Vaccine Versification

I sing of sore arms with protection at last And the hope that the scourge of infection has passed That the bars will reopen, the gyms and the stores And we won’t have to worry when meeting indoors. The churches and temples and mosques fill with praise We’ll watch college sports and see middle school…

Paris, 1871

My wife’s been participating in an exercise of writing a poem a day in the month of April. I can’t keep that pace up, but have at least been inspired to try writing a little bit again. I recently read a book about the French “Commune” that held Paris briefly in 1871 and the violent…

Silly Limerick

My wife won 4th place for her grammar-related poem in the ACES contest this past week. Mine’s not as solidly grammar-related, but in that spirit I came up with the following: In the world of professional toesThe happiest ones must be thoseThat crush grapes into wineThat is luscious, divine,Effervescent, and purple like prose.

The Ex-Economist’s Lament

Every hour has its costIn roads not taken, jobs not doneInfinities of options lost,Of time not spent on work or fun. Comparative advantage freesThe insect just to play one roleIt’s fine for ants or honeybees,But humans need more to be whole. To test ourselves, with brawn and brainTo make what we could well afford—I’ll treasure…

Trigger Warning

Hank and ChopperGrew distressed byThe gunshot thatShattered their peaceIn the dramaWe’d returned toAfter holding offFor yearsTo manage your anxietyAdopted fromFamily trauma ofSeptember 11th andTwo friendsLost to suicide.Hank and Chopper:Two friendsAdopted fromFamily drama.He’d shattered his peaceFor yearsGrew distressedTo manage our anxietyFrom the traumaOf September 11thHe returnedAfter holding offThe gunshotLost, a suicide.

Quarantine Day 21

Second poem of the month: something light and fun today after 21 days of self-isolation. Hank and Chopper Our house isn’t ours, it’s Chopper’s and Hank’s:One likes to dig and the other one stanks Hank’s a retriever who loves orange toysAnd Chopper gets scared of the tiniest noise. They wrestle ferociously, but with affection(Though Hank…

Poetry in my life: An introduction

When I was in 8th grade I wrote a thousand lines of poetry. All rhyming, all to try and impress a girl (she wasn’t). Most of it was pretty bad, but it helped me cultivate a sense of meter and an appreciation for the well-chosen word and line. I kept writing semi-regularly for a decade…