We Could Be Better Than the Rest

Quiet summer night you are
a comforting companion in
those times you have to listen when
there's really nothing there

I wish the stars could see me but
we've hid them all away inside
a blanket made of brightness if
you live close in to town.

12:05 p.m. Central on AM 790 (Houston)

End of Winter
by: Eve Merriam

Bare-handed reach
to catch
April's
incoming curve.
Leap higher
than you thought you could and
Hold:
Spring,
Solid,
Here.

I'm Blinding You With Science

FYI - Tomorrow's poem won't be by me, it's something I re-post at the beginning of every baseball season when Spring Training games start. Today is me, though.

Adaptation

Lichen attaches to all sorts of surfaces,
and moss grows on trees
wherever it’s damp.
When it’s warm enough
sure there are ferns to be found,
and conifers are in need
of huge spaces to camp.
Then angiosperms
(those plants that have flowers)
grow in few places and may
bloom only one time
when the weather is right,
and the soil isn’t over-packed,
and the bedrock beneath
must be shale, or it’s lime.
Their pistils burst forth
with one type of pollen
for one type of insect –
it’s taking a chance,
when your needs are so tailored to the world
around you, you’d die otherwise,
and that’s called an advance.

Stopping By Robert Frost's Car on a Sunny Afternoon

Here's an oldie, but a goodie. One day at UST, a gentleman came to lecture on Robert Frost, and he brought a car that Frost rode in. He parked that car in the middle of the sidewalk on our academic mall. So I wrote this and put it on the car's winshield. It lasted all of five minutes.

Who's car this is I think I know,
he's slowly decomposing, though.
He will not mind me stopping here
to admire the automobile he drove.

My friend, he thinks it strange, you see -
the actions of the university.
The sidewalk is no place for cars
of the Poet Laureate of Kennedy.

He gives my striped shirt-sleeve a shake
to tell me it is getting late.
I hate to quit this old antique,
but see no cause to procrastinate.

The maroon hue is lovely, dark, and deep,
but I wish that it had been a jeep
with mileage that was not so steep,
with mileage that was not so steep.

All for now.

Love (n.)

Words fail me
but you
never do.