The Moose and the Goose

The mighty mad moose said to the gentle gliding goose,
“It’s not fair you fly in formation while I suffer much abuse.
Wind and breeze are there as you fly first class.
I’m down here on the ground fighting weeds and grass.”

The flock of geese had just landed for some food and rest,
And here is this mighty mad moose acting like a real pest.
But the head gliding goose had a gentle reply,
“Mighty mad moose you’re upset and I don’t know why.”

“Each year we chart the route for you mighty moose.
We’re the train’s engine, while you have freedom of a caboose.
Pay attention to our direction as we geese pass over;
Then you moose will know the way and have time for clover.”

Sir moose replied, “You fly south for winter and return in spring.
So all I have to do is remember that one important thing.
As I browse through trees and brush, I need to raise my eyes
To see you all as you map our way through the skies.”

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poem by Gregory Huyette
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2024

The year is 2024.
A chasm between the rich and poor
Has reached a stage of feudal times.
For the poor rights are no more;
For the rich there are no crimes.
What once was ruling middle class
Has faded away like winter grass.
That worker's home, once so sublime,
Now only rents as prices climb.
Wealth and power are with those few
Who hoard it and pursue
Every chance to enhance their throne,
Each day leaving poor more alone.
Like Greece and Rome two hundred years
Hail turbulent change with truculent fears.
America can't turn back to safer shore
Its ship is listing in 2024.

China has spoken with its $5000 car,
Superior to what was Detroit by far.

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poem by Gregory Huyette
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The Cat and the Rat

The pudgy, playful cat said to the rather weary rat,
“I have to keep chasing you so that I don’t get too fat.”
The rather weary rat said he didn’t understand.
“Don’t you chase me for the next meal you’ve planned? ”

The cat laughed and asked, “Why would I want that?
Without you, who would I chase, you silly, weary rat? ”
“I’m tired and sure don’t care if you do get fat.”
Said the more than rather angry weary rat.

At that the rather weary rat decided to ask,
“Can we be friends or is that too tough a task? ”
The pudgy, playful cat frowned and wanted to know,
“Weary rat, just how fat do you want me to grow?
If I stop chasing you, that won’t be too wise,
Since you’re the only way that I can exercise.”

The rather weary rat started to sob and wail.
All this running had made him quite weak and frail.
Then he had an idea that might stop the cat from getting fat.

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poem by Gregory Huyette
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US Civil War in Two Oh One Four

In the US the year is two oh one four.
Chasms between the rich and poor
Have reached a stage of feudal times.
For the poor rights are no more;
For the rich there are no crimes.
What once was ruling middle class
Has faded away like winter grass.
That worker’s home, once so sublime,
Now only rents as prices climb.
Wealth and power are with those few
Who hoard it and pursue
Every chance to enhance their throne,
Each day leaving poor more alone.
Like Greece and Rome two hundred years
Hail turbulent change with truculent fears.
America can’t turn back to safer shore
Its ship is listing in two oh one four.
China has spoken with its $5000 car,
Superior to what was Detroit by far.
Unemployed flood streets, but can’t find,

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poem by Gregory Huyette
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Alaska's Almighty Alphabet

Alaska, an adventure's awesome anointing,
Begins by bears boldly browsing bushes.
Crowded caribou cross country constantly,
Characterizing creation's continuum.
Dependence dominates during dwellers' daily duties.
Each eagle enthusiastically eyes every edible entree.
Forests fuse foliage from frozen facings.

Glacial giants gouge gorges; generate greenery.
God's glory guides gently—gigantically.
Haunting hues highlight hidden heavens,
Illuminating icy images immersed in immortality.
Jutting, jagged jettisons jointly jostle journeymen.
Kaleidoscoping knowledge keys kindred kinds.
Lumbering lumps liven littered lakes.

Majestic mountains mirror millennia's movements.
Meanwhile, migrating moose meander mysteriously.
North's notorious nocturne never negotiates.
Only omnipotent order orchestrates ongoing options.

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poem by Gregory Huyette
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Your Ascent

How many times you’ve fallen means nothing.
It’s how many times you got up that make the difference.
Your climb toward life’s summit will suffer falls if you’ve charted a high enough course.
Each fall only makes your ascent sweeter if you arise wiser and continue.
Plan your next step rather than fearing your next fall.
If you start with fear, you have already fallen even before taking your next step.
During your ascent, you will rise and fall like the sea.
As the falls rise take care; as the rises fall take heart.
Beware of a slide masquerading as smooth ride.
As the tempo quickens, remember a fall is fast, an ascent slow.
Look ahead with your eyes and behind with your memory.
While ascending don’t let your vision be blurred by your memory.
Remember the past only as it can relate to your present and future.
The past without reference is nothing, but the past with only remorse is worse than nothing.
See the present for what it is rather than should have been.
Live the present before it is the past while planning for the future before it is the present.
During your ascent think quickly, but deliberately.
What you have put behind will gain on you if you don’t keep moving ahead.
Keep your mind on the summit, your eyes on the ascent and your foot on the very next step.

poem by Gregory Huyette
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Religion

Marx termed religion an opiate of the people.
Yet worldwide it rings out from every dome and steeple.
If Jesus, Mohamed and Buddha were ever together,
They wouldn't sip tea and discuss upcoming weather…

But likely lament these sad and dangerous times
As money and power now ring the world's chimes.
The dirty four lettered word today seems to be love.
While these five lettered forces have ability to shove.

Then there's the question about what religion is right.
Which one has the correct version of heaven in sight?
With each, the faithless are condemned to damnation,
As the supreme spirit destroys much of his own creation.

Often images of divine beings are created by man,
The one who disappoints perfection again and again.
Then these effigies are housed in chambers of wealth,
And fortressed by a hierarchy entrenched in stealth.

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poem by Gregory Huyette
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The Hippo and The Mosquito

The huge happy hippo asked his mosquito friend,
“Why must you sting when it does nothing but offend?
Your bites really hurt and then they itch for days.
Think of something new and try to change your ways.
The sweet honey bee has a stinger much like you,
But instead of causing pain, helps flowers paint a view.
Can’t you turn that stinger into a thing for good?
Please stop all the suffering and do as you should!

The munching mosquito landed on the hippo and said,
If I don’t sting every day, no doubt I’ll soon be dead.
Blood is my diet so I must sting each and every day.
I know you eat just plants, but I can’t be that way.
Hurting others is the only way that I can live.
I depend on others and the suffering that I give.

Huge hippo understood what the munching mosquito said.
Then thought to himself, “Maybe he’d be better dead! ”
Just then hip hippo had an idea for this bug.
He said, “Maybe all your poison could be made into a drug.

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poem by Gregory Huyette
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The Cockatoo and the Kangaroo

The happy cockatoo asked the hopping kangaroo,
“Does everyone in your family have a purse like you? ”
The hopping kangaroo stopped and smiled at the bird,
Saying, “Calling it a pouch would be a better word.”
The happy cockatoo was interested in learning more
And asked, “A pouch? Please tell me what it’s for.
The kangaroo explained that she had become a mother.
This pouch was the home of this new precious other.

Out of the pouch the precious baby popped his head;
Looked at the cockatoo with a funny smile and said,
“You make me very nervous Mr. Happy Cockatoo.
Flying in the air with those arms on top of you.”
Mother kangaroo said, “Don’t be afraid of such things.
Since this cockatoo is a bird, those are called wings.
Just as we kangaroo hop on our legs to get around,
The cockatoo uses its wings to fly above the ground.”

The cockatoo said, “I guess it’s like my nest in the tree
Where I lay and hatch my eggs, then raise my family.”

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poem by Gregory Huyette
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Nasty Mirror

I look in the mirror and who do I see…
A strange old man glowering at me.
His forehead has crashed and mustache faded;
It can’t be me. My mind must be jaded.

This nasty mirror depicts sad, faltering eyes.
Now I know it’s telling me balled-faced lies.
It portrays the mouth with a sliver of lips.
The facade of a countenance it shatters and rips.

Well maudlin mirror I’ll have you know
That ‘neath this wretched casement ready to go
There’s a sharp mind and a white hot heart
Recounting countless memories from the start.

As a young lad I was eager to learn.
Then as a teen first love made my heart burn.
In my late twenties I exchanged vows
And started a family with the usual roughs.

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poem by Gregory Huyette
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