A festival that celebrates our town We're Hebron, a community of friends The maples here achieve a great renown And every year we hope it never ends The sugar from our maples is so sweet It flows when trees are tapped in early spring It flows like friendship flows down every street It seems to make the people want to sing A festive song, a festival we love We welcome all with hope that always grows Like maple leaves on lofty limbs above Through which the joy of maple syrup flows The winter snows will melt and go away While Hebron’s Maple Festival will stay.
Hebron Maple Festival
March 16th, 2024Gentleness
March 8th, 2024I watch the maples sway across the street The wind seems gentle, tinged with gentle rain The gentleness of morning is complete As gentle dreams of reverie remain The reverie of gentle autumn days Remembered in the winter times of chill I wonder if a maple tree that sways Remembers when it used to stand stone still The memories of trees are like the wind A paradox with roots that wait for spring A memory no weather can rescind The maple tree has other songs to sing I watch the maples watch as I compose A gentle song as gently I repose.
Jabberwonky
February 26th, 2024As odd conditions find their tongues are slit
Like fiendish fangs they drip with mothered blood
If born with light they start before they quit
Eternally what bombs becomes a dud
Explosions of conditions draped with fur
Expressions make the most of rancid dawn
Untold by children told to be unsure
The offer states the honor which has gone
We find the bitch of all we might expect
As heinous scars of rotten-rendered-meat
While more than this is what we recollect
And recollections hold what gods repeat
My mistress finds a place to don her hat
While screaming faithless fiction to her cat.
TNT Is Meant To Be
February 13th, 2024For Valentine's Day Every good love story needs a good sonnet. This one is for Taylor Swift and Travis Kelce: ----- They found each other somewhere in the light A metaphor that knows just where to look To see beyond the limits of plain sight A simple story in love’s storybook She sings her songs of love with dulcet voice A song becomes much more than what she sings The words of love become a lyric choice Like songbirds know the tune of precious things He must have known true love will know it’s true It overcomes uncertainty and more It seems to know precisely what to do To show the love beyond love’s metaphor And now together they are TNT An acronym for what was meant to be.
Around the Yule Log
November 16th, 2023The Adoption of Caliban
October 7th, 2023What father leaves his child with a witch? By Setebos I curse the wretch to hell The wretch will from humanity unhitch The wretch becomes a story I must tell By Setebos we live before we die To live or die is often quite the same Each life is but the telling of a lie A lie which knows that truth is just a game Play on, play on, we’ll die in wretched time What father leaves his child with a witch? By Setebos you recognize the crime The players come and go; with you they switch With Sycorax the witch you had your fun Your Caliban exists in everyone.
Witch
September 7th, 2023Taco Simplicity
September 7th, 2023As simple as a taco," people say When speaking of dichotomies of life The spices of this sentence tend to stay In simple flavors filled with ease and strife The taco, a philosophy you eat Just look at the simplicity at hand It's folded in the middle, filled with meat You'll find them fresh at any taco stand And while the taco has a complex taste It's simply filled with all you hope to find In simple food too good to share or waste Unless of course you've simply lost your mind! A life that's lived like this is here to stay "As simple as a taco," so they say.
The Kilted Sonneteer
August 19th, 2023Streams of Smoke
August 14th, 2023I watch the streams of smoke as I exhale They show me words I never knew I knew They seem to know the breath they would regale The breath, the smoke, a wispy grayish blue The streams of smoke are remnants of a gift A gift from Mother Earth who loves to give I watch them rise above; I watch them lift Above the earth, where stories often live The stories of the smoke begets the streams (Who says “begets” unless they’re fuckin’ high) The stories fill the smoke with more than dreams And dreams of smoke will lift us by and by It makes no sense, these things of which we spoke But sense is not the realm of streams of smoke.