Nobody is perfect

Everybody has something

Jesus wandered in the desert

For Forty days

Forty nights

No comb

No brush

No pew to kneel on

No fatted calves

Hair a mess the whole time

I am talking about Jesus H Christ

With his hair afright

So stop trying for perfection

Try to be like Jesus

Wandering in the desert

Forty days and forty nights with no comb or brush

And his hair was far from perfect




The 1940s

That is what I am talking about

There is nothing great about sadness

I could tell you stories

About Paul Henreid

Never getting the girl

Profitable growth

Disguised as cancer


Disguised as words

Words disguised as profitable growth

Great sadness

Words disguised as great sadness in the 1940s

That was what Paul Henreid was talking about

AN Artist

Hard work being an artist

So I have heard



Painting a phrase

Picking a subject

Singing a song without any words

Writing a sonnet

Writing the word sonnet

Writing a sonnet about sonnets




Sunsets and songs and sonnets

Sonnets about sunsets


Songs about songs

Songs about songs without words



Birds scattered across the sky

Dark dark squirrel asking why

Am I missing something you guys

A warning signal

A tip of the wing or a nod

Why do you fly

In so many different directions

Away from me

Is it my aftershave

Or a great horned owl


Who is the culprit

A Shropshire Hawk

The funny way I walk

Up a tree

What do you chickadees see

Whither goest thou

Is there a heron in the offing

Is it two eagles boffing

Falling in love through the sky

Falling foreplay

Birds scattering

Whither goest thou ??


There is lightning in the vicinity

Take cover

In the lowest room in the house

Shelter in place

Shelter in the vicinity


Thunder and lightning


Fast transient electricity

Bursts and bolts

No laymen or woman

Can explain

Lightning in the vicinity

Stay away from windows

You might see something

Grey green sky

Disturbing thoughts and temperatures

Barn swallows reeling in the sky

knowing glances

Knowing something is coming

Mezzo-cyclones of tornadic inactivity before the storm

Telling the barn swallows to swallow their pride

And reel away with an Irish jig  from the wind

There are tornado warnings

What say you ?



Delicate larvae

Rappelling up a silver thread


Swaying in the wind

Winny war

Swaying ever upwards

Greased silver skid

Delicate larvae

Utching ever closer

Und higher

No audience

On a tightrope of silk

Not pretty at all

But has a chance to be something

In her old age

If she can make it

Delicate larvae