of fools
And foolish we are and foolish we’ve been
But now the time approaches
To pull together mates
And awaken as one again
So I knock hard
Against my captain’s door
Yet no reply is forthcoming
Silence answers, nothing more
Crew and ship both dissolving
Amid the tough and briny assault
Hope crashing down with the fallen mast
Only dread in common now
I call for my captain
Louder still I yell
Save us from the fate upon us
Let not our journey be to hell!
My voice finally failing
To bring the captain out
My heart and ship are breaking
Finally Heaven’s name I shout
My boys pause in their terror
Knowing a divine call had been made
Leaving despair for a moment
Hoping again the storm might fade
A sailor believes in miracles
At times his only way out
Believing in man or captain
Insufficient counter to the ocean’s rage
But mighty sea or thundering skies
Cower down in deference
At the call to a higher power
And make ready to obey it
The maelstrom subsided
The sea at peace again
Men’s hearts calmer now
Having witnessed the divine friend
A Captain of larger stature
Who would never fail us again
From the poetry collection Common Ground
The Great Belgium Belch Off
The crowds gathered at sunrise
To witness the annual event
The gathering of all great gas bellies
Belching here and there they went
Warming up for the day’s competition
Drinking soda, beer, and air
Hoping to inflate sufficiently
And retain the belches spared
The crowds grew large and clamored for more
Of the greatest belchers Belgium had ever known
This tiny country with little claim to fame
Playing host to intestinal foam
The contest began at last
Belchers facing belchers
Under glaring spotlights
Amid frantic fans of gas
Louder and grosser the combatants became
Hours of burping took their toll
Bodies lay limp and depleted
Lesser ones belched out and spent
Those left standing all but exhausted
Until at last only two remained
The best of the belchers in Belgium land
They squared off and faced each other
Each determined to out belch the rest
Rangus McGee, the reigning champ
From the isle of green and Guinness
Facing Big George of England
Self taught at London’s finest pubs
Rangus went first as custom bound
Drank his pint and held his breath
Leaving the crowd cheering and waiting
For the inevitable blast at last
The tension mounted as Rangus held on
Face turning red as the hair on his head
The great belch on its way now
Unfettered, it roared from his mouth
Silence followed the belch supreme
The fans stunned and amazed
At what Rangus had rendered that day
A belch for the ages, leaving all dazed
Rangus now done and quite pleased
With the performance of a lifetime
Confident he had conquered
Yet another opponent less ventilated
Big George stood and hushed the crowd
His size and belly, both quite grand
He took no beverage, no aid of any kind
Simply reared back and belched his all
That left none standing, nor windows intact
Big George stood surveying the mess
That his extraordinary flatulence created
He had bested the best
Poor Rangus deflated
Defeated at last
From the poetry collection Common Ground
