Category Archives: Poetry

Lame attempts at poetry, generally written to please myself or as a form of self-prescribed therapy.


We must be warned that coffee's hot,
that smoking hurts the lung.
Knives are sharp and spoons are not,
and sunscreen blocks the sun.

We must not eat the non-food pack,
that freshens packaged foods.
Know calories might make us fat,
and sleep might make us drool.

Labels warn that water's wet,
and bullets might go bang.
Signs to warn of dangers met,
adorn each mundane thing.

We used to use our eyes and think,
to see, assess, then act.
Replaced with warnings bold in ink, 
a talisman of words and fact.


If only people understood how un-cool secret stuff really is… Scott Adams came close in this strip:

The super secret squirrels convened
Their meeting in the vault
Each day at noon they gathered there
Discussing who knows what

The watchers all looked in from out
As blind and dumb and deaf
As though they had no mouth or ears
To use for baited breath

Whispers swirled from left to right
Then back around again
Tales of conquests in the works
Cabals of greed and sin

Murmurings of secret tech
Sensors, planes, and tools
Laser guns and mind control
Oh man... it sounded cool

While all along the secret squirrels
Sat bored and languid then
And hour by hour discussed at length
The font for slide one-ten

The Parrot

Almost endless years of school
Countless hours of study
Promotions moving ever up
An awful sense of duty

To be the expert and make change
A constant goal since youth
Use of hands and head at once
Connecting truth with truth

Explore and build to meet demand
Reflect on what's been made
More to know you've done it right
Than strictly to get paid

A phantom of some lingering dream
Haunting daily chores
Wants unmet in truthful life
Like salt in open sores

No new ideas are his today
Great works he builds no more
He simply gathers and compiles
Then brings it to the fore

With words they laud and stroke him
Encourage, praise and bless
But in his mind he is a fraud
A parrot or even less


I’ve always liked writing, but rarely get a chance to write things not formal, technical, or even worse… bureaucratic.  Given my background, you’d think anything artistic would have atrophied years ago, and in truth it probably has.  However, though unqualified and not particularly gifted, every once in a while I get an urge to dust off the non-analytical parts of my self and see just how much of it is left.

In a home filled with artistic, musical, and literary talent, I often end up filling the requirement for an audience.  It’s unlikely anyone would ask me to perform when they have access to Liz, Sydney, and Isaac.  Over the years, I’ve been less and less likely to publicly attempt any form of art.  Even deciding to post this to be visible for the three or so people who might  occasionally read this blog has been an internal struggle.

That said, I had a few hours to myself this morning after taking Sydney to her EARLY morning babysitting job, and didn’t want to go back to bed for fear of waking Liz.  The urge came upon me to write, so I did.

Shiftless anticipation
Stirred by clouded foresight
Knowing that life is a journey 
To struggle, to labor, to fight

How many rounds 'till it's over?
Will I overcome in the end?
Have I strength and the power
For these care burdened hours?
Not to crack, not to buckle nor bend? 

Blind in a void of unknowing
There's something required of me
Yet I can't quite descry it
Or even imply it
Such a hungry desire to see...

So reluctantly I've followed 
Paths thought hidden and crookedly bent 
Longing for places I've already been
Guided by signposts unseen
As I wonder to whom I am sent

Certainly something is building
Each step has a purpose occult
Guided to paths I've not wanted
By a prod, a hard nudge, or a jolt

Weakness calls out now to slumber
Says it always works out in the end
Doubting there's life can I touch
Often too weak to do much
Tapped out, no strength left now to lend

Stop on the way and set down your load
Let some other son pick up the slack
Rest for a season right where you stand
Drop the burdens now placed on your back 

Reality's quick with the answer:
Sleep is the prodigal's child
No gift that you claim
Is for those of your name
It is wrong from your neighbor to hide

In answer I cry out in anquish
Fatigue swelling large in my breast
I have done what I can
When is it enough? 
Must I really go on without rest?

When the strength is all gone
And my will neigh to break
A lantern shows dimly ahead
Another's weak glimmer drives shadows away
Their light extinguishes dread

It winks to me comfort and courage
It tells me that I'm not alone
You're smart and you're strong
And you will carry on
We'll continue together 'till done

So into the darkness one nudge at a time
Groping and feeling my way
Hoping and praying the work that I do
Will brighten another's dark day