Love

 It is a form of madness, so some say,

That overtakes calm reason’s gentle way,

And sweeps aside most practical objections 

In favor of primordial predilections. 

The heart has reasons, reason knows not of,

Declared one thinker. Did he think of love?

Perhaps then love is not a form of treason

But rather greater fealty to reason. 

Logic can puzzle out the hidden drives

That populate the passions of our lives,

But mostly that’s in hindsight’s golden glow. 

In the moment it’s often hard to know

Just how the heart is choosing when it’s choosing,

Resulting in a gladness that’s confusing.

Ted K.

 The Unabomber was brilliant at math,

But went off the rails with enviro-wrath. 

If he’d majored in English he might have known,

That he could be caught by prose style alone.

Forty Copies

I received a gift from a friend,
A book of his poems - which I would recommend,
But he published a limited run,
Just forty copies and then he was done,
No print-on-demand, no e-book.
So drop by my house. I’ll give you a look.
Due to the author’s carefully considered refusal,
It’s only available in my library
For solitary perusal.

Diplomatic Language

Many a signed-and-sealed treaty
Is vague about things that are meaty.
They load lots of nuance up front,
And into the future they punt,
Hoping the next generation
Finds a peaceful interpretation.

Being a Thorough Skeptic

Being a thorough skeptic
Who never says: yes that’s true,
Is like pouring antiseptic
Straight in your brain, you eschew
The pain of being wrong,
But there’s a price to it too:
You live your whole life long
Uncertain of what to do.

Mulberry Season

Mulberry season is coming,
A thought that fills me with glee.
Nobody else seems to like them,
Which means there are plenty for me.
I especially eat them when running-
I pluck them right off of the tree.

Ridge Run

 I always struggle with expressing myself on Memorial Day weekend. This year I finally wrote a poem I liked about the holiday:

Heartrending holiday -
Summer comes rolling in,
The days turn sweet and warm,
We picnic and we play,
But somewhere a bell is tolling:
They died in uniform.

My usual activity for Memorial Day, since the early 80s, has been to run a local neighborhood race, and then to watch some of the parade on Longwood Drive. But, while waiting at Ridge Park for the parade, I had a mishap.

I lost my glasses in the grass,
After the run.
Somebody found them. Thank you! Thank you!
You’re number one!

Sprung

 Perhaps the snow is truly gone. 

A vibrant green has seized the lawn. 

The sky shines blue, the air blows warm,

And life, which crouched in dormant form,

Springs forth triumphant. And some small bird

Chirps of the change which has occurred.

Enright

 Most “right” names have a W. 

Which comes from old English for maker. 

But Enright is from a different root,

And so it’s a spelling rule breaker. 

It comes from some word in Irish,

But no one’s sure which word. 

“Lawful” or maybe “attacker” -

Those are the ones I’ve heard. 

I’d like to get this settled

But need a Time Machine. 

Which is the “right” explanation?

What does this name really mean?

Port’s Prayer

 Muse, I have done as you asked, I have tried hard to serve. 

Dazzled I was, by the sound of the spoken word,

Spoken with aural charms but not yet sung,

Spoken with nothing but tones from my native tongue,

Entrancing so strangely, spelled out, as they were, in plain sight,

But casting a spell nonetheless and I eagerly sought

To learn the devices, the rhythms, the echoes of sounds,

And the art of compressing the meaning to something intense,

With figures of speech, and allusions, and quick turns of sense. 

Long have I labored through love at this troublesome task. 

Muse, I have struggled to serve. I have done what you asked. 

It was all I could do, and I hope that it pleased you at times,

As I poured out my thoughts in this tumbling cascade of rhymes.

Exercise

 If Pharma sold us Exercise 

Embedded in a pill

With all the same Health Benefits,

Without the need for Will,

Then everyone would swallow it. 

I must say, so would I. 

But all our current scientists,

Declare “Not yet!” - and sigh.

For A Dance

John the Baptist spoke unpleasantly 

About higher ups, and presently 

His head was brought forth on a platter. 

It seems that surely this would end the matter? 

Not quite. His sightless eyes 

Bored into their souls, and to their surprise, 

They found they still had consciences to drown, 

And felt their dreams of triumph spiraling down.

The Bent Stick Illusion

 The stick looks straight underwater. 

The stick looks straight aboveground. 

The stick looks bent when halfway in,

But at least it doesn’t look round. 

Some say our eyes deceive us. 

But they’re doing the best that they can!

You have other ways to test if it’s bent,

Like grabbing the stick with your hand!

And after sufficient testing 

And vigorous interaction 

You may begin to understand 

Something about refraction.

Movie Star

 I think it’s hard to be a movie star. 

You do not have much job security -

You know how fickle audiences are. 

So when you stare off at futurity,

You’re filled with doubt.  You’re not sure why they love you,

You’re worried your next film may be a bomb,

You do not trust executives above you-

I’d say it’s none too good for inner calm!

Time

 Some people try to make the case

That time is an illusion,

But having run a lengthy race,

This seems like more confusion. 

Memories come from a distant shore,

Which happens to be the past. 

And some are sad, and some are sore,

But others are a blast.

Rubber Band

Sometimes I find, when I am procrastinating, 

It helps to visualize a rubber band 

That's pulling me to the task that I am hating, 

And, feeling that pull, it somehow comes to hand. 

Procrastination is a kind of tension 

Between a thing you'd really like to do 

And possibly a fear you'd rather not mention 

That maybe this problem is just too much for you. 

Once knee-deep in whatever swamp is calling, 

The alligators don't seem quite so furious. 

Viewed from afar, the challenges are sprawling. 

Viewed from up close, they're smaller and more curious. 

Is this guaranteed? Nope. That I cannot say. 

But often enough for me it works this way.

Artifacts

Statistical artifacts are my favorite kind of facts,

Luring you in, making you look front and back,

Mathematical mirages of causality,

Real but misleading clues to actuality.

Visualizing

Imagination’s great for writing plays

But when it comes to grief, it just delays

Acceptance, since they seem to reappear

In flashes. Sharply. All too briefly here.

Jan 1

It’s an arbitrary date 

That we use to mark the year 

But we’ve got to mark it somewhere 

So it might as well be here. 

The Roman god named Janus 

Had two faces, one looked back, 

The other, it stared forward, 

At the up-and-coming track.

Beginning

 My parents met at a Christmas party. 

He offered to walk her home but she declined,

Living, as she did, just across the alley. 

I guess she’d made an imprint on his mind.