In childhood they were “marshmallow chickies,”
All soft and yellow, crunchy sugar birds.
Still soft and sweet and simple little stickies.
But neon chicks and rabbits? How absurd!
I close my eyes to eat them and recall —
My teeth on edge, I chew them with my tongue.
Of Easter fare I love them most of all,
As much today as back when I was young.
I wonder, will their sugar coat dissolve
As quickly as marshmallow melts away?
The answers, now as then, will still revolve
Around that tastebud/sweet tooth interplay.
Tastebuds die. Teeth fall out. Still, nothing keeps
Me from my Springtime rendezvous with Peeps.
I dreamed I shared my thoughts, and all agreed
That thoughts I thought were thought to be divine.
Some ask, “What is your source? We really need
To know whose words these are.” And I said, “Mine!”
My thoughts were bought as thoughts that ought to be
On paper, lest the caper be revealed
That thinkers drink the ink that taught the sea
To linger dark and deep, her secrets sealed.
There’s simply nothing new beneath the sun.
Ecclesiastes gives us all away.
We think we think anew, new thing begun,
Because we don’t remember what we say
Was first heard of another long ago,
Elocution attribution goes no know.
Birdfeeders once drew cardinals and jays
And other sundry birds just passing through.
Sometimes a finch. No mockingbirds these days.
Do mockingbirds eat seeds? I have no clue.
Days grow shorter, colder, still, and quiet.
The clouds cast shadows as they mist my face.
Sunshine hides. I try, but I can’t spy it.
Nor can I hide; clouds always win the race.
Sparrows flock to feed upon my feeder.
Little shades of brown. They are all the same.
They fly without formation, have no leader.
Just feathered mice, no rose by any name.
God’s eye is on the sparrow, not the clock.
God knows your needs, so fear not, little flock.
This perfect face, this master race, I’m best.
I run this place; I won the culture war.
Good decision? Best religion? Pass the test!
My movie, my projector – I’m the star!
I’m just so proud to serve a humble Lord!
I fight for those who turn the other cheek.
Trust in those who are living by the sword.
No reason to follow the poor and weak.
I’m in control, and power keeps it so.
Forget the staff, but do not spare the rod.
While I’m in charge, I don’t just think; I know.
I get to pick the color of our God.
We fight for peace, for freedom is not free.
We hate to love, spend to save, die to be.
I built a bridge, but I could not cross it.
Like Moses on the mountaintop, I saw
My goal. Another to whom I toss it
Crossed the Jordan, now swings the donkey’s jaw
Against my strawmen, shadow phantom foes
Who haunted and taunted against my goals
Till Samuels and Daniels are random Joes.
I paved the road but could not pay the tolls.
Like Haman hoisted on his own petard,
Araunah’s oxen cooking on their yokes,
Plow my garden and plant a level yard.
My bouquet makes a decent mulch. The joke’s
On me! But sometimes Prophets take a stand
Against the watchmen o’er the Promised Land.
Some think you have to know where you’re starting
To plot the path to where you want to go.
That’s true if life’s a path; no more darting
To this or that distraction, to and fro.
Now take a plate of pins. Add a magnet.
Pins snap to and race to that addition.
No need for awareness or a dragnet.
There’s no hesitation, no contrition.
Know yourself — So says the semi-wise man.
Know yourself — A good idea, in fairness.
Know yourself — The truth will undisguise man.
But let’s not over-rate self-awareness.
On one hand, God gives a call to action.
On the other, God calls by attraction.
If one is good, then fifteen or twenty
Is probably a reasonable goal.
If one is enough, then let’s buy plenty,
Even if it puts us in the hole.
Sleep is overrated; no time to eat.
The shark has to swim to survive – lazy gills.
Here necessity and obsession meet.
These hazy ideas become crazy wills.
Don’t pay attention or give it much thought,
And always pursuing the next big thing.
Eager to learn whatever can be taught
Then lose it in flight like a bird on the wing.
Life is a blur, no cure, but don’t panic.
Strife barely stirs the sure when you’re manic.
I do not oppose wisdom and knowledge.
I dive deeply into both schools and books.
I seek the wise, even went to college.
I pray for guidance, judge no one by looks.
I say this not to make an impression.
I know that not all learning leads to truth.
Too many words in rapid succession
May merely rob your hearing of its youth.
I know that all I know is wasted words
Unless I use that knowledge to impress
The One whose hand created trees and birds.
My best learning, His measure of success:
God’s will be done below as up above
When knowledge serves to amplify the love.
For fear that I perhaps have lost my touch
I write this sonnet just to throw away.
I’ve written many, like it very much,
But here of late I’ve had far less to say.
The muse has come and gone or, so it seems,
I pray she makes a U-turn and comes back.
Oh, Muse Mundane! Come give me sonnet dreams,
Or, short of that, forgive me as I hack
Together words whose virtue is just rhyme,
An essay that has rhyme, but no reason.
Although I used to write them all the time,
Walking in the rain through this dry season.
Hello, old friend, I’ve missed your 14 lines.
I’ve naught to serve, but please, come in and dine.
Pray for the pretty. Isn’t she lovely?
Don’t you love Jesus? Share it with your friends!
Prayers for the pretty soaring above me.
Prove you love Jesus by following trends.
Pray for the pretty. She thinks she’s ugly.
Cry for hurt feelings, rejection, and loss.
Prove you love Jesus. Sentiments tug me
To call her slight trouble an old rugged cross.
Pray for the pretty! Have you pity?
It will have killed her some five years ago
When this spam began. Wasn’t she pretty,
This stranger who suffered heartache and woe?
Pray for the pretty, now just a rumor:
Post-mortem prayer requests for good humor.