Sunday, April 23, 2017


An independent survey done in May
Suggests no fear of snow in Cleveland Heights,
Discussions held about animal rights
Revealed no worries under Hudson's Bay,
And when you spoke to me, just yesterday,
About the feelings of the Northern Lights
And why some anteaters get into fights,
I was more unconcerned than words can say.

I love Bach's fugues, fresh hot blueberry tarts,
The witty, dark delights of Robert Frost,
How everything looks when my eyes are crossed,
My darling's passion for the plastic arts,
And moonlight shining when the dancing starts.
I guess I ought to have some cards embossed.

Sunday, April 09, 2017

A Dirk of the Mind

I've lately been given to understand
That Shakespeare wrote less of his well known plays
Than we had thought; that slashing, jocund band
Of Marlowe-ites saw through that Avon haze
To truths, so obvious to them alone:
Poor William, that uneducated wheeze!
They worked their brains and fingers to the bone
To prove it, and some scholar now agrees.
Did they check Fletcher's, Greene's, and Marlowe's work
For how much our Sweet William might have done?
Who uses "dagger" oftener than "dirk"?
Who thinks pastiche and mimicry are fun?
I don't believe I know the answers here,
But 1616 was a lousy year.