A Love Poem, of Sorts

Technology is my friend. Not.
Talent at my computer I really don't got
Good thing I have Hubby, who has patience a lot
And constantly saves me from every rough spot

Excel Spreadsheet or Adobe Acrobat?
This kind of stuff makes my brain go splat-splat
But hubby keeps the hazards from laying me out flat
And never tells me I'm stupider than the cat

Hubby does all my updates and any computer duty
The stuff that makes me use words like gosh-darn and phooey
Indeed, when I see him with my laptop I get downright gooey

Hoppy Easter

A holiday weekend and spring is here
The kid in me wants to stand up and cheer

Friday night was Passover at our neighbors'
We drank the fruit of the vine, reclined, and took a rest from our labors

Elijah stayed away despite a clear invite
Oh well, the rest of us had a real pleasant night

Saturday we gardened and watched the Masters
We shopped and we planned so Easter dinner would not be a disaster

Biscuits and ham and Easter lasagna with artichokes
The table decorated with bunnies--they're right cute little blokes

Church and cooking and mingling with friends
And now it appears our weekend is at an end.

So happy holiday greetings to you all I do hereby send.

A Premiere Performance

Abelard and Heloise: The Musical
The concept is rather quizzical
I mean, what in tarnation?
Their love affair ended in castration

Now that I have your attention
Perhaps I ought to mention
I teach history at a community college
And of medieval things have some knowledge

In the Twelfth Century Abelard taught Latin lit
And Heloise, his star student, would sit
And listen to his brilliance hour upon hour
Until he got her pregnant and things suddenly went sour

Here's where the castration thing comes into play
Her Uncle Fulbert said Abelard should rue the day
When he seduced Heloise so young and innocent
And into monasteries the ill-fated lovers went

The Pere Lachaise Cemetery in Paris now holds their remains
And me, a medieval historian and a tad bit insane
Visited them on Christmas day a long time ago
And last night I went to see their musical show

Abelard's calamities are not for the feint of heart
But setting them to lyre music provides a good start
Odd-shaped bongos, tambourines, and an instrument I know not
For a donation at the door, I sure got a lot.

Comma Trauma

I've never been the Queen of Drama,
But the Oxford Comma
Causes me stress, strain, and trauma.

Semi-colons by comparison are easy;
Their rules are far less breezy.
No need to get all ill, upset, or queasy.

Periods don't take a whole lot of thought.
They never make me even mildly distraught,
Happily aiding my characters, dialogue, and plot.

What about exclamation points, the curious might ask.
Are they apt to lead you to the flask?
No. Not even those are a chore, job, or task.

Sweet little colons are also not too bad
I use them so seldom; they make me not sad.
And as this poem finds an end, aren't you happy, joyful, and glad?

But comma dilemmas really haunt me a lot.
The nuances of usage I still do not got.
But enough of this silliness, absurdity, and rot.

Don't Be Cross At Spanish Moss

Biking on Jekyll Island one is bound
To see Spanish Moss all around
It's everywhere, everywhere, from sky to ground

It hangs in high branches and falls out of trees
Sometimes it just swings up there, enjoying the breeze

For some reason palm trees are devoid of the stuff
But live oaks? Let me tell you, they can't get enough

What's amazingly terrific?
Spanish Moss is epiphytic
It causes no alarming harm
But only adds disarming charm

Ode to Champagne

Oh, the horror of it
It happened, it's true
I opened my fridge
And knew I was through

No champagne!

I searched on the shelf
I checked in the door
I went to the cupboard
Hoping to score

No champagne!

I ran to my neighbor's
And told her the troubley
I asked if I might borrow
A cupful of bubbly

No champagne!

She searched in her fridge
And double-checked in the door
She went to her cupboard
Hoping to score

No champagne!

Continuing my quest
I hopped into my car
Surely a supply of the stuff
Couldn't be far?

No champagne!

To the market I hastened
I cut through the crowds
Made a beeline for the wine cooler
And shouted out loud

Champagne!

I bought a dozen bottles
There's a discount that way
And ignoring the disapproving glances
Stepped up to pay

Champagne!

The refrigerator replenished
My cupboard completed
I raised up my goblet
And this solemn vow repeated

Champagne!

Life is too short
So I shall take a firm stand
To always keep a champagne stash
Chilled and on hand

My Moody Muse

When my muse comes down with a horrid blight

The writing goes wrong with no end in sight

Every word, thought, and sentence turns out trite

Leaving me feeling oh so contrite

And wondering if an end will appear for my impossible plight



But when the writing goes right

My muse alights

To amazing new heights

Of creative delights

Then the sun shines bright

And my mood takes flight!