Valentines:
For some years I’ve written a Valentine every February to my wife, Melinda. Here is a sampler of those rated PG-13 or better.
Now I Have a Color Printer
Now I have a
Color printer
And can send you poems in blue
I can celebrate your beauty
In a motley billet-doux.
You can see my prose is purple
Not prosaic black and white.
I can fly my amorous phrases
On a pink and orange kite.
I can tell you that I love you
In the colors that appeal.
Ocher, brown, and terra cotta
Umber, russet, olive, seal.
When I had no color printer
You could never, never know
That my soul is
Full of passion
And I hope
I'm still
Your
beau.
Two Clerihews for my Valentine
Melinda Miles
Deployed virtually all her wiles
Hoping that at least one would assist her
In fending off the advances of Montgomery Phister
Montgomery Phister
However, simply couldn't resist her
Overcome, as he was, by the beautiful smiles,
Stepmotherly goodness, and nubile contours of Melinda Miiles.
Melinda
M is for the many ways I love you
E is for your eyes which are not blue
L is for the lips Venus would die for
I the ivory skin that I adore.
N is for the nipples I won't speak of
D for the delights you bring to love
A is for the acumen I cherish, one of many ways you are a dish
Put them all together they spell Melin-
Da my valentine and heroine.
Songs:
(There is music for each of these)
Sarah et Julia et Nico
(This is a nonsense song for my grandchildren, who live in Paris)
Sixth verse by Julia Phister, December, 1989
Seventh and eighth verses composed December, 2001)
Julia et Sarah habitent rue Bausset. Quatre-vingt oeufs dans le ciel,
Grand-père les visite quand il peut aller. Mets tes mains dans le miel.
Sarah et Julia ont mangé le chat. Quatre-vingt oeufs dans le ciel,
Grand-père l'apprend et a tombé du toit. Mets tes mains dans le miel..
Julia et Sarah font marelle de jour, Quatre-vingt oeufs dans le ciel,
Grand-père essaye chaque fois que c'est son tour. Mets tes mains dans le miel.
Sarah et Julia peuvent chanter très bien, Quatre-vingt oeufs dans le ciel,
Grand-père chante comme il a beaucoup du vin. Mets tes mains dans le miel.
Julia et Sarah sont deux jolies filles, Quatre-vingt oeufs dans le ciel,,
Grand-père espere elles sont bonnes filles aussi. Mets tes mains dans le miel..
Sarah et Julia dorment sur le chien, Quatre-vingt oeufs dans le ciel,,
Grand-père leur dit bien de prendre de bain. Mets tes mains dans le miel..
Nicolas Mark Henri a un beau rire, Quatre-vingt oeufs dans le ciel,,
Grand-père croit que son rire bête est le pire. Mets tes mains dans le miel.
Julia et Sarah et Nico sont fous Quatre-vingt oeufs dans le ciel,,
Grand-père toutefois lui-même est saugrenu. Mets tes mains dans le miel..
Pam and Gary
(This was written to celebrate some good friends who held a wedding ceremony on the 25th anniversary of their elopement.)
Beautiful Pam and mustachioed Gary
Met in Vancouver in February
Church wedding?
Not a hope!
Fall in love,
then Elope!
If it wasn't February, it shudda been.
Gifted Gary and talented Pam
Off to New York -- the lion and lamb
Found a pad
In 14th Street.
League and Diner--
Neat!
If it wasn’t 14th Street, it shudda been.
Architect Pam and artist Gary
Found expressions extraordinary
Pinned down
Six faces
In Santa Fe
Of all places!
If it wasn't in Santa Fe, it shudda been.
Handsome Gary and motherly Pam
Out in Seattle pushing a pram
Twenty-five years,
and Sarah and Ben.
Time to get married
Again!
If it wasn't a pram, it shudda been.
Supergirl Pam and Paladin Gary
On their way to be legendary
Pocahantas and
Diamond Jim
Don't hold a candle to
Her and him.
If they don't become legends, it shudda been.
Fatherly Gary and nurturing Pam,
Got Sarah’s Bat Mitzvah epigram--
“Shy and quiet,
Our math-and-flute maid,
Then out of the blue she’ll be
Wedding-dayed!”
If it wasn’t an epigram, it shudda been.
Julie
(A birthday song for my daughter)
Julie, lovely Julie, you're the apple of your father's eye
Julie, darling Julie, when you're smiling, clouds and devils fly.
Birthdays keep on coming;
fathers are turning gray, but
Julie, butterfly Julie, lollipop Julie, be happy today
Kismet, life is easy, atoms carom, what will be, will be.
Souls choose, life's uncertain, dice fall six ways, Heisenberg is free.
Old ones think they know now;
young ones must find their way, but
Julie, butterfly Julie, lollipop Julie, be happy today.
For Melinda
Yesterday I was a plodder; harnessed, hassled, branded, burned.
Colts had gone or soon were going, leaving me with fields to turn
----miles and years of fields to turn.
Gray the morning,
pale the roses,
cold the winter,
bleak the town.
Chorus:
Picnic supper in the park, trip to Stonehenge after dark, soaring over harbor lights, soaring feelings,
hearts so light.
But I didn't even know the color of Melinda's eyes.
Yesterday you are an eagle, freshly launched into the sky,
and the world is just beginning--sights to see, your strength to try.
Miles and years of strength to try.
Starry heavens,
gaudy flowers,
snowy winter,
magic town.
Chorus:
Picnic supper in the park, trip to Stonehenge after dark, soaring over harbor lights, soaring feelings,
hearts so light.
A hundred years to praise thine eyes, Melinda
So today I sit in sunshine wondering what tomorrow brings
Eagles don't consort with stallions; logic has no songs to sing.
But the heavens,
flowers, winter,
keep us company
in the town
Chorus:
Picnic supper in the park, trip to Stonehenge after dark, soaring over harbor lights, soaring feelings,
hearts so light.
Had we but world enough and time, Melinda
Other poems
Birthday Kiss (Lisa’s 17th)
Lisa, lissome,
Willow Lisa,
Niece unknown
Niece almost grown,
Will you please
Embrace an uncle
Who would dote
On you alone?
Birthday Sonnet for Sarah
Her name sounds Irish but her temper’s sweet.
She always seems to smile for us.
Old-fashioned and green-thumbed, fragile, and neat,
She keeps cats but is not carnivorous.
She looks like Boticelli’s Venus, though
I’ve never seen her standing in a shell.
She makes us think of lace and calico
And dancing fireflies and a carousel.
Her calm good-heartedness can mollify
The fool and genius and the innocent
The captious critic and the bold, the shy--
Our pleasure’s her accomplishment.
Her cheerful soul should keep her in between
Whatever age she is, and 17.
Ionic for Iren (the artist who creates collages)
Little Marco found a tender, merry mother
On an island in the blue Aegean Sea.
She’s a sympathetic, home-and-kitchen lady,
And his dad and he are treated artlessly.
But the rest of us don’t think of her as artless.
We can see the subtle magic she creates
When she takes the salmagundis of existence
And transforms them for the world she decorates.
Waiting at the Bar
A dark room, and the tinkle of
The filled glass, and the barman’s gloom
Reflect how such a lonely man
Can find cheer in tomorrow’s now.
The horns blare as the drummer sings.
Voices strain through the blue-smoke air.
If you yawn when the spot light’s off
You’ll see yesterday’s then is gone.
How Happy
How happy should we be
As we pass through
This only time?
As happy as we can find strength
To try the new;
To learn to hear the world with eyes and fingers, too;
To think in rhyme.
I’m a coiled spring, tense
With a frantic hurt
And how can I see to draw the line?
How happy can we be
When all around
Is fear and pain?
As happy as we will.
For sorrow’s found
Behind some doors in towns all filled with happy sounds
Of childhood games.
I’m a coiled spring, tense
With a frantic hurt.
And who will lose life and who will gain?
How happy will we be,
My dear and me,
As lovers, friends?
As happy as we should
Deserve to be
If sadness can be joy and sweetness misery,
‘Till heartbreak mends.
I’m a coiled spring, tense
With a frantic hurt
And when will the pain and sorrow end?
Cinquain for a Stellar Carol
She’s a
Rare sight, all right:
Warm heart a real delight,
And funny, loving, kind, and bright,
Carol
Clerihew for Saddam Hussein
Saddam Hussein
Insists he is quite humane.
“Millions of citizens may have been tortured, strangled, crippled, beheaded, and maimed,
But Hey, nobody’s perfect! And besides, I was framed.”
Double-dactyl for a friend.
(We have good friends whose names called for this verse. Our friends are not the Carpenters, the wife is not Eleanor, the boys are not Jonathan and Nicolas, and the father is not Harry -- but the names are identical in dactylness) (A dactyl is a three-syllable word with accent on the first syllable. A Double-Dactyl is a poem of two stanzas. The first three lines in each stanza must be double-dactyls, and the fourth line a dactyl followed by a single syllable. The first line of the first stanza must be nonsense, and one of the double-dactyls in the second stanza must be a single word.)
Higgledy piggledy
Eleanor Carpenter
Jonathan, Nicolas,
Syllables six.
Then there is Harry whose
Prenominational
Name with five syllables
Calls for a fix.
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