Sonnet 9

For Matt

If there were a land where everybody’s
personality was just like yours,
fervently engaging in deep studies
of Ticket to Ride and Risk, ignoring chores;

and in this made up country made of Matts,
where mathematics is deep mystery,
the citizens (who love their dogs and cats)
would know their nation’s noble history.

Well, no man is an island thankfully,
so those of us who were not born performers
fill up arenas so that we can see
the onstage histrionics of you stormers,

who with your amplifiers on eleven
go wailing, wailing in electric heaven.

Sonnet 8

For Mark

Across the screen the stick man takes a stroll
‘til toppled by a tortoise in his path
due to forces out of his control
set by his maker’s algorithm’s math.

The stick man’s maker is a patient man
compressing lots of logic in a line
inspiring a team to execute a plan
barking at the few who moan and whine.

Yet when he’s put in charge he’s not content;
eventually it makes him feel tied down.
He much prefers the burning grassy scent
and growing vegetables on rural ground.

His deepest ties in fifty years of life
Were to his loving mother and his wife.

Sonnet 7

For Suzy

Never an early bird, she loved these red
pajamas she got, with robins on top,
Sunday mornings staying cozy in bed.
We nicknamed her Red Robin. She said, "Stop.

You have to call me Suzy." Though just four
years old, she was determined to be strong.
To take a stand on principle was more
important to her than getting along.

But never did this cozy girl act lazy--
she raised four kids while often working nights
to earn a Ph. D., while during days she
drafted budgets and patched up wounds and slights.

She's slow to rise, yet quick to laugh, and still
she takes her stands with a determined will.

Sonnet 6

For Betsy Locke

The seasoned teacher and her family
live in a neat white house out on the land.
She has no time for phony subtlety;
she clearly wants her life and lessons planned.

Through springtime’s flood, and summer’s swarming flies,
the fall of chicken coops, and winter’s bills,
her teaching helped the dairy enterprise
extract cash from these green and muddy hills.

But in her house the mud was not allowed,
her vacuum is what nature quite abhors,
the fly that’s found inside is duly cowed,
and all her children learned to do their chores.

And she’ll still teach, far from the high school scene,
the lessons of hard work and keeping clean.

Sonnet 4 - To A Lucky Young Man

For Jennie, Christmas 2009
upon changing her Facebook status to "in a relationship"

The power of concentration that this girl
possesses is rare in her generation.
When she was young she’d get dressed up and twirl
in a swirling maelstrom of elation.

She gazed at Disney’s films at break of dawn,
then fell under the spell of Rowling’s school,
She’d sit and knit or braid hair later on,
enchanted by the chance to follow rules.

Sometimes her mood is nothing like the sun,
though frequently her motives are quite pure
and times she finds she isn’t having fun,
she looks within herself to find the cure.

Oh, what a lucky young man you are who
finds her affection focusing on you!

Sonnet 3 - Late Night Thoughts in Wintertime

For Tom, Christmas 2009

On our quiet street tonight it’s snowing,

and in our living room there stands a tree,

while bathed in light from the TV’s glowing

our first born son lies on the couch asleep.

A peaceful laid-back kid is he there nestling,

awake he’d make you laugh at things he’d say.

he’s talented at poker and arm wrestling,

and can get by on just five bucks a day.

Now all the gifts that we've exchanged for Christmas

the pictures and the plate, the plastic sword

and the baseball cards upstairs that gather dust

are just jingling bells. They don't sound the deep chord 

For the gift of life we gave to a small boy,

and the life’s companion we've come to enjoy.

Sonnet 2 - Your Skill at Motherhood

To Betsy, Mother’s Day 2008

I gaze across East Milton’s tidy lawns

from our front porch while rocking in the sun.

The big gray cat beside me slowly yawns

while in the house I hear a small clock run;

A wedding gift that’s ticking off the traits

and talents you display which I hold dear;

the graceful way you glide backwards on skates,

or how you saved the daisies from last year 

In wreaths with patience carefully arrayed.

And when you played that piece by Chaminade

on your flute out in the woods the skill displayed

Was skill that wowed the crowd; the kids were awed. 

Those kids have turned out well; it seems to me

Your skill at motherhood’s your legacy!

Sonnet 1

To Betsy, on Valentine’s Day 2000


In my desk drawer I’ve saved the greeting cards
All hallmarks of our passing Valentines
With offhand notes and jokes that seem to guard
Us from revealing feelings and true minds

For the Record let me clearly state right here
I’ve loved you since the first time we held hands
And felt your warm grasp, dry and firm and near
As pleasant as a beach’s summer sands

That night on those cool streets in Central Square
Is long gone and the sands of time do stream
We’ve gone from holding hands to places where
The ecstasy exceeds our wildest dream

It’s quite the wonder, worth the words to praise
I'm sure Will would, if he could see these days.