Thirty-eight years ago today, my young bride and I stood before a preacher in a friends living room in Mission Hills, CA, and exchanged vows. Since then, we’ve had three children and three grand-children, and a great life together. She passed away five years ago. I’m reminded of a little ditty I wrote for her:

My dear, I don’t care if we live on a prayer,

If our silverware’s just stainless steel,

If our diamonds are glass and our gold is but brass,

Just as long as our love is for real.

The hands of time stood deathly still,

The winds had ceased to blow,

And silence settled on the land

Like softly falling snow.

It seemed the ancient prophecies

At last had come about:

For all things stood just as they were

The day that time ran out.

And on that final, fateful day,

While at my desk at home,

I banged the keyboard frantically

To end this silly p

One day a logical man came to town,

He stopped at the bar and he bought us a round,

We talked all about the upcoming election–

We needed a man with a brand new direction!

He said, “Yes I know, we’re all in the same boat,

But it seems just a waste of my time to go vote.”

We all were appalled, and I asked the man, “Why?”

“Well, my vote doesn’t count, sir, unless there’s a tie,

And the chances of such are exceedingly small,

So you see my one vote doesn’t count after all.”

I jumped to my feet and said, “That may be true,

But tell me then, what if we all thought like you?”

The logical man sipped his beer, cleared his throat,

And shrugging his shoulders, he said, “Then I’d vote!”

When we surveyed the planet Earth from deep in outer space

We found that she was giving birth, to you–the human race

And when we came down from above to teach you right from wrong

And show you of the ways of love and how to get along

You said you needed to be free to learn things on your own

And so we listened to your plea and left you all alone

But then, alas, when we returned, we found much to our horror

That what the human race had learned was weaponry and war

So now we watch you from afar, and patiently we wait

Perhaps we’ll wish upon a star while you decide your fate

While driving down the road to town

One moonless summer night,

Oncoming cars, like shooting stars

Seemed merely streaks of light,

And as we passed, so close, so fast

Our lives depended on

That we remain within our lane

Or chance to meet head-on,

So now when I see cars go by

I check my mirror with care,

And hopefully, I’ll never see

An accident back there.

I like poems that rhyme, obviously.  Almost all of my favorite poems from The Raven to Invictus rhyme. I still like Dr. Seuss!  Well, it really boils down to whether the poem is good or not, whatever the form. Still, I have seen some poetry that looked like chopped-up prose. I guess everyone has their own preferences.

The great white limousine rolled down the road to Destiny

And in it sat four revered men of great authority.

Religion and Tradition graced the seat that faced the rear

While in the back Philosophy and Science sat so near.

Now when the road became so rough that forward progress slowed,

Philosophy said, “Gentlemen, let’s try another road.”

“I think he’s right,” said Science, shuffling papers on his lap,

“I’ve been collecting data, and I’ve made a little map.”

Religion would not hear of it, ” ‘Tis blasphemy,” said he,

“For God himself has set us on this road to Destiny.”

“Religion’s right,” Tradition chimed, “it’s been agreed upon.”

And as they argued endlessly, the limousine rolled on,

And in the end, their driver, who was named Necessity,

Would find that he would have to choose the road to Destiny.

From deep within the cosmic din flows music, loud and strong

But few men ’round can hear the sound, still fewer yet — The Song.

With graceful ease, the melodies of Venus, Earth, and Mars

Dance ever on the notes upon a tablature of stars.

On distant lands, the marching bands of Jupiter resound

And hearts take wing when ringlets ring in Saturn’s jeweled crown.

The trumpets sound!  The drummers pound!  Great Uranus rolls on

And no less grand is Neptune’s stand a billion miles beyond.

Amid the swells, faint tinkling bells add depth that few can hear

For Mercury and Pluto flee all but the chastened ear.

To guide the flux, the Sun conducts the symphony along

But few men ’round can hear the sound, still fewer yet — The Song.

Once upon a time machine he fashioned from a box

With nothing more than crayons and a cache of broken clocks,

The little boy went scooting down the corridors of time

And it was all so easy for a young and open mind.

But now the boy’s a physicist and studies all his days

To learn to build a time machine in complicated ways,

And every day it’s clearer what his facts and figures mean:

That only little boys can build a real time machine.