There It Was ...

And then—this morning—there it was,

A blossom on the stalk—

The lily’s way to contradict—

Of course, it cannot talk.

It somehow knew I'd doubted it—

And, not to be outdone,

It spread its petals to the air,

And glowed in morning sun.

“Her yea is yea,” wrote Emerson

Of Nature’s final power.

Her “nay” is “nay,” he added—was

He thinking of our flower?

That lily near our cedar fence

Had seemed so near its doom.

But Nature spoke, instead, a “Yea!”

A lily burst in bloom. 

He euchered me; I was inflamed.

I took him out—was never blamed.

Shakespeare Couplet: A Midsummer Night’s Dream (42):

“Why then we are awake,” Demetrius

Concludes. They leave—with so much to discuss. (4.1)

Lingering Lilies

Lingering Lilies

The last few lilies on the stalk

Seem hesitant to me.

They’ve colored—slightly—and imply

They’ll soon be bursting free.

So dilatory, these last buds

In this September dawn.

Perhaps they know their siblings—all—

Have blossomed and have gone?

Or maybe it is Death himself

Who’s keeping them inside?

Why spread your glories to the sun

When Death will coincide?

I feel some kinship with this plant—

Though my veins run with blood.

Perhaps I too would never die

If I’d stayed in the bud?

His ex- was wearing sexy jeans

And broke his heart to smithereens.

Shakespeare Couplet:A Midsummer Night's Dream (41):

Our Theseus with his soon-bride-to-be

Debates the breeds of dogs—most amiably. (4.1)

And So We Begin ...

For the past several years I've been posting to Facebook each day some little ditties that, collectively, I've been calling "Daily Doggerel." Initially, I called them "Daily Quatrains," but I soon found I needed, at times, to be more ... expansive. Four lines just were insufficient to communicate the range of my--what?--insubstantiality? My superficiality?

Anyway, I soon was adding other little daily ditties, too. From my word-of-the-day calendar I would compose a little couplet (or more) about the word from the day before; I also began summarizing the plays of Shakespeare in rhymed couplets of iambic pentameter (hmmm ... wonder where I got that idea?).

It was not long before the whole thing was out of control. I had accumulated so many of the ditties that I decided to collect, then publish them on Kindle Direct. On June 6, 2013, I uploaded the first of what has now grown to be six volumes (each about 100 pp long); the seventh will appear at the end of November/beginning of December.  Here's a link to my Amazon Author Page where you can see these volumes--and others of more legitimate stature (an annotated edition of The Call of the Wild, a YA bio of Jack London, and numerous others).

So what are these "poems" about? In the e-published volumes, I arrange the pieces by categories--such as the following: Family; Films, Movies, Books; Quotidian Quandaries & Quibbles; Rants; Nature and Animals; Seasons and Celebrations; etc.

In order to repel a wider audience, I'm no longer going to post the doggerel on Facebook; instead, I'll put them on this site (with a link on FB) so that legions (!) of other readers can take a look and wonder in the basements of their souls what on earth is wrong with this man?

So ... welcome to Post #1 ... and today's installment of Daily Doggerel:

Saturday, 13 September 2014

TMI 

King Bladder calls in darkest night,

And I attend (I’m kinda bright)

And totter toward that special place—

Avoid nocturnal damp disgrace.

King Bladder’s been the Boss of Me

Since I had prostate surgery

On June 14, 2005.

(But I’m still here, yes, still alive!)

Since then—I get two hours’ sleep;

The King will call, and I will creep

Toward the throne room in the dark.

Obeisance done, I can’t remark

Or otherwise defy this King

Who’s now in charge of everything.

Instead, I crawl back into bed,

Await that Voice within my head,

And stumble off at His command—

O, Bladder King! O, ruthless hand!

O, King, what precious stones you’ve got,

But I am full of regal rot,

And I am sick of shock and awe—

I say, “Let’s stage a coup d’état!”

Vocab.

I knew the stars must all be crossed

When Bob, cartographer, got lost.

[cartographer = one that makes maps]

Shakespeare Couplet: A Midsummer Night's Dream (40):

“Methought I was enamor’d of an ass,”

Titania says, so glad her “dream” has passed.  (4.1)