Don't Give a Damn About the Dust!

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

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.

© 2011 by Jacob Anson.  All Rights Reserved.

Photograph courtesy of Dan Jay at Thousand Word Photography

Photosynthesis

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.

© 2011 by Jacob Anson.  All Rights Reserved

Photo courtesy of Brattcat

Love in Tuscany

[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.


Copyright © 2015 by Jacob Avram/Lowell A. Anderson.  All rights reserved.

The Gospel of the Easter Bunny

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

[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.

Copyright © 2011 by Jacob Anson.  All Rights Reserved.

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

[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!

Copyright © 2011 by Jacob Anson.  All Rights Reserved.

On hiatus...for a few weeks

Snowstorms and Truth

  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.

© 2011 by Jacob Anson.  All Rights Reserved.

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.