He’s a sweet Hawaiian cracker
Filled with gooey pineapple jam,
Nestled with his cracker fellows,
As happy as an island clam.

His future is to be nibbled,
He's tasty and so delicious;
But don't tell your mom or your dad--
He's not so very nutritious.

Just savor your sugary treat
With a crunch, a...

There may always be need for earthquakes,
  the appearance of brawny angels,
a blinding light and voice from heaven,

the upheaval of revolution
  to wrest mercy from the hands of
oppressively devilish death.

Some require signs and wonders,
  and circuses still have their fans,
so do the...

A massive, lazy housefly
sat on my poetry book.
He lingered on the rhyming
words with wistful, longing look

as he browsed with bulbous eyes
and rubbed his legs with relish,
indicating that he'd found
all the metered lines delish.

I couldn’t help admiring
the bravado he displayed,
but the pathogens...

At the Orange County Highland Games in 1994, our eight-year old son participated in a Pillow Fight.  Straddling a caber, he is here seen receiving the rules of engagement for the competition.  He needed to cling to the pole and apply some calm strategies to defeat his opponent, which he...

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“Let us make man in OUR image…and let them have dominion.”  Genesis 1:26

God speaks to someone before creating anyone.  The first pronouns are plural and inclusive, showing that God is never alone.  He is always “us”.  He is all about...

As Father’s Day approaches I’ve been thinking of my own dad, deceased since 2003.  I’ve been pondering what he would make of what is happening in the world these days.  Staunchly, politically conservative, I think he would be very critical of all demonstrators,...

Remember when the whole world came together while sheltered in our own homes?  It almost seems like a dream now, doesn’t it?  We had a glimpse of a selfless unity that actually felt miraculous. 

While initially we were told that we were staying home out of regard for the...

Lamenting all we’ve lost,
  are losing, we watch things
    slipping through our fingers,
      like soapy water as we sing
        and wash our filthy souls; 

bathed in sorrow, drenched,
  submerged and almost, not quite,
   ...

I am adrift
   on a long, slow flow
of memory's stream.
   I am floating,
recalling places
   I have never been,
gazing into a colossal tree
   at the gargantuan nest
of an eagle, scouring the sea 

to find food
   for hatchlings that are
indiscernible...