You'll come back to me

 

You'll come back to me;

or I'll come back to you.

Wouldn't it be nice

if such things would come true?

But you left long ago

and I've moved on since then;

the bitter tides insist --

'There is no where or when.'

The words of Christ will tell you all things what ye should do.

 

The words of Jesus Christ secure

us from all folly and allure

that otherwise sends us adrift

and makes of life but dull short shrift.

Heed his words today to be

caught up in full felicity.

My son had a blanket

 

My son had a blanket he carried about.

All color dragged out of it finally.

It was his totem and breechclout.

It was more real to him than Amy and I.

I took it away once to punish him.

He lay down like roadkill to cry.

But I thought pity should not my duty cloy.

I was very wrong -- but he won't hear me now

when I say "Forgive me, my dear little boy."

Incorrect traditions.

 

Examine ev'ry custom that you follow willy-nilly;

some are beneficial but how many are just silly?

Superstitious dogma or attraction to sly fraud

still keep so many people from quite understanding God.

Having been favored above every other nation.

 

The favor of the Lord is great,

but those who do procrastinate

and let in lazy slipshod ways

will find that laxness never pays.

Their former glory will depart,

to leave behind a crippled heart.

"Out of the Office."

 

(Dedicated to Anthony Harrup. WSJ)

I'm out of the office and cannot reply.

(I work from my laptop at home, by the by.)

Important affairs are engaging me now.

(As from my window I watch a snowplow.)

If this is important and brooks no delay

(and threatens my long winter naps to gainsay)

contact my editor, agent, or aide

(while I view The Simpsons on my bed unmade.)

No hot water New Year's Day

 

No hot water New Year's Day

in the building where I stay.

Dishes washed still full of grease;

how I'd like to break the lease.

But it's subsidized, you see --

All hail Social Security!

Minnesota; The Viking.

 

Lakes and hills, but mountains none.

Not mystery, but grouse and sun.

The limitless view of a sky undone.

Silos keep the land so prone

like conquerors now all alone.

My childhood was thus loosely sown.

I wondered at the silent trees.

The resonance of bumblebees.

But nothing brought me to my knees.

Until tornadic winds began

and to the cellar we all ran,

hiding under mom's caftan.

At last the thunder does not roll,

and, despite snapped 'lectric pole,

the wet green grass makes me feel whole.

So back to careless ways I dashed;

no distant peaks make me abashed.

A woodland Viking, rude mustached! 

A New Cadence.

 

I want a new cadence;

the last one's too broke.

It started out solid,

but turned into smoke.

(My voice so refurbished

still tells the same joke.)

Awakened out of a deep sleep

 

I slept, but thought I was awake;

until the Lord my slumber brake.

His words and spirit did arouse

me from my heedless sinful drowse.

Now my waking hours brim

with tenderness that comes from him.