Friday, November 28, 2008


Don’t sit.
Get fit.

If not,
You’ll rot.

Sunday, November 16, 2008


Like Jacob jostling in the night
I tumbled, trembling in my mind;
Struggled, attempting to unwind
Proud, dour doubts dissolving in the light
Found in the warm relief of day.
Daylight's delights felt far away.

But then I sensed a subtle shift:
No longer a fearful muddled man,
But a diviner of the holy plan.
This passed by, revealing a rift --
A rush of cool uncertainty
Unhinged my hallowed victory.
I woke at daylight, rubbed my head,
And limped out of my tossled bed.

Friday, November 14, 2008

The early bird may get the worm,
But the night owl dines on rabbit.

Monday, November 10, 2008


Soccer moms, shopping malls,
Sunday's best for God;
Please, don't let them bury me
In this suburban sod.

Saturday, November 8, 2008


King David listened to the Lord
And heard an unheard melody.
He asked him for the hidden chord.
King David listened to the Lord.
The major third was his reward.
Be still and hear the harmony.
King David listened to the Lord
And played a holy melody.

Thursday, November 6, 2008

after Martial

Though life is rarely forgiving
Here’s my list for the art of living:
My numbers hit the lottery;
Huge house with lots of scenery;
Lawyers unbilled in a dispute;
Never the need to wear a suit;
A stomach smoother than a table;
A mind much more diverse than cable;
True friends, straight talk, and home-cooked food;
Enough good wine to ease my mood;
A comfy bed warmed by a wife
Who’ll keep my interest all my life;
Untroubled sleep throughout the night;
No snooze alarms; up at dawn’s light;
No courting death as a close friend,
But ready for my final end
And asleep in bed at my end.

Tuesday, November 4, 2008


My poetry is rat poison to editors,
but here and there a Philistine seems to like it.
-- Edwin Arlington Robinson

Give me a friend who drinks lite beer
And burps his favorite Shakespeare.
Find me a wife who loves to bake
While she recites some William Blake.
Show me a man who loves his gun
And reads Emily Dickinson.
Certainly, everbody knows
A line or maybe more of Poe's,
But I'd be filled with sparkling hope
To find a mate who smirked at Pope.
And I'd be blessed by my dear Maker
If someone knew of me, Chris Baker.