Sunday, February 28, 2010


Editor's note: "I'm sure a great many bridegrooms have indulged in the expectations of being the lead horse of the married team," Dad wrote as an introduction to this poem. I'm sure that's true of most bridegrooms even today -- and I'm just as sure the outcome is the same as well.

Before our wedding bells had runs,
I made a vow that I
Would be the boss, and rule the roost,
Or know the reason why.

I felt so certain things would go
The way I had them planned;
Get started right, and never let
Her get the upper hand.

Of course, I didn't think it wise
To crack the whip too soon;
There'd be plenty of time for that
After the honeymoon.

I might have been less confident
If I had only known
That she had been engaging in
Some planning of her own!

Too late, I realized that I
Had missed my only chance
For making good my early vow
That I would wear the pants.

Before the dust had settled,
I knew I'd lost the race,
For she was off and running,
Leaving me in second place.

It wasn't quite a total loss,
Nor yet a fruitless try;
I didn't get to be the boss,
But I know the reason why!

--The Buckeye Poet (1991)

Saturday, February 20, 2010


Editor's Note: There's no question that our five senses deteriorate with the passing of years, so it's a blessing when one of them holds up exceptionally well, Dad wrote in his introduction to this poem. I couldn't agree more!

Down through the years,
I've been much aware
Of the taxing conditions
We call wear and tear.

The way our physical
Beings degrade,
And how the keenness
Of senses will fade.

We're destiny bent,
Retrograding to dust;
Contending we'll never,
While knowing we must.

I'm no longer sharp
In my hearing and sight,
Nor do I remember
As well as I might.

But one thing affords me
Satisfaction immense--
Time has not dimmed
My olfactory sense.

So, I'm feeling thankful
And fortunate, too,
That I keep on smelling
As good as I do!

--The Buckeye Poet (1991)

Sunday, February 14, 2010


The Good Book teaches us that we
Should treat all men as brothers;
The Golden Rule to be our guide
In doing unto others.

I try to live the way I should,
And I do the best I can
To show good will and equity
Toward my fellow man.

Modern day philosophers
Expound on this as well;
In fact, nobody disagrees,
As far as I can tell.

And furthermore, they all advise
That someday we will be
Accountable for what we do
For our posterity.

All of this is well and good;
I won't equivocate;
But also, we must bear in mind
To not discriminate.

I'll treat them all the same, although,
As far as I can see,
Posterity has never done
A doggone thing for me!

--Eighty After Eighty (1995)

Sunday, February 7, 2010


Editor's note: "Little boys ask questions, and little boys demand answers. The quality of their preschool education sometimes depends a great deal on the wisdom, mental dexterity, diplomacy and tact of Grandpa." I always figured Dad had our son Scott in mind when he wrote that introduction to this poem. Scott (and later his sister Christine) used to love spending a couple of weeks "down on the farm" with their Grandpa and Grandma Pickett each summer -- and knowing Scott, I'm sure there was no shortage of questions.

Grandfathers all will tell you
It's a super-human task
To answer all the questions
That little fellers ask.

Grandpa, where is Heaven,
Do they have McDonald's there?
Do butterflies have babies,
And why don't snakes have hair?

How do honey bees make honey?
And do fishes sleep at night?
He wonders why the sky is blue,
And why the snow is white.

Grandpa fibs a little bit,
Sometimes, to make a show,
For it would hurt his image
To admit he doesn't know.

And many of the riddles
Coming from this little man,
Even Solomon couldn't answer,
But he thinks his Grandpa can!

--The Buckeye Poet (1991)