The Infamous Pipedream of Dragoon Baboon

If I could create a nonsensical cartoon,

I would have as its character a silly baboon

Who lives in an old-fashioned western saloon,

And spits long, black spirals in a rusty spittoon.

Dragoon Baboon

  His digs would have gold, brass and silver festoons

With paintings on the walls of colorful balloons.

 All his rooms are a mess, with his music bestrewn,
For he loves to entertain with his woodwind bassoon.

                    Dragoon's Digs              
            
        
               

His breakfast would be honored at every forenoon
With the same menu item of fried crab rangoon
That he caught on his outings with his trusty harpoon,
Which he bought from a pirate for fifteen dragoons.

Cheap Pirate

So, you see, if my ink pen and I were attune
We could write a queer story of Dragoon Baboon
Who got up mid-mornings just to commune
From his music hall mansion we call a saloon,
And eat strange food daily at the crack of forenoon,
And behave as a crab killing, harpooning buffoon.
My bassoon playing, cartoon of Dragoon Baboon.

The Rose and the Candle

Carefully carry the flickering candle.

Make sure the flame is secure and well lit.

The surface beneath it is liquid and fragile.

The slightest misstep can extinguish it.

Love the rose gently, and carry it softly.

It's beauty is fragile and bruises with ease.

The velvety petals are lovely and fragrant.

But gone in an instant in a strong breeze.

Lovingly, carefully hold to your loved ones.

Their lives can be fleeting and gone at a turn.

Press closer always to give them assurance

Your presence supports them brightly to burn.

So, thus the existence of candle and roses.

Their lifetime is shortened if jostled about.

Take heed if you love them, but always remember

They brighten our days, but are quickly snuffed out. 

Broken

It's a place of confinement with shutters all around.

Not a sound enters in to soothe or mask the pain.

The shutters won't open for just a glimpse of sun.

They've bolted all the doors, and no escape remains.

Frantically I search the walls for glitches they've not seen.
Running in circles, reaching out for hidden roads to take.
There's nothing. No one. It seems they all rush by.
Their life explodes with laughter and, like fine glass, mine breaks.

Unknown voices venture closer. Do they threaten? Are they mine?

How I need a voice of reason in my maddening despair!

As the voices strive to calm my anxious spirit, I can see

The walls begin to crumble, small rays of hope lurking there.

It's a tragic, solitary place of doubt and fear, like dying.
The loneliness of being lost in a strange and hostile world.
The demons crouch and hover, taking all the breath you have.
It's the loneliest place I've ever been, where I am broken and hurled.

Yesterday When I Was Fifteen

We walked the long way home from school

Hoping to delay our time apart.

Best friends and classmates, we tarried in the sun

Of September afternoons so dear to our hearts.

Yesterday, when I was fifteen.

Our arms were laden with huge stacks of books.

Homework instructions are hidden from sight.

Jackets and sweaters draped over our arms

Were welcome this morning, but cumbersome tonight.

Yesterday, when I was fifteen.

All the beautiful streets of our small hometown

Baking and bustling in the hot autumn sun.

Full of big dreamers on their way to mom and dad,

Recklessly talking and having teenage fun.

Yesterday, when I was fifteen.

Falls City High School

It was the sixties, and our heyday was near.

We were innocent so briefly, some so close to war.

They had no intentions of dying so quickly,

We had no idea this day had happened before.

Yesterday, when I was fifteen.

We all went our ways to discover our destinies.

We now have grown older and long for rest.

I still think of school days and warm days of autumn.

I still think our time in life is simply the best.

And yesterday, when I was fifteen.

This poem is dedicated to the five men from Falls City who died in Vietnam.

FALLS CITY, NEBRASKA:
SP5 GARY WAYNE DUNN	SN PAUL AUGUST HOLTZ	LCPL MELVIN ERNEST KUHLMAN
PVT CARL ROBERT MARRS	PFC ROBERT DENNIS MURPHY

My Heart My Home

When spring holds nothing back with its refreshing April rains,

The richness of the coal black earth brings forth a beautiful sight.

I watch the grasses wave across the prairie in the summer breeze.

I gaze across the rolling hills, perfection in the absence of intrusion,

Like an emerald green sea of billowing waves it rolls and rolls forever.

This is the breathtaking scene as you wander the country roads

Of a lovely mid-western farmland, lush and rich with the scent of new birth.

I long for an afternoon of slowly driving through the prairie lands

Of my home, the land that raised me and offered beauties to my soul.

The land that I ever long for. My heart. My home. My Nebraska.

Liars In Ugly Clothes

Never trust your emotions.

They're liars in ugly clothes.

They fill your head with nonsense

And thoughts you would never suppose.

They're evil little tricksters

Wrapped up in deception and fear.

Their purpose is to try to convince you

To believe what's not really there.

When you're feeling sad or lonely,

Emotions tell you no one cares.

Just look around at those who love you,

And trust in yourself if you dare.

Your emotions are a state or reaction

Of unreasoned opinion or belief.

They make you susceptible to impressions

That cause inner turmoil and grief.

Emotions cause violent reactions

Of anger and malice and hate.

It's never wise to trust emotions

Or allow them to dictate your fate.

For emotions will fill you with nonsense,

And defeat and self-doubt always grows.

Never trust your emotions.

For they're liars in ugly clothes.

The Most Beautiful Flower

The most beautiful creation on earth is a flower. 

Some stately and tall, some dainty and small.

They capture my fancy for hour upon hour.

But the iris is most beautiful of all.

The iris blooms early in the cool of the Spring.

Its companions are peonies and poppies and such.

Their soft fragrance lifts the heart, melodies to sing.

Soft as fine silk and like satin to touch.

                                             Their breath but a whisper, they fade all too soon.

Their countenance flutters and waves in the breeze.

They pose tall and elegant in yellows and blues.

God gave them a presence to calm and to please.

I cherish the roses, the daisies and phlox,

The pansies and marigolds aligned on my cart.

I adore the strong succulents that thrive in the rocks.

And the lilies come closest to stealing my heart.

But, how I love the iris over all of the rest!

It reigns in my garden, overshadowing the whole.

Yes, it's only the iris that stands to the test

Of pleasing my senses and soothing my soul.