Drunk or sober Uncle Jim
Played the boy;
Never glum or sour or grim,
Oozin' joy.
Most folks thought he was no good,
Blamin' him;
But where kiddies were, you could
Bank on Jim.

Sure he allus hated work,
Lovin' play.
"Jest a good fer nuthin' jerk,"
Lots would say.
Yet how the children fell for him,
Whooped with glee:
Guys so popular as Jim
Seldom be.

How old songs, sweet as a bell,
He would sing!
What grand stories he would tell,
Gesturin'!
Elders reckoned him a sot,
Sighin' sad;
But with tiny toddlers what
Sport he had!

Might have had a brood, they said,
Of his own;
Lost his wife in childbirth bed,
Left him lone . . .
Well, now he is cold an' still,
Here's to him:
Kids an' mothers always will
Bless old Jim.

Lots would say.
Yet how the children fell for him,
Whooped with glee:
Guys so popular as Jim
Seldom be.

You possess the beauty of all the worlds' wonders
It radiates from your delicate skin
Shining in the light of your eyes
Flowing through your hair, like the river of life
Your beauty is projected in all that you do

You have the grace of all the angels in heaven
Your friendships are deep and true
Your love is pure and real
Your movements are that of an angel
Your grace is bestowed upon those in your life

You are strong like the mountains
Able to withstand the storms of life
Turning a blind eye to the coldest of life's winters
Constant renewal in your eternal spring
Green grass and wild flowers your destiny

Your wisdom is that of the divine universe
Able to see beyond the immediate
Devouring the knowledge of the past
Improving the present, bettering the future
All the while taking care of those in your life

Being in your presence fills my heart with joy
When you speak, I hear the sound of angels singing
All that you are is what I hoped to be
The greatest gift, your love to me
A lifetime I shall take, returning that love to thee

A villanelle for Mother's Day
Should take me just about an hour:
Writing it is child's play.

Because I know just what to say,
And rhyming's quite within my power,
To write it should be child's play.

Yet plain speech is not my way:
I look for leaves to shade my flower,
This villanelle for Mother's Day.

I do not wish to sound too fey,
Obscure, mystic, gushy, sour--
Arggh! Writing's never child's play!

Yes, childish! To my dismay,
Far beyond the allotted hour,
This villanelle for Mother's Day

Dawdles on. Let me just say
It plain: I love you, and so end our
Villanelle for Mother's Day.

THAT crazed girl improvising her music.
Her poetry, dancing upon the shore,

Her soul in division from itself
Climbing, falling She knew not where,
Hiding amid the cargo of a steamship,
Her knee-cap broken, that girl I declare
A beautiful lofty thing, or a thing
Heroically lost, heroically found.

No matter what disaster occurred
She stood in desperate music wound,
Wound, wound, and she made in her triumph
Where the bales and the baskets lay
No common intelligible sound
But sang, "O sea-starved, hungry sea.'

This one a very dear friend wrote to me, and I treasure every word:

In my whole life,
There is no one else like you.
Someone who changed my life,
Just by being you.
You are an angel to me.

The music of your laughter
Still lightens my inner ear.
You showed me you believe,
That there really is good here.
You are an angel for me.

You showed me that you care,
When I was really down,
You never turned away,
Nor showed me a saddened frown.
You are an angel beside me.

Even when you are sad and blue,
And life is hard on you,
You spare me one more smile,
Just like God's loving child.
You are God's angel to me.

You have done so much for me,
And given me your time.
I have a gift for you,
With this imperfect rhyme.

Thank you my angel friend.

You make me smile
You make me cry
You make my life worth living
You give me strength
You give me hope

You stop my crumbling world
With the sound of your voice
You give me faith
You give me joy

You brighten my darkened world
With the light in your eyes
I am forever grateful to you
Thank you for being
My most treasured friend.

Wedding Poems