Snow Day

By Rick Williams


Alas, I have to rise and face
the weather even though
my common sense tells me not,
so off to work I go.

Over snow covered streets I drive my car
when winter rears its head.
Why can't I stay all snug and warm
tucked safely into bed?

Of course, I'd rather be a kid
and go sledding down the hills,
but the boss comes first and after all--
The income pays the bills.

A white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel
when traffic lights go stale;
I never know when or if they'll turn
or if my stop will fail.

Hopefully when I make it home
to spend evening by the fire,
I'll arrive with all my parts intact
for the relaxation I require.

I Hate the Cold

My throat is sore,
and across the floor
a chilly breeze does blow.

My feet are cold;
I feel so old
when temperatures dip low.

The shining sun
is all but done;
it shines to be polite.

Not much appeal
or warmth to feel;
It's rays are naught but light.

The wood stove's heat
is hard to beat;
It's a winter friend to me.

Add homemade stew
to warm me through,
and comfortable I'll be.

Although these things
cut winter's sting
the summer is still the best.

The skimpy clothes;
the suntanned toes;
Ahhh... Comfortably undressed.

Gazing at the Heavens

By Rick Williams


The cold, white stars that dot the night
are plenty bright to see,
but not quite bright enough to light
a pathway, road, or tree.

The moon that shares the sky with them
takes care of the lighting chores.
It lights up all the countryside;
the oceans and their shores.

Such little light the pinpoint stars
send forth to greet our eyes.
Alone they're nothing but bright dots
but together light the skies.

Since the beginning of the written word
mankind has always gazed
toward the heavens, full of wonder
we've stood, transfixed; amazed.

We gave the patterns of them names
and navigation grew.
We learned to use the nighttime sky
to see our journeys through.

I've been in places that were high
and very dark at night
where I could see so many stars;
even galaxies shone bright.

The planets, stars, and Milky Way
seemed close enough to touch.
The lack of light from all around
did emphasize so much.

It makes me seem like such a speck
so meaningless and small;
to gaze at dark infinity
and comprehend it all.

Dreams, Goals, and Heroes

By Rick Williams


Evaporated are the dreams
I may have had when young.
No fame or fortune did I reach;
no stars were I among.

When I was just a toddler
my world was family;
Nothing mattered but the things
that were in front of me.

Of course I had no dreams or goals
or knew what such things meant;
My world was very, very small,
and I was quite content.

My parents were my heroes first;
they clothed and cared for me.
They kept me fed and safe from harm;
no better could they be.

Like any boy of age
I idolized my dad,
so he was probably
the first real hero that I had.

He was a mechanic then
but to my bright, young eyes
he was the greatest one of all--
so talented and wise.

Like most young boys I watched TV
and loved the heroes there.
When Superman was on I'd sit
and glassy-eyed would stare.

The Lone Ranger was another of
my heroes of those years.
I loved those men that wore those masks
that hid them from their fears.

Then my hero worship
during teens was put away.
Hormonal issues took the lead
of thoughts I had each day.

In my twenties I'd sometimes sit
and at myself be pissed.
I'd reflect on time I wasted;
opportunities I missed.

If only I had studied hard
and set some goals instead;
I'd probably be much better off;
financially ahead.

When I finally settled down
and married with a home,
I seldom pondered things I missed
or where I yearned to roam.

But then I found myself again
with heroes on the mind,
but this time it was more along
the philanthropic kind.

I love the feel of giving
and wish there was no end
to the needy people I could help
or how much I could spend.

Occasionally I still have thoughts
of how cool that it would be
to be so good at something
that the world would worship me.

Looking back at all I've done,
and dreams that I have had
notable accomplishments are few
except that I'm a dad.

I Like to Rhyme

By Rick Williams


What is it that makes me like
to tell a tale this way;
to format it in rhyming lines
when I have words to say?

It's a style of story-telling
that's hard, without a doubt.
To make the flow and syllables
sound right when sounded out.

I guess I like the challenge;
to see if I can tell
an interesting story
that's fun to say as well.

Sometimes when I start them
they don't go anywhere.
No matter how or what I try
I sit and blankly stare.

After trying many things
that never quite work out,
I use the mental garbage can
then try another route.

Sometimes even I'm surprised
when words seem to cascade.
Instead of simply killing time
a masterpiece is made.

I've dabbled with many varieties
of poetry and verse.
Some were mediocre tries,
and some were even worse.

The difficulty of a poem
can vary with its style,
but struggle followed by success
can make it all worthwhile.

They come in many flavors
these poems that I build.
Some are very hard to rhyme;
some leave me unfulfilled.

But limericks are my favorites;
they're whimsical and fun!
Although they're harder to complete
they please me when they're done.

If you've tried a poem yourself
but failed each time you tried,
try yet again--Don't quit just yet;
success will bring you pride!

This one took me weeks to make
but now that it is done;
Who knows--I may just clear my head
and start another one.

Business as Usual

By Rick Williams


Devoid of brain activity
the misfits come apply.
Unencumbered by intelligence
and barely getting by.

Workers that can't find a job
are welcome at LaCroy.
Brain-dead doesn't matter;
the dregs they will employ.

A new-hire's basic skills
can vary quite a lot;
They may look like they're intelligent
but be really devoid of thought.

Some may look like they're deranged
but still be good at work.
They may show up unshaven
but at least their brains aren't murk.

Occasionally they turn out to be
alcoholic bums instead.
If they do show up on time
their fumes would wake the dead.

Most workers badly need their checks
they're always almost broke;
But yet they always buy their lunch
and never fail to smoke.

Many of them seem to miss
a day of work per week,
and yet they are the ones
whose finances are most bleak.

Some of us have stayed so long
our rut is way too deep
we've passed the point that we can leave;
the rut sides are too steep.

There are often times we want
to find a different place;
a different work environment
or just a change of pace.

Even though I've been there a while
I sometimes have a fright:
What if I find in the morning
my job vanished overnight?

Two brothers own the company
and both are fairly old;
their heirs don't seem to want the throne
but I'm sure they'll want the gold.

What if one or both expire?
They're getting up in years.
Will the company survive
or be the end of our careers?

I hate the thought of being forced
to join the job search fray;
to give up all I've earned and done
to job hunt every day.

Limericks for Mark

By Rick Williams


Mark is a Volkswagen man
who is moving his entire clan.
When he took stock of his stuff
he found it was tough
to fit all of his goods in a van.

For an easier move he could tell
that his "baby" he needed to sell
the rag top, his treasure
and that gave him no pleasure
but for his family he'd bid it farewell.

Selling a guy's project car
can leave an emotional scar,
and it is even more so
when you know there is no
other like it either here or afar.

The accumulation of car stuff takes time
and costs many a nickel and dime,
so to let any go
is most surely a blow
to a fellow that loves grease and grime.

Moving can be quite a chore
whether local or to faraway shore.
Because we accrue
there is so much to do
when we pack boxes ready to store.

Just remember in the midst of it all,
when everything you do seems to stall:
You can always just ask
if you need help with a task
Be it email or a telephone call.

Blog Pressure

By Rick Williams


Just because we both have blogs
you can't always expect
the words to drip and flow with ease
or witty thoughts connect.

Sometimes when we try to post
we notice and we see
that everything that dribbles out
is boring as can be.

It would be nice if every post
had some wit and fun
but sometimes only bland exists
when our "exciting" day is done.

All we can do is sigh and think
of something good to write;
something that will bring a smile
or otherwise delight.

There are times when we sit down
to write our greatest tale
we know we have it all worked out
but words just seem to fail.

The things that happen in our lives
to us may be big news
but when another reads our stuff
could be boring to peruse.

Some blog posts are diaries
or "What I did today:"
and others are fond memories
of things that slipped away.

Some posts are chronicles
of an occurrence or event
we hope to get it written down
before our minds have went.

Some posts are quite negative
and more of a soapbox rant
when something gets under my skin
that I try to forget, but can't.

Some of my favorite posts have been
the ones like this that rhyme.
I think that they're more special
perhaps a tad sublime.

Apparently these poems I do
are, by readers, not preferred;
For comments from those readers
are hardly ever heard.

Perhaps that it's instead the case
that folks don't want to see
an attempt to be creative
or any such debris.

Maybe dirt is what they want
like magazines they read.
Who did what, to who, and how
is what the readers need.

I hope I pointed all of you
to what our blogs entail
pleasing everyone is hard
and we sometimes fail.

Chromatic Discontentment

By Rick Williams


The colors of the rainbow
one day stood in the sky.
They formed a circle as they stood,
and words began to fly.

The color Blue was first to speak,
and looking left and right,
said, "I'm the prettiest color here;
at least within my sight."

Purple scoffed and said, "No way.
I'm much less plain than Blue.
I am mixed of you and Red
so I'm prettier than either of you."

Red flushed her cheeks in anger.
"Are you saying that your hue
is better than my crimson tone
because you're mixed with Blue?"

She said, "If I could leave this line
I don't know where I'd go,
but it would be near someone else.
That--for sure I know."

"I'm pretty and important."
Orange was heard to say.
"A fruit was even named for me
that helps people start their day."

Yellow piped up in a squeaky voice,
"I am so cheery and bright!
My color makes mustard and lemons
and flowers like daffodils look right!"

Then Green, in a sultry voice, chimed in.
"I'm am the color of life," she said,
"The world of plants is my claim to fame
so I'm most definitely ahead."

They all began to argue
and grumbling ensued
each claiming only they
were perfectly hued.

Then, above, a pleasant voice was heard,
and a light began to shine.
She said, "What is all this bickering
and why do you all whine?"

"To argue of your beauty
like each of you were best;
don't any of you see how much
that each of you is blessed?"

"I haven't the color of any of you
for White is the absence of all;
still, I am happy as I am,
seeing smiles during snowfall."

"Each of you is special
and you're all in great demand.
Without your different hues and shades
this world would be so bland."

The colors were all silent
then a rain began to fall,
and the circle opened to create
the most beautiful rainbow of all.

Fingernail Moon

By Rick Williams


A crescent moon shone down upon
the frosty countryside.
It bathed the fields in ghostly white,
throwing shadows far and wide.

The air was still; no breezes blew;
There was no trace of sound.
The only noises that were heard:
My footsteps on the ground.

A fine, light frost on everything
was bathed in a bluish glow.
The lunar light lit everything
and sparkled like new snow.

Somewhere out there creatures lived
but nothing moved or stirred.
The cold night sky held naught but moon;
no insect, bat, or bird.

It looked like a torn off fingernail
but its brightness would belie
the fact that it was not complete
and but a sliver in the sky.

The Mind's Eye

By Rick Williams


To shoot a perfect sunrise
I have to be in place
before the rays of morning
touch my lens and face.

Shooting people on the street
is challenging to do.
Things like love or loneliness
are moods that I pursue.

I try to see things commonplace
with my mind's creative eye,
to see ordinary things differently;
be they rocks, or trees, or sky.

I try to always be aware
of signals that are sent.
I try to re-interpret them;
to visually reinvent.

Camera settings can be wrong
like focus, speed, and light,
but other things like framing
can be easily half the fight.

A person may have all the gear
and knowledge may possess,
but just because they have the goods
there's no guaranteed success.

To get that one good shot may take
a hundred, two, or more.
The one that's worlds above the rest
that people all adore.

Although photography is very old
techniques remain the same.
The equipment may be more complex,
but it just gives us more to blame.

I'm sure that I'll keep shooting
even though I'm barely "fair"
because it's fun and gets me out
and gives me things to share.