Crescent Beach

We check in at two, head straight for the beach 

At the top of the dune a new world bursts into view

White sand for miles, like a blanket of snow 

Facing us from the west, the vast expanse of the Gulf of Mexico

Blue-black in the distance, lighter shades in the middle  

Then pale green as it arrives near the shore 

Rhythmic sounds of waves and beach colliding 

The horizon, a perfectly straight line from north to south

Separating/connecting the sea and the sky

Sunshine, gentle breezes, bathers enveloped in warmth 

The beach is dotted with bright blue umbrellas

A long-legged bird prowls the water’s edge 

Locked inside seashells, ancient crabs dig burrows in the sand 

Two pelicans pass overhead, oblivious to the intruders below

But pushy seagulls scavenge for humans’ cast-off crumbs 

Waist-deep in the ocean, fishermen patiently hunt for unseen prey

I step into the water, a chill greets my ankles

Slowly, gingerly, I gradually reach waist deep 

Icy needles jabbing at my skin

Finally I grit my teeth, plunge into the oncoming whitecap 

Brrrr, such body-shock… 

I wave my arms, bounce up and down

But then, like a miracle, the water warms to my skin 

Eventually I succumb to the waves, letting them carry me back to the shore 

Katja is napping in her beach chair

Her cheeks already turning reddish-pink 

Tiny sails in the distance, kite-surfers flitting across the waves

Bicyclists and joggers use the hard sand as a roadway

Inside a giant sand castle, a small boy adds still one more turret 

A young couple throw a baseball, two girls gather shells 

I read a few chapters, solve one Sudoku puzzle, fail on a second

So warm and peaceful, I drift off too 

Dreaming of younger days on the beach in Wildwood

We break for supper, return at eight

The sun, just halfway through its twilight extravaganza 

Wispy clouds, brilliant yellows, oranges, and reds, a lavender backdrop 

A crowd has assembled at the water’s edge

All facing west, enamored of the show 

The huge red ball touches the horizon, then slowly disappears into the sea

Curtains drawn, the audience departs, the beach goes to sleep

The ocean shore — a world we rarely experience

So opposite from our mundane Midwestern environment 

And we, in these alien surroundings, are turned into different beings

Better, happier beings, more together, more in tune 

Will we hold onto those blissful moments? 

The Royal Wedding

We’ve watched every Super Bowl since Vince Lombardi 

The finals at Wimbledon, the French, the U.S. Open

Other galas too: the Oscars, the Tonys, the Kentucky Derby

Even Miss America till Bert Parks retired 

But nothing comes as close in elegance and grandeur as (you know it) 

The Royal Wedding! 

Arguably the number one extravaganza on Earth 

Even our closest friends don’t suspect  

But my wife, we believe, has a touch of royal blood

A mere teenager when her family traveled through Canada 

Numerous strangers approached her on the street

“You look exactly like our beloved Queen,” they’d say

Elizabeth was in her mid-twenties at the time

My wife, a fourth cousin?  A long-lost half sister? 

We’ve always included the royals in our family

Princess Di, practically a sister-in-law  

We see every movie by Helen and Kate

Binge-watched “The Crown” on Netflix

Are glued to the BBC at Buckingham Palace 

But the Royal Wedding, that’s another story 

Few things in life get more real  

The media, of course, a feeding frenzy

Pre-wedding festivities from dawn to dusk 

Then the wedding day itself, Four a.m. till Eleven

I DVR’d the entire lineup 

NBC, CBS, ABC, FOX, E!, PBS, LIFE, HBO, CNN

Weeks of viewing pleasure for my spouse  

Mid-summer, it will take, to absorb it all  

No alarm needed, we woke up at six 

Prince Harry, Prince William, ambling into the chapel

Fine military regalia, Harry’s neatly trimmed beard

Then Megan Markle in her Hollywood splendor

Tiara, white gown, a forty foot train

A bevy of flower girls, tousle-haired page boys

Prince Charles himself walks the bride down the aisle  

There among the onlookers, Oprah, George C., and Elton John 

And, of course, the Queen herself, looking stately in chartreuse 

Sweet glances, quiet laughter, Harry’s slight signs of nerves

The gospel choir singing, “Stand by me”

My wife sheds a tear at the holy vows

A kiss on the steps, the carriage ride, the adoring crowd

Seventy-five thousand strong

Red-uniformed cavalry, twenty-six noble stallions 

Suddenly it’s over, this fairy-tale wedding 

The end of royal marriages for two or three decades 

We’ll probably be a hundred two by then 

But Prince Philip looked surprisingly fit at ninety-six

That leaves royal hope for the rest of us 

Touring the Hereafter

Our Triple-A branch, I was thrilled to learn,

Now takes tourists to Heaven and Hell

Since any day now I’ll be ashes in an urn

I thought I’d see which rings my bell

Heaven, top to bottom, is a pristine place

Cozy cottages with white picket fences

All wear long gowns that are trimmed in white lace

Best of all, they are charged no expenses

The first day in Heaven one is given a harp

Lawrence Welk composed all of the tunes

Cous-cous and kale at six o’clock sharp

For breakfast, poached eggs and dried prunes 

All the radios in Heaven play NPR

People meditate and then do Tai Chi

Heavenly melodies float from afar

Tiny toddlers might sit on your knee  

Finished with my tour, Hell became my next stop  

The dwellings, not so fancy, I’d say

People gobble Big Macs, drink sugary pop

Then torture newcomers all day

The residents of Hell play poker all night

And do other stuff we’d call risky

They write poems with metaphors totally trite

While besot with too much Irish whiskey

           

All the TVs in Hell are set to play porn

Strangers dance the quickstep while nude 

I never saw anyone looking forlorn

One can’t be forlorn when they’re lewd

I’m having some difficulty making up my mind

Of course Heaven is seamlessly nice 

But Hell, I found out, is unfairly maligned

It’s so sad to pass by such fine vice 

Weird Gender Images: A Found Poem from TVGuide.com

We wish we could watch every show on TV 

But there are at least a zillion to be covered

I checked TV Guide to help plan our choices

Here are some of the plots I discovered 

Emily becomes an Internet star

Sarah decides to take some private time 

Renee talks Bree into going to a pickup bar 

Jane is ready to pursue writing full-time 

Barry joins the high school football team 

Josh turns mad scientist for his biker gang sale

 Kyle disappears after destroying Amanda’s dream

Hank’s erratic behavior puts him in jail  

Ella searches for the right hairdo 

Margie scrambles to find child care 

Zoey learns she may have a little more growing to do 

Sammy Jo is ready to wash Jeff out of her hair  

Dirt on Piscatelli comes to light

The cops close in on Art and Bill 

Antoine McKenzie is brazenly shot in broad daylight 

Boss Hogg schemes to destroy his late uncle’s will 

Rebecca tries to reconnect with Jack 

Peggy suffers from a migraine

Mona helps Hanna get her fashion career back on track 

Rikki spots Sophie kissing Zane 

Spencer invents a machine to feed his fish

Stroheim returns as a cyborg and wages war

Murtaugh walks on thin ice with Trish  

Ralph decides he doesn’t want to be a hero anymore

Pam puts on a lunchtime fashion show 

Megan hosts a Sip-and-See for baby Fay 

Holly lands her dream job in San Antonio

Jazz gets an unexpected gift on her 17th birthday

Eli finds farming more than it’s cracked up to be 

Jacques Renault is found dead 

A cross-dressing professor goes on a killing spree 

Two gunmen shoot William Davis in the head 

TV, as we see, is all about gender

The males seek violence and power

Women pursue close relationships 

When together, the couples just glower

All this brainwashing, who the sexes are

Or, supposedly, who they should be

Mostly they choose the male as the star

A minor glitch — it’s complete fantasy 

A Cruise From Hell: A Rondel*

A South Pacific cruise so sweet

Until an ugly brawl broke out

A girl’s flip-flop caused a lout 

To push and kick and curse and beat

This wilding family, such conceit 

They prowled the decks to scream and shout

A South Pacific cruise so sweet

Until an ugly brawl broke out 

The staff attacked in white hot heat

Heads were hammered, men knocked about

Families frightened fled the rout 

Officials made arrests discreet 

A South Pacific cruise so sweet

   *News source: ”’Brawl family’ clashed with staff,” www.news.com.au, Feb. 22, 2018

My Story. By Jack

My mom and I share a cozy homestead

But last week she told me, “No money” 

“We’ll have to sell Old Bess,” Mother said 

A great shock, that sweet cow's our honey

We left for the market, much to my distress

At the gate, a raggedy old man 

He offered to trade magic beans for Old Bess  

To me, such an intriguing plan 

Back home I showed the beans to my mom

But she screamed, “You didn’t get our money???” 

I did my best to stay peaceful and calm

But she told me that this was not funny  

I ran upstairs crying, crawled right into bed

Out the window went the beans, such a shock

I woke in the morning with a feeling of dread

But there, in our yard, a great stalk

I tossed on my trousers, my shirt, and my shoes

Up the stalk I started to climb 

Two miles high, such astonishing views 

In the distance, a castle sublime

Standing in the doorway, a tall lady giant   

With a huge yellow eye on her head 

I tried to act polite and even compliant 

One false step, I knew I’d be dead  

Suddenly loud crashes came from the yard

Her husband was coming, some eighteen feet tall

His face was all ruddy and jagged and scarred 

I hid in the closet at the end of the hall 

The giant chanted, “Fee-Fi-Fo-Fum  

“I smell the blood of an Englishman

“Be he alive, or be he dead

“I'll have his bones to grind my bread!”

That creature sat down and reached into a keg 

He pulled out a sickly white hen  

In seconds that hen laid a golden egg 

Worth at least sixty shekels and ten 

I stayed in the closet till the giant fell asleep 

Then the hen and I ran down the walk 

I think that the hen must have made a loud peep

The giant came running as we climbed down the stalk 

We scampered down that stalk as fast as we could

With the giant following closely behind us

I grabbed my axe, began chopping the wood

I could hear the big brute fuss and cuss

At the very last second the stalk tumbled down 

The giant screamed out in loud fear 

Then he crashed right down upon his bald crown

So relieved, hen and I, in the clear 

Our hen now produces a golden egg every day 

The first one, I bought back Old Bess 

Mom, me, Bess, Hen — all contented I’d say 

Is this a happy ending?  Well, yes!

Mike

When we moved to the river in ’46,

we had only one neighbor, Lew Reed

who lived a half mile west on River Road

with his Irish setter, Mike.  

Mike, a handsome specimen, red hair, strong legs,

keen eyes, a noble disposition.   

Lew and Mike would walk down the shore to visit

and we kids would cavort with the dog.

Running and jumping, tossing sticks and balls, 

wading in the river, resting in the sun. 

Soon, whenever Lew let him out, 

Mike would run away and come to our house.

We too him home at the end of the day.   

Finally Lew Reed relented to  fate

and he gifted Mike to our family.

We were thrilled. 

So fantastic

so smart

mature

a loyal companion

calm, affectionate, well-behaved.

Mike camped with us at Mason Park 

Long hikes on the river shore. 

Tossing the football, foot races in the yard.  

In the summer our family took our boat to Indian Island for picnics. 

Four kids, no room in the rowboat for a dog

so Mike swam along behind the boat — 

. . . . . . . . . . . . a half mile or more.

Mike loved chasing the chipmunks on the lawn.

Squirrels too, occasionally a rabbit. 

Each year he would corner a porcupine, 

winding up with a nose full of quills.

Yikes!  Ouch!  Ooooh! 

Off to Dr. Seidl for painful extractions.

A year later he’d forgotten and

he did it all over again. 

One spring afternoon Mike fell through the river ice.

My mother forbade us to leave the house

and she crawled out on the ice on her stomach

to rescue our beloved dog.

My grandfather bought us a second Irish setter in Florida.

We named her Micki and Mike was her mentor. 

Mike trained Micki to never do her business on our lawn.

Instead, they went to the birch grove next door. 

Mike and Micki got into a vicious fight.

My mother intervened, had her forearm ripped open.

At the hospital she forgave the dogs 

and blamed herself instead.  

Mike lived to a ripe old age.

Then one summer day he collapsed outside our door

dead from a stroke.  

I dug his grave in our back pasture.

A deep grave for a large dog.

My sister added a wooden cross that she’d made.    

I remember exactly how that gravedigging felt.

It still brings tears to my eyes.