The Hamlet Quest
Gorse, of Course
We cultivate our favorite shrubs
With horse manure, and seed.
Some, because we like their looks
Others we grow for need.
Those nasty plants we do not like,
We dub a noxious weed.
Warily, we watch them grow,
And try to slow their speed.
A spreading flower called pampas grass
And stubborn Scottish broom
With waving plumes and yellow hue
Our ocean vista’s gone from view.
But worst of course, is gorgeous Gorse.
Cows don’t like it, nor does horse.
Farming neighbors rave and rant.
Even goats eschew that plant.
Not friend with needle, nor with spine.
It grows like hell, when sun doth shine.
It covers fields takes over land.
It even grows on dirtless sand.
They brought in weevil, mite, and spider.
Each year it spreads further, wider.
Seeds survive for years in ground.
Another method must be found.
They’ve tried removal sometimes with fire.
But that damn plant is made of wire.
Herbicides won’t work, nor will toil.
Perhaps we’d better change the soil.
Brought here by Scots. We curse their ghost.
But since that day, it’s ruled this coast.
In native land, a dirt-cheap fence,
Why didn't it stay and not come hence ?
I Don’t Listen
Land of Goshen
Land of Goshen, Land of Honey,
Where indeed has gone the money ?
Land of plenty with boundless wealth
We’ve used our funds on bombers stealth.
Schools go wanting and so do streets.
They need missiles. Improve those fleets !
We spend for guns and budgets soar.
Sums are huge. They ask for more
Greenbacks fly like birds in flight.
They flutter, flit, swoop out of sight.
Administration spends when account is flush.
Save those dollars ? What is the rush ?
Let’s mortgage country. Children will pay
This entire nation is led astray.
The massive debt with interest like glue,
What will we do when it comes due ?
They consume with zeal, waste with zest.
Resources squandered on Iraqi quest.
This won’t come easy. Indeed it’s hard
We must take away that credit card.
Those Damn Stickers
Those stickers on fruit, they won’t go away.
Now and forever, they are with you to stay.
Apples they rot. Oranges decay.
But stickers on fruit, they won’t go away.
They stick on like barnacle, limpet, or leech
On grapefruit, apple, banana, or peach.
Like nightmare adverse, we’re stuck with this curse.
But stickers on meat, that could be worse.
You can’t pick them out when garbage gets old.
They’re smelly and slimy and covered with mold.
The skins they dissolve and to compost evolve.
Like mystery arcane, those damn stickers remain.
Though fruit is long gone, the stickers hang on
Not on outside of bin, but on each fruit within.
It’s not that they’re there. It’s how they are made,
From some plastic stuff, that just won’t degrade.
Those damn fruit vendors with habits perverse,
As bad as they are, they still could be worse.
They could put them on grapes.
Children puzzle, and then they wonder
What the dickens is that thunder
Both in the day and in the night
When bedroom door is closed so tight?
What goes on behind that door?
What is the answer, I implore?
Are those noises things that parents do?
Or is it something strange and new ?
In teen age years there’s little doubt
One surely knows what life’s about.
Quietly, and please don’t shout,
It’s time for us to try it out.
Those youthful days in rumble seat,
T’was not much sex but lots of heat.
We catered to an ancient urge,
Awaking sexually on very verge.
In married life with children running round,
We make time when opportunity is found.
Close that door, if we are able
Use the bed, perhaps the couch, or even under table
We’re paying mortgage, making money.
We’re much too busy, “not now, honey.”
Cooking, cleaning, changing diaper,
Soon “later dear” will pay the piper.
In early life from day to day
We don’t let things get in the way.
But years march on in all our seasons
We seek excuses, find our reasons.
Time will tell as bods get older,
That drooping hip, a sagging shoulder,
Days go by and sometimes weeks,
Plumbing’s the same but now it leaks.
We look askance, we glance, admire
It’s hard to find that youthful fire.
What once was firm when at its peak
Now unstarched desire, Resolve is weak.
Life can be callous, the journey long.
It’s easy to make decisions wrong.
We count the minutes mid stress and strife.
One must find time for joys of life.