Happy birthday to two great poets

March 26, 2015

It’s the birthday of Alfred Edward Housman, born in England in 1859, and Robert Frost, born in California in 1874. In addition to sharing a birthday, they also share the distinction of having written some exceptionally lovely poems about springtime, and heaven knows we all need a little spring right about now.

Loveliest of trees, the cherry now
Is hung with bloom along the bough,
And stands about the woodland ride
Wearing white for Eastertide.

Now, of my threescore years and ten,
Twenty will not come again,
And take from seventy springs a score,
It only leaves me fifty more.

And since to look at things in bloom
Fifty springs are little room,
About the woodlands I will go
To see the cherry hung with snow.

by A. E. Houseman (1859-1936)

Oh, give us pleasure in the flowers today;
And give us not to think so far away
As the uncertain harvest; keep us here
All simply in the springing of the year.

Oh, give us pleasure in the orchard white,
Like nothing else by day, like ghosts by night;
And make us happy in the happy bees,
The swarm dilating round the perfect trees.

And make us happy in the darting bird
That suddenly above the bees is heard,
The meteor that thrusts in with needle bill,
And off a blossom in mid air stands still.

For this is love and nothing else is love,
The which it is reserved for God above
To sanctify to what far ends He will,
But which it only needs that we fulfill.

by Robert Frost (1874-1963)

A poem for Valentine’s Day

February 14, 2015

More than a catbird hates a cat,
Or a criminal hates a clue,
Or the Axis hates the United States,
That’s how much I love you.

I love you more than a duck can swim,
And more than a grapefruit squirts,
I love you more than gin rummy is a bore,
And more than a toothache hurts.

As a shipwrecked sailor hates the sea,
Or a juggler hates a shove,
As a hostess detests uninvited guests,
That’s how much you I love.

I love you more than a wasp can sting,
And more than the subway jerks,
I love you as much as a cripple needs a crutch,
And more than a hangnail irks.

I swear to you by the stars above,
And below, if such there be,
As the High Court loathes perjurious oaths,
That’s how much you’re loved by me.

–Ogden Nash (1902-1971)

Out with the old, in with the new

December 31, 2014

Happy May Day

May 1, 2014

It was the first of May
A lovely warm spring day
I was strolling down the street in drunken pride;
But my knees were all a-flutter,
And I landed in the gutter
And a pig came up and lay down by my side.

Yes, I lay there in the gutter
Thinking thoughts I could not utter
When a lady passing by did softly say:
“You can tell a man who boozes
By the company he chooses” —

And the pig got up and slowly walked away.

(Author unknown)


Ballad of the Global Warming Titanic

January 5, 2014

By John Hayward.

(sung to the tune of the “Gilligan’s Island” theme song)

Now sit right back and you’ll hear a tale
A tale of a fateful trip
They traveled to Antarctica
Aboard a Russian ship

The chief was a global warming man
The skipper wasn’t so sure
But activists set sail that day
For a propaganda tour

The water started getting cold
The frozen ship was stuck
Their theories called for melting ice
But they were out of luck… yes, they were out of luck…

The ship ran aground on this block of unexpected ice
With embarrassment….
And skeptics too…
But we spend millions on a hoax
While movie stars
Professors and politicians
Give us contempt and bile

So this is the tale of climate change
It’s here for a long, long time
No matter how much their theories fail
Truth has an uphill climb

The government and Hollywood too
Will do their very best
To make us all uncomfortable
In our sustainable nest

No phone, no lights, no motor cars
Not a single luxury
Like Robinson Crusoe
As primitive as can be

The elites won’t join us though, my friends
They’re sure to live in style
While we give up our light bulbs
Recant your climate change denial!

A poem for Columbus Day

October 14, 2013

by Ramon Montaigne

Columbus sailed the ocean blue
Back in 1492.
He sailed across and spotted land,
A beach, and people on the sand.

He called them Indians because
He had no idea where he was,
India was just a guess.
When in doubt, declare success.

There goes the neighborhood.

Sandbox Diplomacy

September 5, 2013

From Cairo to Damascus,
From Riyadh to Bahrain,
Each time Obama dithers
He makes his weakness plain.

He cannot make decisions.
He knows not how to act.
His strategies are hopeless,
His tactics inexact.

He starts with senseless bluster.
He draws a scarlet line.
He lays a demarcation,
And waves his sharpened tine.

Upon his foe’s traversal,
His rhetoric is stilled.
His promises are broken,
His words lie unfulfilled.

His enemies are strengthened,
His allies left impaired.
He weaves a rope of bombast,
And leaves himself ensnared.

Copyright 2013 by The Bard of Murdock. Used with permission.


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