Old and new

Good morning!  (It is only 9 AM as I am blogging this day.) By the way, I still am unable to format these writings the way I wish to. The poems should not appear as double spaced. I need to call and talk to someone about that….until I do, please bear with me.

So far I have only posted my own writings, but today I want to share a poem that took my fancy.  The poet is Rudolfo Anaya. He is a well-known New Mexico writer, most famous for his novel “Bless Me Ultima.”     In 2015 he published a book of poetry titled “Poems From the Rio Grande”.  The following poem is from that book.


Aspen Magpies

In Aspen the magpies are fat and sleek,

and their feathers are always in place.

They mind their manners, but they do

rush to fight over roadkill.


In Aspen the magpies play golf and ski.

Each wears a tux to corporate dinners.

They do their feathers at a unisex salon,

and pay with American Express.


In New Mexico the magpies are a rowdy bunch.

They spice roadkill with green chile.

They squawk in Spanglish,

cursing tourists who drive too fast.


New Mexico magpies are cousins to

Coyote, Roadrunner, and Rattlesnake.

These tricksters from the bird world

remind us that we could wind up as roadkill.


In Aspen the magpies practice trickle-down

economics: I got mine, you get yours.

Once a year they invite poor crows to

dinner, but not at their condos.


New Mexico magpies share skinny roadkill:

guts, nerves, and bones. After lunch they

tell stories and wonder what it would be

like to visit their cousins in Aspen.


Today is a “2-fer” day.  Here is a poem of mine which I wrote when I was a freshman in college. (1961) ……….


Little furry ball of fun–

you climb and frolic to the top,

the very tiptop of a tree

and balance precariously

on a feeble branch.


You swing by hind feet,

quite a gymnast you !

little show off.


Yes, that’s the top;

you can’t go any farther.

Oh, you’re running down–

chased by a bird?





A few days ago I tried to post a poem titled “Quiet Morning” and I guess I didn’t do it right as it never appeared on the blog. I’m still lost as to how to do this thing! I shall try to post that poem again this evening and add another one.


It is quiet in my neighborhood
early in the morning.
I can rise early and be
alone with God.

When my day is busy and noisy
I cannot hear his voice
but in the quiet I listen and he speaks
in that still, small voice.

First, I offer my worship and
he accepts it graciously.
I admit before him all my
shortcomings and he forgives.

I thank him for blessing me with
the wonderful people in my life.
I tell him that I know he has led me
to the place I am now.

I could never have arranged my life
the way he has
and he laughs because I am amazed
at how he brought me here.

He tells me, “That is what I do for those
who love and trust me.”
I sip my morning coffee and
I feel enveloped in Love.


Super Heroine ?

one day a woman came to my door.
With a frown she announced
“I am from the Feminist Police.
If there are any heroines here
they must come with me at once!”

So she took my heroines away
and while she was at it
she arrested all the actresses,
the stewardesses,
and the waitresses.

They’ve all been locked up now
in a basement cell somewhere.
I grieve because they were helpful.
Now only the men remain,
the actors, the stewards, and the waiters.


I’m still “moving in” to my new apartment, and I’m quite bushed.  So here is how I feel today:


Everything Has Stopped


today I’m flat on my back

stopped in my tracks,

put out of commission,

side-lined and stressed.

I cannot do this!

Bad timing!

Lousy luck.


Blood pressure rising,

annoyance building,

may I scream?

all the things I must do

circling around me,

getting in my face,

asking when?

when will you do this?

you simply must get to that!


all in good time

I tell myself.

stop obsessing!

I’ll build Rome tomorrow.

Finally !

I’ve not posted anything for two weeks, so it is about time.  I’ve been moving and had no time to sit

Some of the poems I have posted have come thru with very small print. Sorry.  I cannot seem to figure out how to change the print size.  Eventually I will have time to learn.

Since we have been inundated with political “trash talk” and so forth, it reminded me of a poem I wrote some time ago.  I was thinking how sad it is that so many people park themselves in front of the TV every evening and watch whatever happens to be on, instead of searching out inspiring, uplifting shows or books.  So……here it is:




Sing—-dance for me.

Go ahead–you do it.

I’ll just sit here in my recliner.


Talk for me—tell me what to think,

what to buy, what to believe.

I give you carte blanche on my brain.


Tell me stories about a world that isn’t mine.

What do I care if they are true?

What of it if they’re mindless trash?


Show me skin, show me sex,

talk dirty to me baby.

I’ve no time for real people.


Entertain me, for you are my god.