The Craw

Shrove Tuesday

We marked Shrove Tuesday by having pancakes for dinner tonight.

Our Times

It's the malaise of Jimmy Carter on steroids. Where's the hope and change?

Hard Times

Notices posted on a terrified door,

Unopened mail spread upon the floor.

The bankers entrance is quickly locked,

Depositors assembled in awe and shock.

 

Dusty wind blows through sub-divisions,

Captains of Industry have lost their mission.

Fearful faces stare into the night,

Longing for morning and its sweet light.

 

A shaft of warm light pierces the dark,

Calling all to its precincts of fire and sparks.

The Bridegroom beckons all to enter,

The Ark of the Covenant at its center.

Redfin

Man, here goes Redfin again. Who does their website layout? In their new homepage photo they have a teenage boy who married his best friend's middle-aged mom and a unprofessionally-dressed college freshman as their real estate agent (what are those furry balls under her arms?).

Chesty

Cigar smoke mingles
Conversation draws on
Old men still young
In minds only.

Days of old
Days of strong hands on pistol grips
Days of fiery spears shot into the dark
Days of lightning streaking across stern faces.

The Old Corps now
The Old Corps now
Memories of Hadrian’s Wall.

Cigar smoke mingles
Young faces now wizened
White hair on veteran heads
The thunder recedes in the distance.

Trees

Like long crooked fingers,
They thrust toward blue sky.
Firmly planted in the ground,
Wishing they could fly.

Thumbs grip with intention,
Hands covered with dust.
Legs pumping like a piston,
To the top we must.

A final effort made to reach,
Muscles taught in suns rays.
Looking down from Kilimanjaro,
“Hi Daddy” she says.

All the Kings Men

Primeaval chieftains with wooden spears,

Yelling loudly, contain theirs fears.

Defiant at the darkness of the night,

Growing old and shriveled, filled with fright.

 

Chariots roaring across the plain,

“The world is ours!” They cry in vain.

Our empire, the earth will always command,

Towers crumbling into sand.

 

Legions march with pomping thunder,

Rose petals mingle with the plunder.

Crowns on heads, all perceive,

Glory fleeting with the eve.

 

Iron horses, winged angels of death,

Their striking clap, takes your breath.

Tyrants of the modern age,

The workers rise, filled with rage.

 

Pummeling, crushing, wise kings see,

And approach the throne on bended knee.

You alone, outlast them all,

Shattered glory from the fall.