Rolling, rolling down the hill
Summer evening breezes play
Tickling grass stalks on my skin
Smell of sunshine, dirt, and clay
Over and over the world turns
Sky and lawn and sky again
The tumbling force of gravity
Graceful as a top I spin
Category: Adventure
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Twisted Whiskers
Unique New York, new squeak to torque
He knew she threw three free throws
We shall surely see the sun shine soon
For wetter weather gets harder as it goes
Rugged rubber baby buggy bumpers
Full of yellow leather feather flight
By the worsted switch of an Irish wristwatch
We light a nightlight for a night like tonight
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Play It Again
Play for me – a happy tune
Of butterflies and sun and June
Play for me – a dancing reel
To match the lilting joy I feel
Play for me – a solemn dirge
To mark where love and grief converge
Play for me – a mournful air
Perhaps I can find solace there
Play for me – a regal march
To high step through a milestone arch
Play for me – a simple rhyme
So I can clap my hands in time
Play for me – an ancient ode
To guide me on this weary road
Play for me – a lullaby
Of twinkling stars and midnight sky
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Graduation
Low shuffling roar as the onlookers
Like marbles, each roll to a chair
‘Pomp and Circumstance’ swells and unfurls
A red carpet high up in the air
The black caps come marching in two by two
With the fragrance of freedom fresh and cool
As they step through the last of the twirling hoops
Of the long slinky tunnel of school
After one last powerful stage show
From the gatekeepers of degrees
While the bobbing sea of black diamonds
Keeps from bumping their hats and their knees
Each graduate parades across the stage
To be recognized for their achievement
The taut threads of hush in the audience snap
Into fireworks of bursting excitement
The black caps go marching out two by two
On the swell of the crowd and the music grand
But after all’s quiet, what really counts
Is the hard-won diploma each holds in their hand
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Ohio Quarters
Three months of snow and ice and cold
An arctic polar land
Three months of scorching, humid heat
A home on desert sand
And in between, three months of rain
A muddy flooded strand
But the other three months rival none
Rare days of warmth and green and sun
That’s why Ohio’s so grand
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In a Pickle
Up the creek without a paddle
No way to get by
Just have to get back in the saddle
And give another try
They say it’s not rocket science
Well I have no PhD
But if you want to hear my two cents
It looks worse than math to me
