, til scoundrels hung
what Dukedoms flourished, church-tithes nourished
those were days - old England proudly cherished.

When times grew worse, til Poets wrote verse
fields left fallowed, scoundrels hung gallowed
heads dropped in baskets, bodies placed in caskets
those were lawless days - proud old England cursed.

When laws inspired, first one who fired
gave birth to war, and just cause for more
til new laws enacted, as people reacted
last days of England - rotten to its core.
May 15, 2003

As Luck could have it, once occurred
within one's mind, first thought absurd
some idle whim, Chance brought by
Circumstance flung - thought ought try.

Some wise intrusions, Fate or Folly might gift
rare indeed, for Destiny rules the most
tis such, may give one's day a needed lift
til gave those wise Muses - my honored toast.

Yet all nine of them but merely ghosts
ancient-wise, forever at their posts
yet tis Destiny that rules each of them
here now gift my tribute - poem's ad rem.
May 16, 2003

Within those bleak dims of old Irish pubs
where melting ice drips from cold leaky tubs
as gathered Irish nightly celebrate
after day's hard work - quickly gravitate.

With island brogue and clannish wit
for endless hours, will slurp and spit
full-filled tankard held within an honest cheer
although loud laughter still hides - their hidden fear.

As wasted hours measured full length
surly manners assured their strong strength
til vengeful words cursed Life's frugal fate
fist-pounded table - gave added weight.

Blessed their anger with crossly swearings
venom spewed with anger's loud darings
til by ten, pacified by ale long swilled
tis then music sung - Irish lips loudly trilled.

And on it goes, unto those wee hours of morn
diatribes or friendly jibes equally sworn
thence of their slowly leaving, til latch-key finally drawn in
as mice in darkened quiet, lapped up last of dribbled gin.
May 31, 2003

When Space found within itself, enough room
to idle by, ruminating on its endless empire
presumed, no other power could interfere
with such strength, one's imagination would conspire
could never cause measured Space - to disappear.

When aging Time found itself, now old enough
to wonder, pondering on its eternal destiny
presumed, no power could ever annihilate
nor by lengthy scrutiny - cause Time to obliterate.

As good luck might, come what may
God found unbusy that day.

Though always shares and cares the most
full-knowing all that truly is
overheard both Space and Time's bragging boast
so listened in on two friends of His.


God told Space: getting too big for its size
told Time: far too young, presume itself wise
so both settled down to their eternal labors
ever after, Time and Space been friendly neighbors.
June 8, 2003

His grandeur held hid behind blue eyes
soft spoken words, mouth of laughter's size
life-gained convictions - crafted him wise.

There nursing his shrinking stout, daily swilled
odd topics strangely pondered, nightly thrilled
words with sloppy reasons - late evenings spilled.

Cornered crew of three and him, five nights each week
laughed of old events retold, if he should speak
table slapped, stressed some point - with chair's groaning squeak.

Promptly at nine, would pay night's tab for all
with wobbly feet, bid each his leaveaged call
til with final wave - last of him they saw.

That needful yearn to talk of what their lives had taken in
grumbled or praising Fate, til only laughter saved their sin
bending Truth until it lied, for tis - but each other's twin.

Such has worn taverned taps millennia through
countless words of lies, their manly laughter threw
fueled by those toxic tankards - filled with Irish brew.
July 17, 2003

Records showing, one not of their first given name
though long presumed otherwise, yet not the same
duplicity, yearly forms and files still claim.

A frustration, years wore without personal blame
nor notorious malfeasance of wicked shame
just an honest lad, without any claim to fame.

But in due time, growing confusions finally came
duplicities purported without actual proof, took aim
cross-references shut down computers - til became a game.

Simple mis-spelling by feeble pastor half-blind
as entered baptismal records, therein signed
lad now dead, yet pending law-suites - finally assigned!
October 2, 2003

What may New Year bring
perhaps same old thing
masquerades as new.

For Time merely measures
life's sequence of pleasures
each happenstance threw.

Perhaps tis just as well
for who can really tell
whether such false or true.

Years in and years out
found much left in doubt
former years long grew.

Hopeful for something new
love cast to me by you
after old year tis through.
December 6, 2003

When Time briefly hid a tiny bit of itself
behind forgotten tomes, placed upon bookshelf
just in case years later, might come in handy
should occasion find need - for something dandy.

Hope saved small bit of itself, hid behind the door
just in case some lost cause had need of such
perhaps could save the day with that hidden little more
should occasions found - wanting more of much.

So ought not be surprised in the least to know
God has hidden most of what He knows from us
just in case we became too proud of ourselves
should we cast God aside - without need of trust.

Yet God kindly took pity on mankind's lack of wit
so gave humankind a Faith, at least a little bit
that we might see, well-knowing how we hide our lies
a coward's trait commonly found within our lives.

With that in mind, I freely chose some forgotten day
took a secret moment, hid a sin or two had done
behind false stance I proudly held, lips would never say
til found that sin festered me, pride's proud wish freely flung.

Then in my agony, occurred to me - began to pray
perhaps ought own up to those hidden sins long stashed away
so outright confessed to God of what had freely sinned
whence from out those clouds, heard His voicings in the wind.

With kind forgiveness and small laugh a father might
absolved those hidden sins I had once locked up tight
thence found a freedom unlike had ever felt before
when hid a thing or two, just in case - behind Life's door.
December 20, 2003