Going Mental
If I’d an ounce of common sense,
I’d put iPad and stylus down
And simply jump the fence;
Where the grass is always greener,
Or so they always say,
If you like the grass that’s been around
For six weeks and a day.
Jumping now to farther shores,
Across a roiling sea,
I, like Coleridge, sinking down
In the darksome night,
Through caverns measureless
With light, under the sunlit bee.
The sunlit bee with wings of gold
Is huge and blinding bright:
He flies through air, dark, dense and cold,
Matter for grave concerns,
Spreading pollen like winter snow,
Giving the dark a golden glow
As if the world that lives below
For conflagration yearns.
Truth
There’s a little touch of Paradise
In every soul that yearns
With a sinful and a restless heart,
A heart that for Christ burns.
The Pilgrim’s Gift
The weary Pilgrim’s troubled
By clouds of biting bugs,
For blood loss is quite painful
When there are no soothing drugs!
Rainwater Profit
The cistern in our backyard,
Was old and built with brick;
The pump upon the concrete slab,
Required a well primed kick!
Simon: Expiration Date
What do you do when your little dog dies,
After the sorrow, the tears and the cries?
You remember the joy that he brought everyday.
He was, after all, not here to stay!
He was a good gift for a limited time;
Now, only my memory holds him in his prime.
That, of course, and an album of photos, of which, the following are two.
The Saint with the burning heart is, of course, Augustine.
