Hallowed Evening

When spirits haunt the night, they find
That strangers can ofttimes be kind
And distribute paltry things, as sweets
To the goblins, ghouls, and ghosts to eats.

Together we sit and paint our pumpkins,
Better than the country bumpkins.
(I know they're not really pumpkins, but an orange fruit.
I just couldn't find a rhyme that would suit).

Halloween is a time when the spirits walk
Upon the streets, the roads, the dock,
And gather up a sackful of candy,
And go back to their graves thinking things are dandy.

But I'm glad that you're not a ghost,
Because being with you is what I love the most.
But, if you do become one, hear my want:
My heart is in the need of a perpetual haunt.

Break in Days

There are times and there are ways
To get a little break in days,
And get some time to spend with you
('Cause that's what I'd like to do).

And on Fridays, I get to come
Home early, and be a bum.
Or we could get our groceries bought,
Or other things (there are a lot!).

We can watch the sun move, or the planes fly by, Or look deeply into each other's eye, Or we can watch the cats, quite amusing, Sleeping, snoring, reclining, snoozing.

Nevertheless, how we spend our time
Is wonderful, as it is just mine
(and I suppose, it can also be yours).
I love free time, especial in hours.

Match-Girl

Match-Girl is a girl whose head
Is an Ohio blue tip match instead.
She can't go through life without a care, For the sign on her side says "strike anywhere."

And times, when the heat gets hot,
She struggles not to ignite with all she's got, Preventing the flames from getting loose, She knows that most matches are one-time use.

But the friction of life, it sometimes yearns To have little Match-Girl say "it burns,"
And live fully well up to her name,
Bringing forth a white, hot flame.

But Match-Girl knows well of this danger, And keeps away from the stressful stranger, And tries daily to fight woe and doubt, Because that will keep her from burning out.

The Champion

When the world starts to overwhelm,
Grab your bracers, greaves, and helm.
Grab your shield and grab your sword
And ignore all but the encouraging word.

The naysayers and the ne'er-do-wells,
Their words may burn like the blazing hells, But, remember this, when they start to talk:
Their inane words are just mindless squawk.

But if you do need further proof,
Look into the mirror of truth.
It's image, you'll find, never lies,
Though the results may surprise.

I see you, a talented champ
Fighting against a soul-draining clamp,
Forced every day to deal with foes
Who add multiplicity to your woes.

But I also see a heroine, shining bright, Ready to rise up, to stand and fight Against people who hurtfully babble.
Free yourself from the rabble.

A Flight of Fancy

Fly away into the sky,
Where the air is crisp and thin
Up into the atmosphere, fly
To the place where you begin.

The stars may shine down,
But they're just urging you up.
So, don't worry, don't cry don't frown.
Just empty that woeful cup.

There is no ceiling to break,
And there is not wall to hinder
Your progress up; you can take
The path you knew when you were a kinder.

Don't worry about the earthbound souls
Who like to tell you to fall, fall, fall, 'Cause you've surpassed their mundane roles And have joined the Sky's grand ball.

New Order

If you change the order of things,
You will find the patterns upset.
But to give a little variety
May be one of the best things you can get.

You can find a whole new world
If you change your standard route.
And you could find you like a food
If you'd just let go of doubt.

And then there's those times when you find That things were better when You did all your tasks in a proscribed order, And you long to do it like that again.

But without change, you're living your life The exact same way each day.
So it's beneficial to try some new things.
You never know what will come your way.

Don't forget, though, those things you have That are tried and true.
No matter what new things come my way,
I'll never trade out for you.

When Tired's Tiered

I'm sorry for the times I misunderstand.
I just want to take up and hold your hand
And tell you that things aren't so bad.
In fact, to be with you, I'm glad.

I'm sorry that at times, I'm a bit of a grump,
Or when I wander into a silent sort of slump.
I don't mean to partition myself off
From you, for you draw me like a light does moth.

You're hear for me, and I'm here for you,
Though, sometimes I forget the right thing to do.
I just want you to know that through rain or shine,
That I only want to be loving, and caring and kind.

It's difficult at times, when one takes the nocturne,
And the other, which is me, sticks with the diurne.
But, I know that after a little bit of time,
Things will be nice, be good, be fine.

Restful

A day of rest is what we need
Moreso than a Lorax lacks a need for a thneed.
And that rest, it belongs hand-in-hand,
Together, in the merry restful land.

I'm glad for the days when we can spend
With one another, without having to send
One of us away on a tiresome chore
So we don't ever have to feel the bore.

Whatever it is, I'm sure we know
Every time we're together, we can take it slow.
Not only slow, but also quiet,
Ubiquitous silence, the antithesis of a riot.

Why can't we have this sort of deal
Always, for it's something I feel
Like those times when everything's serene,
Knowing what everything means.

Shiver

The sleepy dreams, they're not enough
When the cold winds come and rebuff.
What I need is loving care,
For a lack of having more hair.

If a cover had ears, I'd probably thank it For being such a nice, cozy, warm blanket.
But a blanket is a blank, unless it's got Someone to use it when the air is not hot.

I'm thankful that, when the days grow cold, I don't have to shiver until I'm old.
There's someone out there, looking out for my life, To warm me up with a blanket and wife.

Storm

The wind blows like a heavy gale,
And its gusts roll and fill the sale,
But on this stormy sea of fate,
We must find time to love, not hate.

The torrent shakes a mighty temblor,
And the rain is chill, like mid-December.
The waves they crest and fall to bow
And tear asunder our ship's prow.

The sun, it's face, nowhere to be found
In the sky or below the ground.
The clouds they roll and roil free,
And thunder claps most ominously.

But the storm is not a thing of end,
It can be a beginning, a sign to mend.
When the clouds have passed, the sun shines down, And helps to heal the sadly frown.

Little Helpers

I'm glad we have our little helpers
To tell us what to do.
If we stand around for long enough,
They'll prompt us with a "mew."

"You're doing it wrong," or perhaps,
"You're not doing it right!"
And if you ignore them for too long,
Goodness! What a fright!

With pitiful sounds, they try to
Control us with their tiny yelps,
But we know better, mostly,
That they're manipulative whelps.

But at times, they'll stand up tall
And belt out a meow,
Which can be considered a cat's call
For "Feed me! Right now!"

The Tooth!

The tooth? Can you handle the tooth?
I know it hurts, I know it pains!
But, the tooth, the tooth, it still remains, The jolting hurt, as psyche stains.

I'm glad it hurts much less, now.
The tooth! Alas! What trouble;
More so, were it double!
Hurting more than ingrown stubble!

But the pain has subsided with no dentic proof, You're doing better, less the hurt, Though while you chew, you're more alert, And wish to render the pain inert.

Fear you not, and don't sweat the brow!
If trouble persists, we'll make a trip
To the dental practitioner without a slip, And get that tooth in condition, shapely-ship.

Cider Bath Rules

When cinnamon spices and boiling, or mulling, Makes you glad of apples' culling.
And when the rocks go fizz, snap, pop,
It makes you wish it would never stop.

The spicy scent of apple cider
Does not need Halloween decor, zombies, a spider, To make the autumnal effect complete.
It need not be ghost and ghoul replete.

And in fact, with holiday cheer,
One could drink cider in place of beer,
Or grandpa's favorite 100 proof 'nog,
Or the hair of the you-biting dog.

It spans the time from fall and snow
And were it able to be harvested there below, Would also be a summer treat (But we don't have to let that sign defeat).

Just 'Cause

Please don't think I am a creep,
Just because I watch you sleep.
I'm simply enamored, I find I lose
Time's track to watch you snooze.

To hear you breathe while you dream away,
It makes me feel like today
I should do what I can just to kepp
You from waking up; Go back to sleep.

While you're there with your dreams,
Is life different than it normally seems?
Are you glad to have 40 winks to take,
And sleep right now, not yet to wake?

And when you arise, what will you do?
Will you yawn, and stretch, and coo?
Will you wake from your dream like the slice of a knife
And find your dreams come true in waking life?

Olden Times

A long, long time ago,
We were in a different land
Walking through those different streets,
Holding on, hand in hand.

We journeyed out, and met the king,
We met the prince, the duke, the queen,
And all the present company,
We met them on the scene.

We watched the mighty birds of prey,
We took the time to feast with lords,
We had ourselves a glorious day,
And watched the jester swallow swords.

All in all, I must truly say
That a day best spent with you
Is a day best spent, wherever we went,
As long as that day is true.

More Oranges

It may be by now, you're sick of oranges,
But a quest is a quest, no matter how boringes.
From up on high, to the dinosaurs below,
Wher this started, who is to know.

After the quest
Comes the rest.
(The rest of what? You might say).
A restful weekend, starting today.

"Hold on," you say,
"It's not that easy.
I hope you're seated,
Or, if you aren't won't be queasy."

A trip to where?
How long a drive?
Well, I suppose it's not so bad,
As long as we're together, alive.

The Creatures of Doom

Vile creatures slither and slink
And put you almost at the brink
Until you simply must rebuff
Before you say, "I've had enough!"

The creatures that bite, and those that slink, And those that slime, and creep, and stink Will have no chance, absolutely no way To bother you, once you've used pest-spray.

And it won't be a sweltering heat
Turning your skin and muscles into well-done meat, As I would hope the next time you're there, The weather is nice, and the sky is clear.

So, oranges, and dolls, and all manner of things Will be before us in droves, in rings, And you'll take pictures, and maybe a sketch, And won't have to worry about a pestly wretch.

Takin' Care of Me

I know that at times I'm ill,
But you find it in your heart to take care of me still.
I know that at times I probably seem sad,
But that doesn't keep you from making me glad.

I know that at times I feel simply tired,
But that doesn't make you tell me "As a husband, you're fired."
I know that at times I'm simply a grump,
But you don't strap me to the roof of the car and drive me to the dump.

I know that at times I tend to be quiet,
But that doesn't make you start a riot.
I know that at times I can be a pain,
But that doesn't make you any less sane.

I know that at times I'm simply a bore,
But you don't see me as an onerous chore.
And I know that at times I try to be perfect,
And when I'm not, you know I mean no disrespect.

The Brainless

Many times, and interesting tale
Involves a hero who is bright as a snail.
For, if our dashing youth were smart,
The story wouldn't make it past the first part.

So, bumbling, he goes, into the fray,
And we sit and watch and sigh away.
Keep this in mind, while in your strife:
This hero is a slice of life.

IRL, we see events ring
When people do the dumbest things.
"What were they thinking? Were they drunk!?
Did somebody replace their brain with a stone chunk?"

At least, we can both be glad
That the each other's brain's not so bad,
And when the time is right, we can do our part,
And only contribute to things that are smart.

What a Pain!

What pain, it feels, to have to go
Back to work. Don't it blow?
And then you just sit and watch
The time go by upon the cloch.

The steam whistle blows,
But not like work, you knows,
It's usually a better sound,
Telling you to hit the ground.

Though, each evening, as short as they are
Are like little weekends, the real being far
Away. But things don't have to feel that blue,
'Cause until then, you have me, and I have you.

Party Time

I know that some times, we don't have time for fun,
But I know that today was a day that wasn't one,
As I feel that from beginning to last,
Sunday, funday, was a wild and crazy blast.

It's not every day we get to do
Some things that make us less blue,
But when we do get a chance,
It's like feelin' so good, you just gotta dance.

Gimme a Break!

There comes a time when you need to take
A break.
And I'm glad that you can take one
With me. Fun.

The work will be there when you are
Ready. So far,
It's not more than you can bear,
I swear.

But, just to be on the safe side,
Abide
By this simple rule: If you ever feel bad,
Or sad

Just call on Jacob, and he'll make you feel glad.

Short by Sweet

I find myself always glad to spend
My days with her on the week's end.

Smiles and Non Frowns

Don't be fooled by my lack of a smile.
I'm only like that every once in a while.
'Cause when I'm around you, in our place,
Sometimes a smile creeps unexpectedly to my face.

If I were you, I'd take this as found:
That if I'm sad, I'll wear a frown.
If I'm happy, which is my usual state,
My mouth may not say it, but inside, I'm great.

I guess when I smile, I'm really, really glad,
So when I'm not grinning, please don't feel bad!
Part of it is, I don't want to be fake,
And have a smiled believed when it's make.

Be it years of trying to hide my heart,
Or something in my brain keeping soul and mouth apart,
I want you to know that you fill me with such joy,
And that I'm glad to always be your boy.

Laugh, Love, Dance

The tasks at hand are rarely done,
As when you do complete 'em,
You then get handed even more,
And then you must defeat 'em.

Recurring tasks, they never end,
And when they come, they come.
They're always there, so don't pretend
That away them you run from.

But there's hope, or so I hope,
That there will be a cease of tasks,
And then you and I will finally
Get a chance to relax.

In the meantime, though,
Let's take every chance
We have to spend time with one another,
To laugh, love, and dance.

The Gate, Revisted

At the gate
I sit and wait.
And as the hours wax,
I find that fate
Finds time to wait.
To sit down, and relax.

But we do not
Have the time fate's got
To be at ease, at rest,
For we have got
Work (quite a lot)
As the sun goes east to west.

But at the gate,
I find it's great
When I get paid a little visitation
And though it's late,
And though I wait,
I find I'm in more than one location.

And so I awake
With dreams to take,
To find myself under cover.
And my heart will quake,
But never break:
Such love from a lover.

(NOT) The Administrator of the World

Did I mention that I hate the fact
That come Monday, my joy becomes redact,
And I'm stuck in a world with helpless jerks
Who rely on me to do their works.

"That's not my job," I suppose I could say,
But they're too stupid for me to put it that way.
Or if I redirect them to someone who can help,
They still pester me like a needy little whelp.

Every new Monday, I dread to return
To see what new concoction they churn
And then fling at me with a piteous whine,
Asking me to make their problems seem fine.

I can't fix every problem as things become unfurled!
I'm not the Administrator of the World!
...
I'm just glad that one person asks me to
Do the jobs that she knows are mine to do.

Fix'em Up'em

When our computer beeps and sputters,
And makes you want to toss it in the gutters,
I step up and offer to fix it up.

And when the cats shed all over,
Coating carpets in cat-leaf clover,
I'll be there to vacuum it up.

But when the husband has trouble,
Like an illness, having to live in a bubble,
I'm incapable of helping out.

'Cause that husband's me, and I just can't
Fix myself up right, how much I want.
But that's why I have you, without a doubt.

Rest Your Little Head

Just rest your little head,
And forget about the world.
Try to fall asleep,
In my arms you're curled.

And in my arms, you're curled;
That's where you belong,
As you rest your little head,
And listen to my song.

Work is Work

Business trips leads you to be
In places quite businessy.
And on those trips, you often find
That there's often something left to buy.

And then you're home, and working hard,
And in the daily grind, cries "lardy lardy."
The cycle, you find, will never end,
'Cause more work comes by, real or pretend.

At least you have a sign of toil
Called an outbox, but not filled with soil
To grow a tree of your accomplishments,
Or shoo away those not heaven-sents.

But work is work, and that is that.
You can escape it, but facts is facts,
That the best way there is to get it done
Is to realize that at times work can be fun.

Dab and Splat

A dab here, a spot there.
And after enough time,
A picture.

Everyone else dabs and splats
But I know someone who
Works harder.

So, if there's one theme
Of others, no matter how big
(And when it's big, it's
Admittedly, easier),
You have two, or more themes going.
You've outdone them all.

And I hope your instructor
Is as proud of you
As I am.

Or at least,
Gives you a good grade.