Creative Works in The Rambler
'Twas the Night before finals and all through the dorm. December 1974
‘Twas the night before finals and all through the dorm,
Every creature of stirring, and that was the norm.
All the typewriters sung from window to stair,
In hopes that the profs would not even care.
The seniors were nestled all snug in their beds,
Blurred visions of comps all danced in their heads.
The frosh in their frenzy, the sophs in the slump,
Had all settled into a long winter’s grump.
When out on the lawn rose such a clatter,
They rose from their beds to see what was the matter.
Away to the windows they flew like a flash,
Tore open the windows and throw up the sash.
The moon on the breast of the new fallen rain,
Gave a luster of midnight to that feeling of pain.
And what to their wondering eyes should appear…
But a bus going to Kellys, drawing all near.
With a little driver so lively and quick,
They knew in a moment it must be St. Nick!
More rapid than lightening, these scholars, they came,
And he whistles and shouted and called them by name.
To Lancaster Pike, to the bar down the corner,
Now Dash away, Dash away, Dash away all!
As dry leaves before the wild hurricane fly,
When they meet an obstacle mount to the sky.
So now at the steps the scholars got pep,
With thirsts that were whet
And a need that was met!
Then in a twinkle they heard on the roof
The prancing and pawing of each little hoof.
As they lightened their heads and pranced all around,
Down through the tap, St. Nicholas came with a bound.
He was dressed all in foam from his head to his toe.
He motioned a toast and let the beer flow!
The bundle of girls had found what they lack,
And right there they vowed they had to go back.
His eyes how they twinkled, his dimples how merry,
His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry,
His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,
And the foam ‘or his mouth was as white as the snow.
The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth,
And the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath.
He had a broad face and a round little belly,
That shook when he laughed like a bowl full of jelly.
He was chubby and plump, a right jolley old elf,
And they laughed when they saw him, in spite of their selves
A wink of his eye, a twist of his head,
soon let them know they had nothing to dread.
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
He filled every beer without even a jerk.
And laying his finger aside of his nose,
and giving a nod,
Up through the tap, he suddenly rose.
He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle,
And they all flew, like down of a thistle
But they heard them exclaim, ere he drove out of sight,
“FOLLY FINALS TO ALL, AND TO ALL A GOOD
Broken. May 1983
Awkward steps he takes in place
This broken child I love.
His twisted tiny face
Aglow, with what he’s dreaming of.
And there are moments he will think
That all the world perceives
A dance done so gracefully
Performing what his heart believes.
I know he’ll never be the best,
But I do not care what others see.
I only know that I’ve been blessed
Each time he walks and smiles at me.
StarWoman. May 1986
There’s a new moon out tonight
And the wind is pushing life at me,
If feels like lunacy
Sometimes, in this little human frame.
I’d like to float free
Be a StarWoman
Moving in Blue Light
Come on and join
Since the moon’s not
We can fly away
In our Blue
Hitch our Porsche
To a star
And live like kings
Same Path- 10 years later. March 1989
We ran among the branches and bugs
crushing wildflowers beneath our feet
singing songs to the cloudless sky
Myths of the burnt-down barn, of the man
with a B-B gun in the woods
Sitting atop the Red Cross house, reading
Be in by dark
Wandering through the tall golden grass
The pines- Who can climb the highest
Watch out for teenagers.
Softball in the waterfield
Do you remember the first game of spin-
bottle- vowing eternal love at 10
The woods are still the same(for what isn’t
The same as when we left. The waterfield
was paved and security tightened-but
see the huge rock, the poison ivy and
My meadow is now a driveway-but
I still see it there
Walking down the path I keep
how quiet it is here now.
It is time to move on- it always is-
there is laughter coming from the
It. February 1992
A person lives,
A bewildering instrument of spirit
In the spirit, it is shocked with time,
In emotions, it twists, it turns,
but when it comes time to be an individual,
and control this being,
One cannot stand firm on this pointy rock,
One falls, one crumbles easily,
One lets it go and does not take notice
Tis pity that one has to yield to another
to feel human,
Tis pity one had to follow and enter
more will shake hands and
bring forth what is already there-
None will take the time or the
strength to be,
It pushes and pushes…
Wanting to burst and sing,
Sing for the world to see,
Sing for the needs of the people,
and each other.
Like kites, each yields to the wind,
yet it can strike and glide;
however through it all, it flies and soars,
soars over the push, pulls, and power.