Creative Confections

Growing Old

2012-01-20T15:42:00.000-05:00

Growing old

Does not

Necessarily

Make you
A sage or

Wise.

Growing old

Merely means

You somehow
Managed

To stay

Alive!

Don't Give a Damn About the Dust!

2011-10-26T13:48:00.002-04:00

It's funny how we'd worry 'bout
Some things when we were young.
We cooked and cleaned and washed the clothes,
Our work was never done!

And God forbid if company
Should suddenly arrive.
'Cause if the house was in a mess
We thought that we would die!

We worked all day at what we did
Then fell asleep in bed;
To toss and turn and worry 'bout
All the work ahead.

Now suddenly we've gotten old;
Decided to retire.
We figured these were years of gold
What more can we desire?

We've had enough of working hard
Of slaving every day.
We're gonna take it easy now
So this is what we say:

If the house ain't clean enough
We hope that you'll adjust!
'Cause you should know we just don't care,
Don't give a damn about the dust!

© 2006 and 2011 by Ansohn and Lowell A. Anderson
Image copyright © 2011 by Lowell A. Anderson and its licensors.

Penny for a poem

2011-07-26T08:33:00.000-04:00

I'd write a poem

For a penny

But I haven't

Written many

That cheaply

Before.

Still, a penny

Is a penny

Said the man

Sitting next to me

With eyes

Upon the floor.

So I wrote a bunch

Of poems

For people

Passing by

And some gave

Me a dime.

By noon I'd

Made five dollars

And maybe

A bit more

I felt rather

Like a whore.

I gave the money

To the man with

Eyes upon

The floor.

It was quickly spent

At the liquor store.

Photograph courtesy of Dan Jay at Thousand Word Photography

Photosynthesis

2011-05-18T22:38:00.000-04:00

Spring connives

With Mother Nature

To drape the land

In forest green

Gracing hills

With trees

So lean

And full

Standing tall

As Shady sentries

Guarding earth

Photosynthesizing

Our rebirth.

Photo courtesy of Brattcat

Hand in Hand

2011-05-11T18:41:00.000-04:00

the days like the wind

go rushing by

a blur of feelings

sensitivities

aging proceeds

the end is in sight

we know not whether

to laugh or cry.

often i think of

how far we have come

as together we

walked hand in hand

through tangles of troubles

love won the day

for that love I'd do

it all over again.

how can a heart

be full, you say

how can a heart

burst with joy

only when love's

unconditional

as your love - sweeping

fear and pain away.

so Happy Birthday to

my very best friend

lover and wife and

my champion

if you see a tear

'tis a sign of joy

as in love we walk on -

hand in hand.

This poem is for the love of my life, Lois Anne.

Love in Tuscany

2011-04-29T12:04:00.001-04:00

[Photo of Tuscany courtesy of Bonjour Luxembourg]

This poem is for Cezar and Leia

Love in Tuscany

There was a young couple
From Luxembourg
Who decided to vacation
In Tuscany.
They put on their clothes
Including their pants - for
This was the home
Of the Renaissance (Italian)!

They took bunches
of cameras
Guidebooks and
Money
And set off to check out
Old cities and shrines
Both happy as larks
The man and his "honey."

They'll never forget
This time together
Dinners and wine and
Delicious weather.
And when they grow old
Sit sipping their tea
They'll speak of their love
And of Tuscany.

The Gospel of the Easter Bunny

2011-04-16T09:37:00.000-04:00

Back by popular demand, is the Gospel of the Easter Bunny. This poem, happily, is becoming an annual exercise in piety.

The Book of Heaven's Hare

It is a hare-raising tale.
Sorta sad, sorta funny.
For once upon a time
There appeared a special bunny:
Who brought the people joy
And taught them to have fun;
Yet even as they laughed and danced
His life became undone.

An archaeological dig
In lower Percydocyair
Unveiled the previously unknown
Book of Heaven's Hare.
Significantly the book was found
On one foggy Easter morn;
On the very day they say
That Heaven's Hare was born.

In deciphering this Gospel text
Scholars have made clear,
Heaven's Hare was neither sex
That's why he was so dear.
Women loved him, so did men
And children loved him too.
Just watching him hop around
Made them feel like new.

Every other week or so
He'd gather everyone around.
And he would teach that heaven
Was a happy hopping ground.
And everyone could go there
If they would just forget
Their lust for eating animals
And started eating carrots.

These lessons were so well received
They got to be a habit.
And all the people came to call
The hare their Ravi Rabbit.
He spoke of the importance
Of tending to the gardens;
To see that all the vegetables
Were gloriously resplendent.

But then one day some hunters
Carrying great big guns
Told Heaven's Hare he'd better go
Back to where it was he came from.
But Ravi Rabbit stood his ground
He wasn't even scared.
He told them throw your weapons down
For I am Heaven's Hare!

They didn't throw their weapons down
They drew a bead on him.
He took off hopping out of town
Things were getting pretty grim.
They pulled their triggers all at once
The air exploded sound.
And when the smoke had disappeared
The hare was not around!

All the people ran to see
If he was dead and gone.
The children sobbed tearily
And broke out in a song:
Oh Heaven's Hare, Oh Heaven's Hare
We love you O dear heart.
We'll tend your garden faithfully
Til this life we depart.

Suddenly a voice, a cry.
"I see, I see the Hare.
"He flew away into the sky;
"There he is, there!"
But no one else could see the bunny.
Heaven's Hare was gone.
Something though was very funny,
Or very, very wrong.

The children saw them first
And shouted out for joy.
Strewn along the bunny's path
Were brightly-colored toys.
Then a girl name Mary
With long and strong, good legs,
Ran into a meadow full
Of brightly-colored eggs!

"Ravi Hare! Ravi Hare!"
All began to chant.
For they believed in Heaven's Hare
And they were adamant.
Then another miracle occurred;
The eggs had multiplied.
And everyone realized Heaven's Hare
Had never, really died!

Thank goodness they discovered
This Easter Bunny gospel.
'Cause lots of folks alive today
Have become infidels.
They long ago gave up belief
In an egg-laying Heaven's Hare.
And it is such a great relief
To have the truth laid bare.

So Heaven's Hare still lives.
His Easter eggs abound.
And every single brand-new spring
You'll find them all around.
Read the story once again
Of happy Heaven's Hare.
The lives of those who do believe
Is eggscelent, I swear!

Copyright 2006 & 2008 by Jacob Anson.
Image copyright 2006 & 2008 by Jacob Anson and its licensors. All Rights Reserved.

More Memories Than My Heart Can Hold

2011-04-15T11:01:00.001-04:00

[The title of this poem and the above photo comes from and is used with the permission of Rose at Pics and Pieces. Thank you so much, Rose! Please check out her blog here.]

More Memories Than My Heart Can Hold

They cleanse me like the falling rain

Awash with joy, sadness, pain

Softly touch my heart again

Rehearsing what my life has been.

I read the letters, faded, old

Put away so long ago

Saved for reasons I don't know

But I was young and brave and bold...

Knowing not of future days

When ancient script

Would rescue to now resurrect

Dreams and friends and memories.

I touch them and the aged paper

Crinkles, crackles, 'tis a vapor

As I gently smooth the words

Written when I'd live forever.

Or so I thought when but a youth

Mistakenly, but still uncouth

And now, older and much wiser, too

I need those memories of you.

And other friends and of the times

Both good and bad and in between

We knew it all except the fact

That things aren't always as they seem.

And thus, I hold them in my hands

Gently, as to not disturb

The spirit of the distant scenes

The memories and what they mean.

It's hard to go there once again

To life the way it was back then

I've found that like a valued coin

Memories are tough to spend.

As I sit here on the floor

I'm feeling glad and sad and old

I touch the letters for there I find

More memories than my heart can hold.

Of the Sun and Melting Snow (The Sun Was Mine)

2011-04-12T15:57:00.000-04:00

[Photo courtesy of Brattleboro photo blog]

The funky shapes of

Melting snow

Depend upon the

Ebb and flow

And how residual

Water goes.

And, of course,

Upon the sun

The warmth of which

Was such great fun

Way back in

Prehistoric times

When I was born

And I could claim

The sun as mine!

On hiatus...for a few weeks

2011-02-09T11:28:00.001-05:00

Snowstorms and Truth

2011-01-07T10:30:00.001-05:00

The world passes white

Before my eyes.

Sight is burdened by

Snowy lies.

Still, I trudge on

Through blinding flakes.

Seeking the truth

Living mistakes.

In time it will clear

The snow will be gone.

I'll see for myself

The right and the wrong.

That is my hope.

That is my prayer.

When I come to the end

I'll find truth there.

Our special thanks to Olivier Perrin of Evry, Essone, France, for his gracious permission to use the above photo. Please check out Monsieur Perrin's beautiful photo blog here.

What's my number?

2010-12-26T16:20:00.000-05:00

I crawled out of my bed

At 0800 time

Now that was a good number

I knew that it was mine!

Not so.

Went shopping at a deli
In line I was ignored

But others had a number
I fumed and then I swore

I finally got a number
It was 42.
The clerk whispered with a smirk
That number's really you.

Not so.

Drove down to the Post Office
To mail a couple bills.
This was fast becoming
A contest of the wills.

They finally called my number
It was 103.
I thought how nice it sounded
My number that must be!

Not so.

Went shopping at the mall
My shirt was rather old.
So, I bought a new one
The clerk was very bold.

She asked me for my number
On my card of credit
That could be my number
But I'd soon forget it.

So...

I took my old cell phone
To a kiosk in the square.
A kid slid up to wait on me
Tattooed with orange hair.

What was my cell phone number?
I didn't have a clue.
But did it really matter?
A cell phone isn't you!

So...

I left the mall behind
And took off down the road
I got stopped for speeding
The cop looked like a toad.

Let me see your license
She barked, with eyes of sand.
Then she wrote my number
On the ticket in her hand.

So...

I stopped to see my doctor
My head was hurting bad.
They said just write your number
On the insurance pad.

Please, I said, at my wit's end
I forgot my card.
Sorry, sir, then we can't help
We know that this is hard.

So...

Being in great distress
I went to buy a car.
They had the nerve to ask
For my date-of-birthday card!

I'm ashamed to say
I screamed, then screamed some more!
What, I said, in heaven's name
Do you need that number for?

So...

I went home and on the door
I saw 3179
I became excited,
That number must be mine!

But by half past four I had forgotten
3179
And when I went to look for it
A thief had nabbed the sign!

So...

Still feeling bad and very old
I climbed into my bed.
I was very, very cold
And still hurt in the head.

Then I heard a frosty voice
Call aloud my name
I want to know your number, son,
We're going to play a game.

Well...

I exploded furiously, said
I don't know, you mongrel pup!
Tell me what my number is! ...
Too late, he said, your number's up!

And everything went blank!

Copyright © 2010 by Jacob Anson. All rights reserved.

What would Jesus do...about the "war" on Christmas

2010-12-23T09:04:00.000-05:00

Some say there's a war on Christmas.
Others say that's just not so!
Some say Santa's but a myth.
Some "Boo," and "Ho, ho, ho!"

Seems we've got ourselves a mess.
Folks are feeling sad and blue.
We should ask one little question,
What, you think, would Jesus do?

He'd not be seen at Wal-Mart stores,
Or walking up and down the mall.
He might go hiking in the woods,
To keep from climbing up the wall!

He might attend a jolly party,
And try to do the cha, cha, cha!
He wouldn't go to church, for sure.
He'd celebrate Hanukkah!

Poem copyright © 2006 and 2010 by Jacob Anson. All rights reserved.

The Would-be Spy from DHS (Department of Homeland Security)

2010-12-16T19:50:00.001-05:00

Sitting at a corner table
Hidden in the back
His skin showed sort of sallow
His hair showed solid black.
The book that he was reading
Came from a secret shelf
In the White House library
He'd checked it out himself.

With hooded eyes he scanned the room
Searching secretly
But no one even looked at him
Knew his identity.
Wire glasses framed his nose
Hair fell in his eyes
He couldn't see so very well
But it was a great disguise.

Laughing females flitted by
Tossing heavy hair
Eyes of black and teeth of white
They didn't see him there.
But one would see him soon enough
A warrant he would serve
He'd find the curvy traitor then
If he could find his nerve.

Her crime was writing in a blog
About the president
She said he was a dunderhead
With brain like Pepsodent.
Now that's a great big no-no
Under the new laws
You can only write the truth--
The prez ain't got no flaws.

Everything was in the book
The Plan for Patriots
And those who fight the DHS
Are plainly idiots.
He found her name and where she lived
And took his gun and cuffs
He even stopped at church to pray
In case things got too rough.

But she was much too smart for him
And when he rang her bell
She was long gone out the back
He chased her, tripped and fell.
She left a note on which she wrote
That she was quite impressed
She thought him cute and said to call
Her at her new address.

Our would-be spy went sorta nuts
This sounded like a ploy
But she was quite a pretty girl
And he was, well, a boy.
So off he went, to apprehend
This fearsome criminal
This time she answered when he rang
Her clothes were minimal.

She said that he should come right in
And she would make a drink
And did he like her slinky gown
Or was it much too pink?
She took away his coat and hat
And then she took his gun
'Cause she was innocent you see
Just looking for some fun.

The DHS would never find
Their youthful would-be spy
He disappeared, was swallowed up
He left them high and dry.
But he's still out there with the girl
They're doing a lot of stuff
They've learned how to have a ball
With just one pair of cuffs.

Copyright © 2006 & 2010 by Jacob Anson. All rights reserved.

A Leafy Arbiter

2010-11-30T09:58:00.003-05:00

Fallen down upon the ground

Shining in the sun

The leaf hangs on as autumn fades

A sign of things to come.

For winter beckons white and cold

The leaf turns parchment frail

Its red and gold dissolves into

A whiter shade of pale.

Yet seasons come and seasons go

And new life springs from old

Another leaf forms on a tree

Fearless, free and bold.

A metaphor for life itself

This leafy arbiter

Fraught with fragile certainty

Of who and what we were.

With many thanks to Randy at Santa Fe Daily Photo for his photographic inspiration.

An Elevated Scents of Smell

2010-10-26T10:13:00.000-04:00

I watched the doors slide shut

Just after she slid in

She took up too much room

She really was quite thin.

I said hello to be polite

She didn't like my tone

Haughty like some royalty

She jabbered on the phone.

Suddenly I gasped for air

My throat began to close

She looked with great disdain at me

And then stuck up her nose.

I think she used a bottle full

'Least that's what I'd presume

And by God she's gonna kill me

With whiffs of her perfume.

I'll bet she works at Harrods

And wears a fancy gown

Does makeup on a stool

As people gather 'round.

Or maybe she just lacks

A serious sense of smell

And blithely on her way

She smells us all to hell.

I think, perhaps, a little drop

Or two behind the ear

Is plenty good enough

At anytime of year.

So watch what you put on

That goes for male folks, too

'Cause aftershave and lotions

Can smell like doggy do.

I'd like to ride what's called the lift

And manage to survive

And I don't want to stink and reek

Of Chanel No. 5.

So please have some compassion

Upon your fellow man

Remember just a dab or two

Is what good scents demands.

On The Steppe

2010-07-21T13:37:00.003-04:00

On the steppe there
Is a wall
Not very wide
Not very tall.
But you cannot go
'Round that wall
It all seems
Rather odd.

To get from here
To over there
You have to climb
The wall ... that's
Shrouded in
A mystery,
Portends, perhaps
Of god.

A mystery; no name
Or face
It came before
Before.
A mystery that
Defies space
And time -
Forevermore.

We must go from here
To there
So we must climb
The wall.
'Cause out there on
That lonely steppe
Is where we
Find ourselves.

But even as
we climb the wall
The mystery
Remains.
Yet in the climb
We find ourselves
Mysteriously
Reclaimed.

© 2006 and 2008 by Jacob Anson. All rights reserved

A New Religion in a Book

2010-07-05T15:03:00.003-04:00

Some folks believe
Most anything
That's written in a
Book.
Even if it's
Written by
A chef who cannot
Cook!

You can write
Of crazy things
Like gods up in the
Sky.
And folks will say
It must be true
'Cause books just never
Lie.

So, I am going to
Write a book
And I'll let you know right
Now:
I'm going to make a
Bundle
Let me show you
How.

I'll start a new
Religion
One with a brand-new
Look.
And like the other
Testaments
I'll write it in a
Book.

I'll make it really
Easy
I won't have any
Rules.
Just send me
Ten percent
Of all your money and your
Jewels.

The best part is my book
Will describe a
Palatial
Paradise.
And how a million
Buckaroos
Reserves
Eternity's
Surprise.

When you die.

© 2006 and 2010 by Jacob Anson. All rights reserved.

2010-01-21T08:52:00.002-05:00

On Vacation

The wind and
surf and
sand and
sea,
like a glorious
symphony,
collide at
eventide
to be
the catalyst
that sets
us free
temporarily...

From all that
threatens
sanity.
The sweetness
and the light
we see
sets us
free
so we
with certain
aimless, shameless
glee
can sing a song
just you
and me.

Tomorrow
we will wake
and be
renewed and
inexplicably
midst our
duties still
be free
to live
and love
creatively.

So thank you
wind and surf
and sand
and sea!

Copyright © 2006 & 2010 by Jacob Anson. All rights reserved.

The Tie That Binds

2009-10-11T22:37:00.005-04:00

There is a tie that binds;
An evolutionary thread
Spun at the onset
Of love.
Woven as the spider
Weaves and interlaces
Her web, it grows and
Strengthens to
Survive the onslaught
Of the unknown and
The venomous
Lurking dangerous and silent in the
Shadows of our lives.

This tie, sometimes bent but
Never broken, stands as a
Steely strand
Between us
Until the end of our
Allotted time
In this world
Binding love with
Passion and trust,
Growing stronger with the
Dawn that glows
With the promise of a
A new day.

© 1989, 2006, 2009 by Jacob Anson. Image © 2009 by Jacob Anson and its licensors. All rights reserved.

Where does the weather come from?

2009-10-07T22:25:00.004-04:00

Nobody understands the
Weather like the
Weather people do.
And they don't
Understand it ... at all!

Whether we like it or not
Weather is always
Going to change and
Become colder or warmer
Or stay the same.

Precipitation is quite
Possible when
Weather is around.
Rain and snow and sleet
All fall on the ground.

Summer brings hurricanes
Furious disasters -
True catastrophes.
Could it be they're caused
By pundit's prophecies?

Maybe it's the weather people
Who cause the changes
And the weather patterns, too.
By praying especially hard
To, well, you know who.

Because the really scary question
Is what would weather
People do
If there was no weather
For weather folks to do?

© 2006 & 2009 by Jacob Anson. Image copyright by Jacob Anson and its licensors.
All rights reserved.

The Fault of the Feet (Shuffling the blame)

2009-08-16T23:53:00.004-04:00

Sometimes you go where
You should not
Places that are
Much too hot
Places where you
Quickly learn
How easily
You can get burned.

Other times you
Just can't go
Where you want to go
And even though
You shift to low
Step on the gas
You spin your wheels
Go nowhere fast!

The feet, you see
Go where they wish
Hither, yon
At times amiss
All you can do
Is tag along
To where they take you
Right or wrong.

So please don't beat
Upon yourself
Don't put your dreams
Up on a shelf
Just continue
To repeat
It's all the fault
Of my darn feet!

© 2006 and 2009 by Jacob Anson. Image copyright by its licensors. All rights reserved.

She never looked before

2009-07-07T11:36:00.003-04:00

She'd walked the old familiar path
A hundred times or more
Now she trudges mindlessly
Tunes out the ocean's roar
She walks into a tussling wind
That blows and shreds her hair
But doesn't touch, cannot reach
A heart that isn't there.

She finally got the answers
To questions long delayed
If she could only take them back
For she has been betrayed
From future bright and hopeful
To clarity achieved
From life not tried or tasted
To bitter truth received.

Today she walks the path again
And breathes the cool sea air
She sees the trees that hem her in
Bleached sentries standing there
She sees a turtle on a log
The churning water foam
She sees the skittish little fish
The gator turned to stone.

She feels the spray upon her face
A salty pleasant sting
And looking up an eagle soars
A heron takes to wing
Never has she seen all this
She turns to face the shore
Amazed at gifts she'd somehow missed
She never looked before.

Copyright © by Jacob Anson 2006 & 2009. All rights reserved.

Handling things weekly

2009-07-02T18:08:00.004-04:00

(This poem is dedicated to all my friends still working 9 to 5)

Friday comes and
Friday goes and
Friday comes
Again.
Days are mere
Commodities
That I too freely
Spend.

Monday dawns
I failed to do
The weekend things
I'd planned.
The other days
Just fly on by
And Friday's here
Again.

Life rushes past
Much too fast
It's really quite
A pain.
'Cause ev'ry time
I look around
Friday's back
Again!

That's okay
I'll handle it
I'll welcome Friday
Back.
I'll call in sick
And crawl my way
Right back into
The sack!

(Copyright © 2006 & 2009 by Jacob Anson. Image © 2009 by its licensor. All rights reserved.)

Life at its best

2009-06-18T16:10:00.002-04:00

Life at its best
sometimes consists
of nothing more
than a quiet place -
a cafe, perhaps
where talk is soft
and dreams are woven
in whispered glances
and fingered dances
on tinkly glasses
with lingering looks
and longing sighs
quickly hushed
as chiffoned waitress
shushes by.

Copyright © 2006 & 2009 by Jacob Anson. Image copyright © 2009 by its licensors. All rights reserved.

The Camera

2009-06-09T17:05:00.003-04:00

The sky, the sun
The moon at night.
Mountains, seas,
Birds in flight.
Prairies vast
And city lights.
Decaying barns
Out of sight.

Cathedrals reach up
To the sky
As if they could
The gods appease.
While structures tall,
Broken, small
Sink deep into
The urban sleaze.

Aqueducts
And ancient halls
Stand sodden
Beside Roman walls.
Rivers, canyons,
Waterfalls.
Flora, fauna
All enthrall.

Children garbed
In innocence
Play midst tempting
Decadence.
Men and women
Trod the streets
Harried, happy
Incomplete.

The beautiful,
Sordid and sublime
Cohere in fact
And in the mind.
Still...struck by
Our own chimera
We capture life with
The camera.

Copyright © 2009 by Jacob Anson. All rights reserved. Image by Hemera Technologies.

The Butterfly

2009-06-08T18:21:00.002-04:00

A butterfly alights
On a flower
Defiantly
Silhouetted in
The sky
Where clouds churn
Wild, in disarray
Foaming, spitting
At the dawn
Which threatens
Their pretense
Of power.

Breaking through
A shaft of sun
Pierces as a
Rod of iron
Splitting dark
With shards
Of gold
To reach the
Butterfly in flight
His nimbus
Proving
He was right.

Copyright © 2006 & 2009 by Jacob Anson. All rights reserved.
Butterfly photograph cross-posted at Florida Fotos on May 2, 2009

The Golden Blog Award

2009-06-08T13:12:00.004-04:00

This beautiful Golden Blog award was given to Creative Confections by Cezar and Leia at We Love Luna. We are grateful and humbled by their generosity and kindness. Please check out their blog for an example of superb creativity surrounded by literate and humorous commentary.

The rules re: this award are:

1. Show the award in the blog.
2. Link back to the blog that tagged you.
3. Pass the award on to 8 blogs you love.
4. Inform the bloggers they have been tagged.

I am passing the award to the following:

1. Juergen Kuehn at Photographie-Lyrik
2. Ciel de Quimper at Versailles Daily Photo
3. Marie Reed at Vintage Postcards
4. Asta at Hyperenergy and Other Obstacles
5. Chris at Chris Photo Nature
6. JM at Oeiras Daily Photo

Honest Scrap Award

2009-06-08T09:48:00.002-04:00

Juergen Kuehn at Marburg Daily Photo, has awarded Creative Confections the Honest Scrap Award. This is a great honor, for the Honest Scrap Award is bestowed upon a blogger whose blog content or design is, in the giver's opinion, brilliant. The Honest Scrap Award is for bloggers who post from their heart, who oftentimes put their heart on display as they write from the depths of their soul.

It is suggested that recipients provide 10 different ways in which they are honest. I'll leave that to someone else, being a private-type person.

It is also suggested the award be bestowed upon other deserving bloggers, and that I intend to do.

I have chosen the following exemplary blogs for this award:

1. We Love Luna
2. Christopher's Photos
3. Astoria Oregon Daily Photo
4. Tampa Daily Photo
5. Nowy Sacz Daily Photo
6. Merisi's Vienna For Beginners
7. On the m104

The Working Man

2009-06-02T11:07:00.003-04:00

Every morning...

He trudged on down
That broken road
Awash in sun's
First light;
His lunch pail
Scratched and dented.

Every night...

He trudged on down
That same old road
Abandoned in
The dark;
To his wife
And to the house he rented.

Copyright 2006 & 2009 by Jacob Anson. All Rights Reserved.
Photo by Lois Anne.

My Friend's Cat

2009-05-26T12:47:00.004-04:00

My friend has a cat
Who's a bundle of nerves.
I'm sure the cat is
Not mentally sound.
It sits on the porch and
From that peerless perch
It orders my
Friend around.

It's a female type cat
Quite furry and small
You wouldn't think
She'd be bossy at all.
Maybe she suffers from
Low self-esteem
'Cause sometimes she gets
A little bit mean.

One day my friend
Came home from the mall
She found there a mess
Strewn in the hall.
The darn cat got mad
That she'd left home at all
She tore the wallpaper
Right off of the wall.

I said to my friend
If that was my cat
All of its nine lives
Would have long since been past.
It would be painless and
It would be quick
But I surely would end
Her lunatic tricks.

Wow, was my friend
Unhappy with me
She could not believe
I could be so damn cruel.
Her poor little cat
Was really quite sweet
And I was, quite frankly, a
Fusty old fool!

A week or two later
While out buying a hat
I ran into my friend, asked
How was her cat.
She said that her tabby
Was so sweet and good
The poor little thing was
Just misunderstood.

How could that be
I inquired of her
That cat was an ADD
Bundle of sin.
She said she had taken
Her cat to a shrink
And the shrink put her baby
On pure Ritalin!

(Luna requested this poem for Cezar and Leia. She thought it would help them realize all cats are not like Luna and thus they would appreciate her more. I think Luna was feeling that her allotment of treats had been unjustly reduced, although being the kind of cat she is, she would never come right out and say so.)

Copyright © 2006 & 2009 by Jacob Anson. All rights reserved.)

I Grow

2009-05-24T14:13:00.003-04:00

I watched the tree grow
Slow...
God, it was slow!
A year, ten, a
Thousand years -
Still it grows.

I watched me, too, grow
Slow...
God, I was slow!
A tear, ten, a
Thousand tears -
Still I grow.

Copyright © 2006 and 2009 by Jacob Anson
All rights reserved

Dedicated to my good friend, Juergen Kuehn

Home Again

2009-05-11T12:18:00.003-04:00

You can't go home again,
For home as you
Remember it
Does not exist.
It is a dream.
A shattered piece
Of stained glass;
Whose colors run
Amok, never more
To adhere in
Coalescent beauty.

You can go home again
If home is in
Your mind.
The place you first
Learned right from wrong
And how to live
With love, compassion
And the certainty
That you are
Valued and cherished,
One with the universe.

You must go home again
If only metaphorically
To meet that dream
Of yesteryear;
To see through
Shattered colors strewn
To find the light
To meet your need
To know the way
To walk along
Your path today.

© 2006 and 2009 by Jacob Anson. All Rights Reserved.

The moon has risen; how still is the world

2009-05-05T13:34:00.003-04:00

A few days ago, I posted this moon shot on Ocala Daily Photo. My friend Juergen, of Marburg, Germany, offered as an appropriate accompaniment this old German songtext:

The moon has risen,
the tiny golden stars shine in the heavens bright and clear; the forest stands dark and silent,
and from the meadows climbs a
wondrous white mist.

How still is the world, and in the veil of twilight,
as comfortable and lovely
as a quiet chamber, where the misery of the day you will sleep away and forget.

Do you see the moon standing there?
There is only half of it to see, and yet
it is round, and fair! So it is with many things
that we mock confidently,
Because our eyes see them not.

(Evensong by Matthias Claudius - 1773)

Thank you, Juergen.

The Gospel of the Easter Bunny

2009-04-01T16:48:00.006-04:00

The Fabulous Fabians

2009-03-22T12:54:00.003-04:00

The Fabulous Fabians
Were married at four
Under a huppah at the
Waldorf-Astoria
A priest and a rabbi
Gave God a nod
There were four hundred people
Some from abroad.

She was a debutante
Catholic and cute
He was a scion
Old wealth to boot
They met down in South Beach
By chance in a bar
They planned the best
New York wedding so far.

They smiled, so in love
And recited their vows
He stumbled a bit
But recovered somehow
And when it was over
Tradition took root
He stomped on the wine glass
With an oversize foot.

The orchestra played
New York's finest song
Then some Sinatra
They all danced along
'Til well after midnight
And into the morn
The Fabians left
Just after dawn.

They slept in the limo
On the way to the plane
She dreamt of her beauty
Her dress and her flame
He dreamt not at all
But when he awoke
He was nervous and sorry
That he no longer smoked.

They flew off to Cancun
For fun on the beach
She slept on the plane
Laying next to his cheek
He wondered what happened
Was he really so dumb
She'd probably want kids
His brain was going numb.

His father-in-law thought
He could do nothing wrong
And paid him a fortune
His work was so strong
The city had praised him
His vision, his nerve
For the building of grandeur
It was praise well-deserved.

Why are you distant
She wanted to know
You seem so uptight
Just go with the flow
The honeymoon's over
He wanted to say
I loved you last night
I'm not sure today.

She grabbed his hand and
They went to a club
She held him close
They danced rub-a-dub
She told him she loved him
More than he'd know
And she'd loved the wedding
A magnificent show.

One week to the day
They flew back to New York
She went to parties
He went to work
They passed in the hall
Of the townhouse he built
Neither were bothered
By feelings of guilt.

He was quite happy
The way things worked out
She didn't cry
Or whimper, or shout
His girlfriend was smart
And sexy and free
His life was all that
He hoped it would be.

Then on a dull
And dark winter day
He got a package
From Fox, Foreman and Gray
Attorneys they were and
Were letting him know
His sweet debutante
Was delivering a blow.

It did seem a shame
That it ended so soon
But for him the rose
No longer bloomed
The pain in his heart
He'd get over in time
The pain in his wallet
For that he would pine.

The last that he heard
She'd opened a store
For French lingerie named
Oolala! And More!
He lived on the beach
And nickeled and dimed
Took tourists fishing
One day at a time.

Now back in New York
If they remember at all
They say she was cute
They say he was tall
And wasn't it sad
Their love didn't last
The fabulous Fabians
Are fading quite fast.

Copyright © 2006 & 2009 by Jacob Anson. All Rights Reserved

In the Beginning

2009-02-23T16:06:00.006-05:00

In the beginning
My life was chaos
An amniotic
Explosion
Into a maelstrom
Of needs and desires;
I demanded to know
To grow, to determine
My own destiny;
And buffered by
Frameworks of friends
And of family
I learned over time
To be an adult.

I found in the middle
My life was predestined
To be an experience
Of unending education;
Of searching for
Meaning in marriage
And children;
Of searching for
Status in persons,
Professions;
Of learning that time
Is no friend of mine
Passing too quickly
Before I was ready.

To move to the end
To become an old man
Where life is chaotic
As body and soul
Fail now to function
As in the beginning;
Where what was
Important is now merely
Childish and meaning
Is found
In the love of a spouse
And family and friends;
Where you finally learn
That everything ends.

In the beginning?
No one knows...

[This is one of my favorite poems, initially published in 2006. Copyright 2006 and 2009 by Jacob Anson. All rights reserved. Image © 2009 by Jacob Anson and its licensors.]

When you call my name

2009-02-09T14:01:00.003-05:00

[For Lois]

When you call
My name
I hear a voice
Unlike any
In this world

The sound of which
Resonates
Plucking the
Heart strings
Of my soul...

Creating in
That moment
A bond between
The two
Of us...

Recreating
A reason to live
Healing and making
That which is broken
Whole.

© 2006 & 2008 by Jacob Anson. All rights Reserved.

At Sea

2009-02-04T14:35:00.006-05:00

A becalmed sea
A moon's soft light
Inky waters
Still as night

Dreaming now
We hold on tight
And gaze across the
The dark abyss

Where sparkling shore
Reflects our hope
What's yet to be
For you and me.

Copyright @ Jacob Anson 2009 - All Rights Reserved

The Patriot

2008-12-08T19:21:00.006-05:00

The car, a dull persistent gray
Sidled to the curb, tacitly
Silent, sullen, hulking there
A menace to the morning birds
Whose songs were swallowed
In the quiet, misty air.

Four men slid out from the car
Suited also dull and gray
Relentless, they came after me
ID's high so I could see
Crew-cuts bobbed and then they weaved
Too late, I thought, for me to leave.

Not nice guys, these gangsters four
Knocked me down inside the door
Demanding I confess to deeds
That sprouted from subversion's seed
They said the government was my best friend
It's up to me when all this ends.

No slapping on the cuffs for me
Just some new technology
So while in a stupor on the floor
They tore my house apart and more
Took receipts going back for years
Computer, files and all my gear.

Hauling stuff out to the car
Neighbors watched, but from afar
The agents laughed triumphantly
High-fives were shared comradely
Before they went to break for lunch
They said they'd caught me on a hunch.

Never use your phone one crowed
We heard it all, we got you cold!
Just put a tap tap on your cell
And you, my friend, are going to hell
You're gonna have an accident
You can't critique the president!

He grinned, a toothy bureaucrat
Stolid, shaven, neck of fat
I asked to call my attorney
He laughed at that uproariously
You're subject to the Patriot Act
You got no rights and that's a fact!

He grabbed me, shoved me out the door
This was the end there was no more
But then I heard a cardinal sing
And a small, persistent ring
I leapt up on the bed to scream
Thank God that this was all a dream!

Or was it?

Copyright © 2006 & 2008 by Jacob Anson. All Rights Reserved

Seeing is believing?

2008-08-19T19:48:00.002-04:00

You can't see
If you are blind.
Some can't see
And they see fine.
Some believe
And think they see.
Others see
What they believe.

Do you have to see
To believe at all?
Or is it enough
To just pretend...
That you believe
Or that you see
When you don't
Really see at all?

It isn't easy to believe.
And it's difficult to see.
Some I think do not believe
But still pretend that they can see.
They work so hard
At their belief
It's hard for others to believe
That they indeed can see.

The truth that is so plain to see, is
That we all see differently.
Thus friendship can be difficult
If we should disagree.
I know that I can see just fine.
You're obviously deceived.
You see things that I don't see.
That's why you can't believe.

Maybe when all's said and done
There is no need to see.
Or maybe on the other hand
There's no need to believe.
It all might work out for the best
The world might be relieved,
When no one claims that what they see
The whole world must believe.

Copyright © 2006 and 2008 by Anson. All Rights Reserved.

The Quintessential Politician

2008-06-26T15:54:00.004-04:00

The politician

Pursed his lips

Perspicaciously
Positive he'd make the
Point he purposely was
Posing.

To his friends
The lobbyists he joked and
Laughed out loud
Then spoke with
Great sincerity
Eyeballing the crowd.

I'm absolutely
Unbelievably
Bodacious
And come to you
With greasy palms
And sacred psalms...

To give you all
Your hearts'
Desires
Just as soon as
A small fund transfer
Quietly transpires...

I've pocketed the
President and those
Who give advice
The Congress folks
Bow down to me
I'm cold and bold as ice

They've all come to
Believe in me
I hold them in my sway
Your cash will finance
All your dreams
Old Tom does not DeLay!

(Copyright © 2006 by Ansohn and 2008 by Jacob Anson. All Rights Reserved)

(The poem is dedicated to my good friend and former bishop, Dr. Phil, who has worked so hard to bring a bit of common sense to Texas politics.)

Sunrise, Sunset

2008-06-26T15:19:00.004-04:00

(Photo by Anne of Rhode Island)

Sunrise, sunset
Twenty-four hours and
What do you get?
Another day older and
Deeper in debt...
More hours to do the
Thing's you'll regret?
Sunrise, sunset...

And yet...
And yet...

Sunrise, sunset
A gift of the gods
And time to beget
Visions of hope
Goals to be set
For all of your dreams
Are as yet unmet
Sunrise, sunset...

(Copyright © 2008 by Jacob Anson. All rights reserved.)

Orphans of the feet

2008-05-23T18:33:00.005-04:00

You see them everywhere
These orphans of the feet.
On ev'ry type of highway
On ev'ry kind of street.
You see them in the country
Along a rural lane.
You see them in the city
On streets where kids are playing.

I'd bet if we could trod along
The roads of ancient Rome -
We'd find these little orphans
In evidence, alone.
In Merry and Olde England
On cobblestoned divide
There'd lie our little orphans
They run but they can't hide.

Surely they'd have surfaced
In China long ago.
Amidst the many dynasties
On many dusty roads.
Even in Siberia
Where winter finds its root
Along a trail wrapped up in snow
You'd find a lonely boot.

These orphans are all different
In size, and color, too.
There are sneakers, there are sandals
There are brogans, which are shoes.
There are cowboy boots and biker boots
There are flats and heels that hurt.
There are shoes to skate upon the ice
And shoes to run through dirt.

Shoes like this are what you'll find
On highways ev'rywhere.
They lie discarded, desolate
As if nobody cares.
But I have never figured out
When all is said and done,
There's never two shoes anywhere
There's always only one!

Why this is so, nobody knows
It's a huge conundrum!
There's got to be a reason
Why there's only one.
If each could tell its story
'Bout living on the street;
You'd soon be feeling sorry for
These orphans of the feet.

© 2008 by Jacob Anson; 2006 by Ansohn
Image copyright © 2008 by Jacob Anson and its licensors. All rights reserved.

Music to my ears

2008-05-22T21:29:00.004-04:00

Expert Tease

2008-05-22T21:23:00.003-04:00

Experts love
To give advice
And fools we be
We drink it in.

We bow to priest
Guru, shaman,
And then they change
Their mind again.

© 2008 by Jacob Anson; 2006 by Ansohn

A dream is just a dream

2008-04-30T09:54:00.011-04:00

I walked beside the leader,
A man of erudition,
Poised as if for battle
A fight for life itself:
Toward the group assembling
Right out in the open
On a gritty tarmac
In chairs of sturdy metal
Made specially for this purpose.

That's when I saw my father,
My mother marching with him,
In clean and solemn clothing,
Solemn but not somber.
His face was slightly smiling.
She looked drawn and worn,
From bearing not just children
But the burdens of his goodness,
The demands of his god.

Far away, yet very close
They looked right in my eyes.
But never did they see me.
Expectations can deny
The reality around us,
Even truth laid bare.
Closer, they came closer
Nodding to their friends,
To those for whom they cared.

I said they must not see me
So I'll go in and hide.
The leader said to sit up front
I'd be quite safe up there.
No, I want to be surprising
They don't know that I'm here.
I'll kneel down by a window
Until the coast is clear.
Then I'll reappear.

But those who were assembled
Saw me hiding there.
They pointed and made faces
And asked what are you doing?
I told them please be quiet
Pretend I wasn't where
Anyone could find me
'Cause in the open air
Is where I knew I'd die.

I wakened then, to friendly sounds -
Of neighbors, birds, the breeze.
It was, of course, just a dream
But whatever did it mean?
My parents have been gone so long
And if I saw them now
I'd never hide for a surprise
I'd run, I'd sing a song
And throw my arms around them!

That's the trouble, you know:
No matter what you think it means,
A dream is just a dream!

© 2008 by Jacob Anson.
Image copyright © 2008 by Jacob Anson and its licensors.

Leadership

2008-04-23T21:49:00.005-04:00

A New Perspective

2008-04-16T16:52:00.003-04:00

Some things
can be
seen
only from
a certain
angle;
as in life's
dreams
where
dangling bones
of possibility
take on
flesh
mainly
from a
new
perspective.

Copyright © 2006 and 2008 by Jacob Anson. All Rights Reserved.
Photograph © 2008 by Lois Anne Anderson

Eating Crow

2008-04-06T15:42:00.004-04:00

The Ghosts of Mine Shaft #9

2008-04-02T15:43:00.005-04:00

You can hear them in the wind,

A whisper in the trees.
You can hear them as the canyon
Echoes on the breeze.

Breathless voices hush the night
Clinging to the dimming light.
Living now between the times
The ghosts of mine shaft #9.

Solid mountain burst and cracked.
Tumbled stones fell and stacked.
They sought but they could never find
The miners working #9.

Today old-timers tell the tale
Of miners gone beyond the pale -
Who come around from time to time;
The ghosts of mine shaft #9.

One old boy swears he was saved
When hunted by a hungry cat.
They scared off that mountain lion;
Those ghosts of mine shaft #9.

Sometimes in the mist of morn,
Just before a coming storm,
A song will flutter through the leaves;
A paean to those spirits free -

The ghosts of mine shaft #9;
How they scared that mountain lion!
And now they do it all the time;
The ghosts of mine shaft #9.

(Dedicated to Denise, a hunter of ghosts and abandoned mines.)

Copyright © 2008 by Jacob Anson. All rights reserved.

Snoring in His Sleep

2008-03-25T21:10:00.004-04:00

I never, ever snore
I said with a straight face.
She smiled and then
With twinkling eyes
And dignity and grace,
Said... "You snore so loud
I cannot go to sleep.
It's such a terrible sound --
My God --
The angels even weep."

She said "I'm going to show you,
I'll record you in the night
Enough of your denials
We'll listen at first light."
At break of dawn
She played the tape
I thought I heard her snicker.
The sound began
Slow and low
Then louder and much quicker!

I thought it was a train
Roaring through the dark!
A violent crash,
A bomb, perhaps
Set off by a spark?
Or maybe a volcano
A tsunami
Churning In the deep
Nah, it was just yours truly
Snoring in his sleep!

© 2008 by Jacob Anson. All Rights Reserved

Noodling

2008-03-25T11:31:00.002-04:00

This is a noodle
Today's prestidigitation.
Deciphering the codes of
Existential confusion.
You'll not find conclusions.
God doesn't provide
Answers defacto
When questions collide.

It's like what they said
To you when so youthful
Keep plugging along
Do something useful.
Not that it matters
Mild, meek or bold;
You're still gonna croak
But first you'll get old!

© 2006 by Ansohn; 2008 by Jacob Anson. All Rights Reserved.

What To Do When You Lose Something

2008-03-23T21:32:00.003-04:00

I lost something today
Nothing important
A trifle, really.
Still, it drove me crazy.
How did it happen
Where did it go?

I searched, as they say,
High and low
But had no success.
It disappeared into
A dusty vortex of
Nothingness.

But then there it was!
It just showed up!
The stupid thing
Sat out in the open
As if it had never left
So what did I lose?

I lost temporarily
The sense of myself
And my ability
To meet and to deal
With the daily
Confusions of life.

And the thought came to me
That this was a trifle
Nothing of value.
But what if my life
Had depended on it?
Then I'd be dead.

Now that was a worry
And my heart filled with
Dread - a dread very deep.
So, I brushed all my teeth
Said all of my prayers
And went off to bed to sleep!

© 2006 by Ansohn; 2008 by Jacob Anson. All Rights Reserved.

Canoodling

2008-03-20T21:08:00.003-04:00

By way of explanation...you'll notice that a number of these poems are recycled. They were published on my previous blog of the same name, Creative Confections, during the years 2006 - 2007.

You'll also notice that most, but not all, of the poems, carry some kind of a message -- not necessarily profound, maybe a bit profane, hopefully always kinda fun.

The poem "A Play Upon a Word," has been modified slightly from its original version.

Hope you enjoy looking at life poetically...

J.

A Play Upon a Word

2008-03-20T20:58:00.004-04:00

The author
Laid upon
The ground.
She was bruised
And shaken.
She said that
She was sorry,
That it was really
Quite absurd.
She fell, she said,
While she was
Trying to
Play upon -
A word!

© 2006 by Ansohn; 2008 by Jacob Anson. All Rights Reserved

Surfing at Night

2008-03-19T20:57:00.002-04:00

All I've got to say
About people who
Stay up all night
Surfing the Net
Writing emails...is

I understand
Perfectly!

The only problem
I can see is
If you've got a job
Then you oughta
Go to bed...'cause

The boss may
Not understand...

Why you're so tired
So disgruntled
So plain miserable
She might decide
To replace you...

Which is definitely
Not good...

So write a novel
A best-selling one
And quit the
Nine to five
You can do it...

All you need is
Talent...

Or find another
Way to live
Free, without a care
Then surf your
Little heart away...

It's better than
Being dead.

© 2006 by Ansohn; 2008 by Jacob Anson. All Rights Reserved.

A "Game" of Cat and Mouse

2008-03-17T22:21:00.004-04:00

You look very
Handsome tonight
The cat said to
The mouse.
Wait a minute
Said the mouse
If by that you mean
I'm edible
I'll give you some
Kumquats instead.

Kumquats, shumquats
Said the cat
Come a little closer
I want you
For a movie
About a
Haunted house.
But you
Understand
Of course
The mouse
Will end up dead.

The cat was on
The move now
Eyes glowing yellow
In the dark.
Stay where you are
Cried the mouse
His back against
The wall.
Maybe you're
A liar like
All the other cats
I know.
The cat smiled
Unseen
No I want to be
Your agent
I think we'll
Have a ball.

I don't know from movies
I don't know
How to act
Said the mouse.
You'll play a mouse
For God's sake
Just be yourself and
You'll do fine
Said the sneaking cat.
But like many
Would-be stars
The mouse noticed way
Too late
The cat had crossed
The room -
The last thing he
Remembered was...

I won't be in
A movie
About a haunted
House.
I won't be
Playing the lead
They'll get a
Bigger mouse
Perhaps they'll even
Get a rat.
I should have been
More careful, 'cause
If a cat is
In the room
A mouse must know
At all times
Where that cat
Is at!

This poem was originally published on January 31, 2006

[© 2006 by Ansohn; 2008 by Jacob Anson. All Rights Reserved.]

A Tryst in the Woods

2008-03-16T20:24:00.006-04:00

Stealthily they parked their bikes
And sneaked off for a tryst.
When they'd gotten out of sight
They stopped and then they kissed.

He took her hand and led her down
A winding, woodsy path
She skipped a bit and smiled at him
He couldn't help but laugh

They'd planned this tryst so long ago
A secret rendevous
It was hard to get away
But they knew what to do

They sat down by an old oak tree
She leaned against his chest
He gently kissed her golden hair
A loving, kind caress.

"Wait," she said and sat up straight
"Did you hear that sound?"
"No, I didn't near a thing
"Now sit yourself back down."

She sat but quite reluctantly
Then turned and they locked lips.
He would have done a whole lot more
But they both heard a hiss.

The trees began a-hollering
They were filled with dread
Until they saw materialize
Their own three sneaky kids.

"Oh, ho," the kids said, laughing hard
You can't go on a tryst
Without your children whom you love
And whom you'd dearly miss.

The kids broke out a basket full
Of bread and cheese and wine
And everyone who shared this tryst
Had a real good time.

© 2008 by Jacob Anson. All Rights Reserved

Signs That Go to Seed

2008-03-16T11:17:00.001-04:00

Signs like this proliferate
Ev'ry Easter season
Someone thinks that we should know
The Easter season's reason.

But they junk up the neighborhood
And they mess up our town
'Cause several weeks past Easter
They still ain't taken down.

I wonder why so many folks
Seem to feel this need
To set these sermons on the lawn
And let them go to seed.

© 2008 by Jacob Anson - All Rights Reserved

The Gospel of the Easter Bunny

2008-03-16T06:12:00.000-04:00

(The Book of Heaven's Hare)

It is a hare-raising tale
Sorta sad, sorta funny
For once upon a time
There was a special bunny
Who brought the people joy
And taught them to have fun
Yet even as they laughed and danced
His life became undone.

An archaeological dig
In lower Percydocyair
Unveiled the previously unknown
Book of Heaven's Hare
Significantly the book was found
One foggy Easter morn
On the very day they say
That Heaven's Hare was born.

Deciphering this gospel text
Scholars have made clear
Heaven's Hare was neither sex
That's why he was so dear
Women loved him, so did men
And children loved him too
Watching him hop around
Made them feel like new.

Every other week or so
He'd gather all around
And he would teach that heaven
Was a happy hopping ground
And everyone could go there
If they would just forget
Their lust for eating animals
And feed on healthy carrots.

These lessons were so well received
They got to be a habit
All the people came to call
The hare their reverend rabbit
He spoke of the importance
Of tending to the gardens
To see that all the vegetables
Were gloriously resplendent.

But then one day some hunters
Carrying great big guns
Told Heaven's Hare he'd better go
Back to where he'd come from
Reverend Rabbit stood his ground
He wasn't even scared
He told them throw your weapons down
For I am Heaven's Hare.

They didn't throw their weapons down
They drew a bead on him
He took off hopping out of town
Things got pretty grim
They pulled their triggers all at once
The air exploded sound
And when the smoke had disappeared
The hare was not around.

All the people ran to see
If he was dead and gone
The children sobbed tearily
Then broke out in a song
Oh Heaven's Hare, Oh Heaven's Hare
We loved you, O dear Heart
We'll tend your garden faithfully
'Til this life we depart.

Suddenly, a voice, a cry
I see, I see, the Hare
He just flew up into the sky
There he is, there!
But no one else could see the bunny
Heaven's Hare was gone
Something though was very funny
Or very, very wrong.

The children saw them first
And shouted out for joy
Strewn along the bunny's path
Were brightly-colored toys
Then a girl named Mary
Who had long and good strong legs
Ran into a meadow full
Of brightly-colored eggs.

Reverend Hare, Reverend Hare
All began to chant
For they believed in Heaven's Hare
And they were adamant
Then another miracle occurred
The eggs had multiplied
And everyone realized
Heaven's Hare had never died.

Thank goodness they discovered
This Easter Bunny gospel
'Cause lots of folks alive today
Have become infidels
They long ago gave up belief
In an egg-laying Heaven's Hare
And it is such a great relief
To have the truth laid bare.

So Heaven's Hare still lives
His Easter eggs abound
And every single brand-new Spring
You'll find them all around
Read the story once again
Of happy Heaven's Hare
The lives of those who do believe
Is eggscelent, I swear.

© 2006 by Ansohn, 2008 by Jacob Anson. All Rights Reserved

The Poet's Art

2008-03-15T18:56:00.000-04:00

If prosaic calls to mind
The factual and the dull,
What can "poetic" mean?
A different way
of speaking?
A different way to dream?

Stories sometimes
Must be told
Through images and light.
The truth we claim
To see so well is neither
Wrong nor right.

We tell of what
We know, or what
We sense or feel.
And often find
The Poet's word
Captures what is real.

We use the rhythm
Of The bard, the poet's lines,
The poet's art.
For hidden in the
Fabled verse,
We find our long, lost heart.

© 2008 by Jacob Anson - All Rights Reserved