Blue Marble Sky (a Recipe)

One-half moon, white.
 Three cups stirred cumulus clouds.
 One cup snow.
 Fresh wind.
 Two pinches stars.
 One Earth.

Refridgerate Earth in snow marinade, 
 (With pinch of salt to taste).
In separate bowl, mix cumulus clouds 
 A pinch of stars,
 And wind.
 Mix vigorously.
Bake Moon to fully risen,
 Taking care not to overdo.
Spread cloud sauce unevenly on Earth.
Top chilled Earth with Moon, 
 And stars to taste.
Serve chilled.

Serves one.

Pottersdale

If you ask Google about "Pottersdale, PA",
You'll see results one to ten of
Eighty one thousand.

He'll tell you about the local talent scene,
Find singles, or a roommate, 
Or check the weather.  
Ballroom dancing lessons, 
Hotel rooms and lawyers, 
New car dealerships and 
Web design.

Google does not know,
That Pottersdale has only twenty year-round residents,
And its only operating business
Is Pete's Excavating, Logging, 
Scrap Metal, Small Engine Repair,
And Salvage.

No one told him
That Pottersdale has no restaurants,
Or post office, or store.
That there is only one blacktop road,
And only three permanently constructed homes.

Google has no knowledge about strip mines, 
Or mobile homes.
He knows nothing of township roads,
Or endless rows of neatly lined
Pine trees.

The Robin

The robin is

God's poem

With

A very irregular

Meter.

Bedtime Benediction

May the nightbirds bless you with their tongues,

The whipporwhill to sigh upon you

And the night hawk to whisper to you.

May the owls keep your watch,

     As you close your bright eyes.

May the river wash your weary soul,

And carry you softly home.

May the mountain keep you in its shadow

And surround you with its long arms

     And give you tender hugs.

May the angel armies encamp about you,

And watch in all directions.

May you see their dimly lit campfires,

And hear their happy angel songs

     That drive away your fear.

May Venus and Jupiter keep watch upon you,

And the starry hosts smile above your head.

May the Milky Way sing your lullaby,

As you lay your head upon the clouds

     And dream sweet dreams.

May those dreams be sweet and pure,

Of good and soft and gentle things.

May you make many friends there

And remember them all when you awake.

     May they all come true tomorrow.

May the Lord bless you and keep you,

And make His face to shine upon you.

And be gracious to you.

May He lift up His countenance upon you,

     And give you peace.

Springtime Poets

There is no pow’r beneath the sun

Can still a young man’s hand

From scrawling miles of rambling verse

When springtime fills the land.

Let him see bees or daffodils,

And poems fill his brain,

With bumbling meter and cliched rhyme

That no flesh can restrain.

You may as well reverse the clock

And return to winter dark,

Than staunch the prose that gushes forth

When once he hears the lark.

I do not write of birds or trees

Or sunshine or the dew,

But I cannot help but burst with song

When once I think of you.

Psalm 19

Here's a poem I wrote, entitled Psalm 19.

The heavens declare the glory of God,

Quietly from above the lowered window pane.

The firmament shows His handiwork

To me as I sit on the edge of my twin bed.

Day unto day utters speech,

Like dusty tomes on the top library shelf.

Night after night shows knowledge

To those who sit up later than they ought.

There is no speech nor language

Where their voice is not heard.

There is only the summer time,

When I go to bed before

They have anything to say.

But it is now September and once again,

Their line is gone out through all the earth.

Or maybe I just started paying attention.

Rapt to listen more and more,

Under the tutelage of November.

And the eastern magi of December,

I’ll sit here through February

Until the wedding March,

When the bridegroom comes out of his chamber,

And rejoiceth as a strong man

To run his race.

The ancients declare the glory of God-

“Brought the geranium in,

Cut two more cords,

Lit the furnace last night”.

The mighty ones His handiwork-

“Saw my first buck past velvet.

Fruit trees just loaded this year-

Gonna be a rough one.”

To everything there is a season,

And a time to every purpose under heaven.

Including sitting on the edge of my twin bed,

Looking at the stars through

The dropped pane of my window.

I will take that book from the shelf,

Close the window,

And read for a little while.

May the words of my mouth,

And the meditations of my heart,

Be acceptable in Thy sight,

O Lord, my strength and my redeemer.