Moonlight, Stuff and Nonsense

Free Preview: Grouch I woke up feeling cross the other morning. There really wasn't any reason why. No bellyache had disarrayed my slumber, No red and stuffy nose, no bloodshot eye. I snarled at the cheery TV person, Scowled in the mirror, grumbled at the cat. I mumbled as I read the op-ed pages And told my spouse that she was getting fat. From time to time I think that I'm entitled Thus to try stranger, neighbor, child or wife As one who now these many, many seasons Has suffered the indignities of life. The only thing to do is to indulge me Till I improve. My friends and family know To smile and to ignore this grumpy person, And I'll be sweet in just an hour or so. “Play Ball” (To my Dad) Fast ball, slider, knuckler, curve -- Sweat and sinew, flesh and nerve. Wind-up, pivot, heel and toe. Keep it inside; keep it low Fingers tight across the seams -- Still I do it in my dreams. Still it echoes in my brain: Summer sun and sudden rain. Iron cleats in prairie soil, Infield dust and neat's-foot oil. Short-hop grounders in my glove, Red earth beneath, blue sky above. We were so innocent and chaste; We played the game and then embraced Before a hurting world grew mean And drew a veil of spite between. Youth and friendship, grass and sky. A happy warrior once was I! Helmet, saber, shield and buckler, Fast ball, change-up, slider, knuckler. Heron So there I sat, as silent as a stone, Watching my cork caress the quiet ripples On the April pond, When he came stalking (storking?) in the shallows. Past the crumbling jetty, Past the mud flat and the broken clamshells, Around the cat-tails at the margin, Peering singly at the murky water, Lurching as he walked, Like Ichabod Crane, Hands clasped behind him as he paced. Suddenly, as swift as thought, he speared The crappie I had fixed my hopes upon. I watched it wriggle down his serpent neck. He fixed a mocking yellow eye on me, Said “Gronk” and flew away. Visit to the Ophthalmologist (To RDC) "Please read the chart upon the door." "That's easy: F Z B D 4." "So far so good, but now let's try The next line with the other eye." "It starts with Q, or could it be An O or D or maybe G?" Then F L C . . ." "Now try the third." "I'm sorry but it's sorta blurred." My aging orbs there's no disguising. Next time I'll try memorizing. I've long since bid bi-focals "Bye" But tell me, what comes after tri- ? I guess its "Onward through the fog!" Where do I go to get my dog? Love by Degrees I observe that the world's divided, If I may be so bold, Into folks who say, “It's too warm in here,” And folks who say, “It's too cold.” No matter what the season, It's always safe to bet That somebody's got the chill bumps And somebody's in a sweat. And so it is, my fair one, My passion and my delight, We agree, you see, on so many things But not on Fahrenheit. How then shall we live together? What will we ever do When your thermostat's set on eighty-nine And mine's on fifty-two? We'll let the seasons come and go And make the most of the weather. If we freeze, let's freeze to each other; If we melt, let's melt together. (In tribute to the incomparable O.N.) On Limericks Some limericks are gentle and lyrical; Some limericks are sharp and satirical; Some are laden with spleen, Some dyspeptic and mean, But a limerick that's clean--that's a miracle. The Critic An elegant gourmet named Dewey At a dinner was served ratatouille. He leaned over the tray And sniffed the bouquet And uttered the expletive, "Phooey!" Little Big Horn Said Custer, as two thousand Sioux In war-paint jumped up and said "Bioux!" "When history is written They'll say that I've bitten Off more than I'm able to chioux." The Toad In May you'll perhaps see the toad On your lawn when it's sprinkled and mowed. He's a singer in June By the light of the moon. In July he's a spot on the road. Autumn Spring We have been older, dear, than we are now And did not see the coming of the spring, Receive it with such willing, or allow The whispered truth in every blossoming. But are we not more ready to be love One to the other, and to hold the splendor Of twilight, and of this soft shower above? Our passions are not poorer, but more tender. We are with heavy time less weighted now-- Not less attuned to April's haunting pain But, apt with quieter spirits, we endow With joy the gentle falling of the rain. How pleasant to be innocent again! Magic (To Elizabeth on her third birthday) Happy enchantress, Practitioner of ancient arts unlearned From Prospero's drowned book, Yours is the magic of gentle Ariel, Untouched by spite, Gold-flecked from splitting sunbeams in your flight, Diaphanous as rainbowed mists That vanish in the airs of bright and endless springs. From what lost deep and by what runic art Do you call up such music to cajole The Caliban within my soul, To do such wonder-working in my heart? Eve of Nativity The Christ Candle is burning; The hour draws near; The stillness of the watchful night Comes on us. Hush! No idle words! No tinkling sound of temple or bazaar! Only rapt silence! Only the pregnant plenitude of mystery! We stand with open mouths. We cannot fathom how: The Word again is flesh And dwells among us. (For Christmas Eve)