East of Eden
When your father has dubious means,
And you’re not too sure of your own genes,
Your mom is a witch,
And you’re a snitch,
You can’t buy anyone’s love with beans.
Pride and Prejudice
Hearing the truth quite often hurts one,
But ignorance is even less fun.
Darcy and Bennett
Might take a minute
To figure out just who they should shun.
The Brothers Karamazov
Fyodor Pavlovich was some kind of a jerk.
His three (or four?) sons each a unique piece of work.
Grushenka lived loud.
Katya was proud.
Priests rot, but in the loud dark, both death and hope lurk.
The Power and the Glory
Everyone’s sin is a nonstarter.
Church on the lam; wine on barter.
You shouldn’t get drunk
When you’re the lone monk,
For conscience will make you a martyr.
Said Hugo, “No one can write bluer,
But ev’ry injustice I’ll skewer.
Valjean’s the hero;
All others zero.
Wait! I forgot about the sewer.”
Image credit: engraving for 1886 edition of Les Misérables. Public Domain.
Houseplants sit a bit aslant on a windowsill.
Dieffenbachia, Schefflera resting, still,
A vine, drooping in line with the next crusty shrub.
Wanting water, Settling for soil, a dry brown nub.
I bought them for a dollar. I brought them to work,
Meant not to neglect them, but they know I’m a jerk.
A little TLC could go quite a long way,
“A cup of water today wouldn’t hurt,” they say.
Even so, life is tenacious, almost gracious,
Enduring, audacious. Literally vivacious.
My mistakes can’t kill their dream, though their leaves may scream,
A simple gleam of water as their one daydream.
Just a hint of compassion, giving their ration,
Brings ashen foliage back to the height of fashion.
In Photosynthetic glory, I see allegory,
But casting myself as the star of this story.
“Look what I grew!” I think as they come into view,
Withered stems askew, pain ignored by this breakthrough.
They laugh, “If only you knew; if only you knew.”
Photo: Santa Fe Botanical Garden, February 2018.
“Write what you know,” wisdom conventional,
Threatens to morph into ironclad law.
Fearing aggressions unintentional;
The best lack all conviction in its claw.
Sympathy is nice; empathy divine,
But you’d better think twice (or more), you cad,
If you think your words can ever touch mine;
If you, you WASP, you geezer robed in plaid,
Dare deign to make artist’s gestures this way!
What you know (not much!), keep it over there,
While I sit here and type, to my dismay
Using all your best English words with care.
Forsooth! Never could I more clearly see
That your culture appropriated me.
Photo: Feeding Time, Tracy Aviary, Salt Lake City, Utah, October 2016.
A comma belongs between each of your great thoughts;
Otherwise folks might confuse your “is” with their “oughts.”
Verbs make the world go ’round, ’tis true,
But for their acts, nouns are the glue.
To end a sentence, a preposition is more
Apropos than something else you could use it for.
“Every day” is an everyday phrase,
But using it rightly earns you great praise.
The rain in Spain stays mainly in the plain.
Why that matters is just too hard to ‘splain.
“If Ogden Nash could see me now,” I said,
“He’d tell me, ‘Write about a cow instead!”
Metered verse constrains the form of these words,
If only we could trim these thoughts by thirds.