Thursday, August 22

For Josh

There once was a boy named Josh,
Who thought he was very posh.
He spoke with an accent - ate his crumpet,
And, washed in the house of Bath.

Tuesday, July 23

A Night Under the Trees, Illuminated by the Moon

Burning, turning, crackling in the air,
The smoke rises into the air.
The cherry coal, bright in the night;
The time when thoughts take wing and flight.

Oh, soul, thou restless one;
Oh, mind, thou restless one;
Never still, always twisting and yearning.
Hardly content, always yearning and churning.

Quieter of souls, that golden leaf;
Tamer of thoughts, that golden leaf.
An hour of rest - a time of peace;
Thoughts are singled - wanderings cease.

Praise be to God for the rest of man!
Praise be to God for the rest of man!
For, when man stops and steadies his eyes,
His thoughts like the smoke, to God will rise.

Friday, August 31

Fare-well

There once was a Ririe that moved across the sea.
Wonderlust drove him to see what there was to see:
Birkenstocks, beer, concrete walls,
Minimalist construction and Victorian shopping malls.

He went to fill his head with knowledge,
And there complete his final year of college.
The land of Kant, Hegel, Schopenhauer, and Marx
Hosted this young man as he fulfilled his marks.

Their language, too, he learned to speak.
His head grew and grew though his body remained meek.
History, philosophy, literature and the arts,
He mastered through and though all of their parts.

But like all men, his fate is not sealed.
Will passions or Truth his spirit yield?
Will he become mad as a hatter, wagging his finger
Or, be sound of mind, producing thoughts that linger?

For Tommy V.

Ol, Tom is jolly man.
Out-smart, there are few who can.
He shaved his head;
Has yet to wed.
I'm thankful our friendship began.

Wednesday, June 27

For Benjamin

Benjamin, my bearded friend.
The ancient world he does not pretend,
To know its parts,
And secret arts.
Their stories he tells with no end.

Monday, May 7

For Oliver

My son, fruit of my loin.
God, your parts He did join.
You squawk and squeal,
Jerk and reel.
Myriad is your price in coin.

Wednesday, April 25

For Matt Shockey

Old Red, my goodly peer,
Guzzles down frothy beer,
He smokes the pipe,
When the tobacco is ripe,
And, is full of mirth and cheer.