Author Archive


Posted: April 17, 2014 by gsb3 in Poetry


Dogs delight
In food all the time.
They don’t go for clever
Rhythms and rhyme.

If you want to make friends,
Then give them a treat.
If you want to play,
Then get up from your seat.

A loyal companion,
Till death, do us part.
A fervent protector
Even with just a bark.

Curl up in bed,
But better make room.
He will be jumping up
With the rise of the moon.

Don’t forget
To feed him on time.
A rub and a pet
Will do just fine.

Man’s best friend,
And woman’s, too.
He’ll never forget
To remain always true.

So if you are
In need of a pet,
A dog will do great.
The best one yet!

The High Road

Posted: April 16, 2014 by gsb3 in Poetry


Cats cry endlessly
Into the night.
They cause my soul
To fill with fright.

Never again
Will I bow my head
To those who fill
My heart with dread.

Something calls
Across the plain.
It touches me
Deep down, with pain.

I cannot reason
Out of this.
I can’t imagine
What’s behind the mist.

Will there be
An answer for me,
Or will my thoughts
Race constantly?

Is there peace
At the end of the path,
Or will I suffer
The aftermath?

I must rise
Above the din.
I must pray
To enter in

To God’s presence,
A holy vow.
I must take
The high road now.


Posted: April 15, 2014 by gsb3 in Poetry



Bears are furry and cute,
But they have sharp teeth.
I don’t imagine
That bears make good pets.

My office building sits
Beside a lake
On the edge
Of a large forest.

One day, when we
Were in a drought,
The lake had dried up,
And a bear came across

To look for food.
He smelled something
In our dumpster.

Saw the bear
And sent out an email
To the whole company

To be careful
And stay away from the bear.
Within a few minutes
Several people made their way

Outside to check out the bear.
So much for being careful!
Nobody got too close.

Bells and Light

Posted: April 15, 2014 by gsb3 in Poetry

Bells declare that church is starting,
Or dinner is ready,
Or that my cat is coming
Down the hall.

I like bells. They are nice.
Bells are pretty.
That must suffice.
Ring your bell,

Wherever you are.
Ring it out,
Loud enough
So all can hear!

Ring so that
They will know
You are alive!
Ring it now!

Then jump start your heart,
And dive right in,
Into life, with all it’s currents.
Don’t be swayed

By popular opinion.
Do your thing
Just the way that only you
Know how to do.

Be yourself!
Shine like the sun!
Shine, so that the whole world
Can see your light!

Apples Can Be Tart

Posted: April 14, 2014 by gsb3 in Poetry

Apples can be tart.
I like Macintosh.
They are tasty!
Do you believe me
When I say
I will be faithful?

I will follow you
I don’t care where
You decide to go.
I will be there
At your heels.

I want to be
Part of you
In the Spring.
And in the Summer.
I don’t want to ride.
I’d rather walk.

So do you root
For the winning team,
Or do you hold out hope
For the loser?
Don’t try to lie.
I can see right through you.

Let’s go to the bank
And take out someone else’s money.
Wouldn’t that be funny?
I think so.
I could be the Easter Bunny,
And you could be the Tooth Fairy.

I don’t care
If you stay here.
Come along
And see what happens,
If you like.
No need to argue.

We’re all friends here.
I need a beer.
Let’s go for a walk
In the Central Park.
It would be relaxing,
Don’t you think?

Apples Can Be Sweet

Posted: April 14, 2014 by gsb3 in Poetry

Apples can be sweet, and
So can armadillos, if you
Caress their feet.
Aardvarks can give you
A bit of a chill,
If you get in their face.
They like their space.

Adam was the first man.
He came before Abraham.
Absalom was David’s son.
Ample opportunity
Was given to be done
With all his trouble,
But he refused to run.

Art can be fun,
Or very serious.
Like poetry,
By an ornery cuss.
Of course they can be both,
If one doesn’t make a fuss.

After you apologize,
I will not argue with you.
In the afternoon,
I hope it’s cool.
Did you hear
What I said to you?

Attack dogs can be dangerous.
They chew on your clothes,
And your mother makes a fuss.
She gets tired of having to sew
Your pants back together,
Even in the nicest weather.

The Atlantic Ocean is a large lake.
It is too big to swim across,
Even for your boss,
But you can bake a cake,
While you ride in a ship.
Don’t quiver your lip.

Would you like a sip
Of my after-dinner tea,
Or would you dip the tip
Of an Amberjack?
After all,
I will cut you some slack.

Aim high when you shoot.
Don’t look at your boots.
You are in cahoots
With the one playing the flute.
I will find out the truth.
It lies at the root.

Altered states can be confusing,
Especially when you’ve been boozing.
Quiet talks can be soothing.
But not when you are moving.
Americans are never musing
When it’s time to do some cruising.

So Nice?

Posted: April 13, 2014 by gsb3 in Poetry

So what do you say
When you have nothing to say?
You say nothing, I guess,
But are you gay?

I will go out to play today so soon
I will I will do that that which I will do
Will you play are you me are you you?
What is today? Will you play today?

Play with me. Play here there everywhere. Play guitar play nicely
Do not be gay be happy be nice
Be privately happy to be gay.

Do not go there be free be nicely
Do be that way today. So how are you?
What is your name? What is your favorite color today play nicely now.

Is your name stay here go there
Be everywhere be with me now.
Love is good is love is me to you.
Be nice thrice times New York happy.

Happy land Disney happy Snow White
And seven short dudes smoking pot
And tripping on acid no that was Alice
In wonderland what if it was you or me

Or somebody close what if they were
Not nice or never gave blood or died?
What if someone asked you are you
Are you are you. Will you play nice?

What Is Weirder?

Posted: April 12, 2014 by gsb3 in Poetry

What if a bartender
Asks you what you’ll have,
And you answer, “A banana”?
What if she gives you one?

What is weirder?

What if a cab driver picks you up,
And before he starts driving he asks,
“Where to?”
And you say, “Your house.”

And then he takes you there.

What is weirder?

What if you have a birthday party,
And someone asks you how old you are,
And you say, “I’m dead.”
And then they bury you.

What is weirder?

Try to make sense of that, my friend.

I Am Poetry (I Am You)

Posted: April 12, 2014 by gsb3 in Poetry

Poetry is not writing.
Poetry is painting.
Poetry is living and loving.
Poetry is sharing.
Poetry is me and you and us.
Poetry is my past, present and future.
What is yours?
Who are you?
Who am I?
Who do they say that I am?
I am poetry. I am you.
I am yesterday, today and tomorrow.
I am dead.
I am what you fear.
I am what you like.
I am what you want.
I am nothing.
I am everything.
I am that I am.
What am I?
Who do you think I am?
What is the point?
What is the truth?
What is the point of truth?
Why not tell each other lies all day?
Wouldn’t that be more fun? :)

Speak Plainly, They Say

Posted: April 12, 2014 by gsb3 in Poetry

Today I listened to professors
Say what professors say
About poetry.

“There must be an access,”
One declared.
“Write in sentences,”
Said another.

My poems are in English!
Isn’t that access enough?
Perhaps we look too much
For poetry to communicate.

Perhaps we are used to being
Spoon-fed our art.
Isn’t there room to think,
To ponder, to consider,

To analyze?
If a psychologist can interpret
A reading of something as abstract
As a Rorschach,

Can’t readers come up
With something
From difficult poems?
Do we have to speak plainly?

What is the fun in that?
How about a challenge?
How about solving a riddle?
How about mystery?

Perhaps one day
People will read poems
In order to understand
Another person,

Instead of always
Expecting a mirror
Into which they can gaze
At their own reflection.