DUCKS

DUCKS

(in block poetry form)

Dedicated to UMass campus ducks

 

D	on't know why he is so cute,
	ancing in puddles without a boot,
	ressed in his own waterproof suit.
U	gly was one called in tale
	nder a taxonomy down the wrong trail;
	nlucky mistake, but at least not a quail.
C	hasing students away from his pond,
	lamoring and quacking until the frosh is conned,
	ause a mallard has noise, but almost nothing beyond.
K	ind of awkward waddling on land,
	nocking about from webbed hand to hand,
	eeping up is hard in the marching band.
S	witch to water to see him dance;
	wimming is his forte, you know in a glance,
	eeing his grace, that's what causes the romance.

Biology of Valentines

Valentines

Anatomically:

If my heart is the center for love,

How does it flow forth to you?

From my chest to my head up above,

How will my message get through?

To the lungs to get a big gulp of air,

Down the aorta to every cell of mine,

The flush of my skin and tingling of my hair

Urge my lips to ask, Please be my Valentine.

Genetically:

A sperm went out on Valentine's Day

To find an egg who wanted to play

Meiosis was awfully tough

And left only half my stuff,

So how about we recombine our DNA?

Evolutionarily:

Said the ape to the other in the tree,

If you will my Valentine be,

We can begin to build our family.

If we get a bit of luck with us,

Our son might be Ramapithecus

And he can be a big evolutionary fuss.

Building A Puzzle

Building a Puzzle

Wrapping some mystery in an indirect clue
Is the kind of activity I like to do.
Or prying some out of the shells in which they hid
Has filled many hours long past since I was a kid.

To roil creative juices through little grey cells,
To make the connection and to ring mental bells,
To unjumble the mumble in patterns of sense,
These often give me pleasures both mild and intense.

So do I make too complex that which is easy,
Adding extra unneeded layers to please me?
Never a simple question that you can pose
That I will not mine for more details to expose?

I protest against the obvious that any can see,
Insist more's needed for understanding to be.
The "ah buts" and "what ifs" to consider also
That pushes to never-ending the final sayso.

Feeding the Pessimist

Watch him eat, like he will never be fed again.
The finest cuts leave his appetite still unsated.
Feed me more and feed me now, if you really can,
With what is before him unappreciated.

Why tolerate this thankless personality,
Even if it lives buried deeply within myself?
Wake him up and cast him out to face reality
And see good is still there on a half-empty shelf.

Does the pessimist sitting at my mental table
Bring a balance against easy complacency?
Is this lack of faith of what the world is capable
A rallying challenge of some utility?

The optimist sees too much of what is not there
And may stop chasing dreams while remains more to go.
As bad the premature victory to declare
As to abandon the pursuit in hopeless woe.