Sunday, August 29, 2010


Editor's note: "Sometimes our faith is shaken because our prayers are not answered," Dad wrote in the introduction to this poem. "Sometimes, our prayers aren't answered because we're not asking for the right things."

Four hundred and fifty feet long
The ark stood three stories high;
The seams well-coated with pitch,
To keep all the occupants dry.

Two of every known creature,
Down to the tiniest bug,
Noah took them on board,
And made them cozy and snug.

He and all of his kinfolks
Were finally quartered inside;
His sons were Shem, Ham and Japeth,
Whose wives went along for the ride.

Then all the fury of Nature
Cut loose the very next day;
It rained from the first week in April,
Almost to the middle of May.

The gates of the heavens were opened,
And the water spilled and it poured,
But Noah was never affrighted,
He'd been assured by the Lord.

And so his faith never faltered,
Tho it went on week after week;
He didn't pray for the rain to stop --
He prayed his boat wouldn't leak!

--Acres of Verse (1994)

Sunday, August 22, 2010


Editor's note: "A bald head is a Heavenly thing; there is no parting there," Dad quipped as the introduction to this poem.

My neighbor Sam is frugal bent;
He holds on tight to every cent.
And almost all his married life,
His hair's been barbered by his wife.

Clippings from her trusty shears
Accumulated through the years,
For she adored his curly locks,
And saved them in a storage box.

But Father Time is known to bring
Degressive change to everything;
And so, my neighbor, thru the years,
Grew less and less above his ears.

So there's no reason, here of late,
To snip or slip on Sammy's pate;
His noggin's like a billiard ball,
With nothing growing there at all!

It almost broke his spouse's heart
To see his tresses all depart;
For, where his wavy crown had been,
Emerged a dome of barren skin.

But she's so glad she saved his wool,
Half a dozen boxes full;
Up in the attic, stored away,
Mementos of a better day,.

And often, when she's feeling low,
She'll take a little break and go
To spend a tender moment there,
Running her fingers through his hair!

--The Buckeye Poet (1991)

Sunday, August 15, 2010


Editor's note: "'One size fits all' -- hogwash!," Dad wrote in the introduction to this poem. "And almost as ridiculous is the idea that three sizes will fit everybody!" As a lanky, long-armed man who stood 6 feet 3 inches in his size 12 stocking feet, I guess he should know! Truth is, I feel his pain; the difference is that my challenge is sideways, not up and down.

A serious problem on my mind
Moves me to wax poetic;
I know that I will surely find
Many readers sympathetic;
For I am not the only guy,
With chassis long and tall,
Who does not fall within the class
Of medium, large or small!

I try to buy some underwear,
Some longies, if you please;
The ones that fit my torso
Won't reach below my knees!
I buy a large size jacket,
And the shoulders fit me fine;
But the sleeves don't nearly cover
These yard-long arms of mine!

I get pajamas extra large,
And the same with BVDs,
But they make me look like a scarecrow,
A-flappin' in the breeze!
Now I'm no freak of nature,
But I wasn't made at all,
To fit no dad-blamed pattern
Of medium, large or small!

I wouldn't be particular,
Nor hard to please, I swear;
All I want is something
That'll reach from here to there!
And when my robe they hand me,
Up above, on Judgment Day,
If it's small, or large, or medium,
I'm headin' the other way!

--Acres of Verse (1994)

Sunday, August 8, 2010


Editor's note: "Sweet corn, cooked on the cob, has been one of my favorite foods ever since I was taken off the bottle," Dad wrote as the introduction to this poem. I don't know if the gene pool plays any role in what our taste buds hanker for, but if does, I know where my love of "roas'n' ears came from!

Though I aim to be discreet,
I must admit I live to eat;
And I ain't found, in all these years,
Nothin' better'n roas'n' ears!

Steamin' hot, piled on a plate,
I might eat six, or maybe eight,
Or even more if I really tried
And was a little on the hungry side!

You can't be fancy when you're eatin'
Roas'n' ears, you can't be neat;
And people who enjoy 'em most,
Pay no mind to Em'ly Post.

If you can't afford high-priced spread,
Just smear on oleo instead;
Then cut loose and wade right in,
With grease a-drippin' off your chin!

Ever' six or seven rows,
Pause a bit and wipe your nose;
Take a breath of air, and then
Grab aholt and go again!

If your lowers tend to skid,
Put 'em in your pocket, kid;
You may not do a fancy job,
But you can gum it off the cob!

Slide that roas'n' ear to and fro,
Slowly rotate as you go;
When one is gone, pick up another --
That's what I call eatin', brother!

--Acres of Verse (1994)

Sunday, August 1, 2010


Editor's note: "The greatest wonder in some of the noted doings of mankind is not so much in the worth of the venture as in the motivation behind them," Dad wrote as the introduction to this poem.

Away out there, in the desert sand,
Near the River Nile, in Egypt land,
Cheops built the great pyramid,
(Or if he didn't do it, somebody did).
Seeing the thing, so lonely and bare,
You can't help wondering why it is there.

Standing four hundred eighty feet tall,
A stack of stones, worth nothing at all;
Experts say, to them it appears
It must have taken a great many years,
To build it there, at a terrible cost,
In money and time and lives that were lost.

It puzzles our present-day engineers
How, way back there five thousand years,
Builders with only primitive means,
No great engines or hoisting machines,
Managed to raise a structure they say
Would present a challenge, even today!

The great pyramid is the only claim
That Cheops has to a vestige of fame;
Where did this ancient Egyptian king
Get the idea to build the thing?
Nobody knows, but I'd bet my life
It was on a list made up by his wife!

--The Buckeye Poet (1991)