George Bailey

Were I to spy that lofty speckled eye
And chase its backlit lunar glow
Till dawn’s chariot drew quickly nigh
And bathed in light the earth below
Would that I caught a beam of white
Before it fled with fading night
That I might seal my pledge of love
With a sliver of the moon above.



About an Orange

This was a spur of the moment poem I wrote over my lunch break for a former coworker, Mark Selvidge. He was bemoaning the waste of the shriveled orange on his desk that he kept forgetting to eat:

Of Mark’s Forgotten Orange

Behold once blithe fair maiden fruit
How diminished she dost appear
Passed over oft for sustenance of a different sort
Coyly, shyly yet ever hopeful, she plied her seductive citrus wares
And welcomed every longing glance of yon lusty young bachelor
But ere hunger could be satisfied, withered she before his eyes
Under relentless fluorescent glow
How could it be one suckled from mother earth
Dandled upon father sun’s accommodating rays
Succumbed to such a mournful blight which dims the fair rouge’d
Cheeks plumpt with sweet nectar and left poor shrunk old maid in its stead?
Fruitfulness entombed forevermore in dried up inner chambers
Hear the toll of baleful time’s relentless din
Feel the weight of time’s foreboding scythe
Incline your ear and pay you heed to the lugubrious song of unrequited love.