The Inky-Dinky Pirate Ship

The Inky-Dinky pirate ship it sailed the ocean blue,
The winky blinky pirate men they were a motley crew,
Why some would wink and some would blink we have no single clue,
Yet they’ve been mates; have sailed the seas since they were only two,

Yes they were born on far off isle that sits quite lost at sea,
They see their dad but once a year he lives up in a tree,
The mom she is a friendly sort the pirates all agree,
‘Cause she will cook up anything and they can eat for free.

And when they’re full they pile aboard their Inky-Dinky ship,
They chock the cogs and chine the brails at start of every trip,
They tighten every bumpkin tight; they don’t want them to rip,
And when the cofferdam is full they’re off at speedy clip.

They travel near and travel far to find fine chests of gold,
And gems, and pearls, and treasure things and put them in their hold,
They never sell one bit of it for this is what I’m told,
They only want great heaps of it to have when they are old.

And how do Inky-Dinky pirate men find stuff you ask?
They look for other pirate men on beaches where they bask,
And when the other pirates sleep from boozing from the flask,
They sneak and carry off their gold that’s how they do this task.

Another year has come and gone their pirate work is done,
Their dad will see them once again and they will all have fun,
Their mom will cook and they will eat from dawn to setting sun,
And soon the Inky-Dinky ship will make another run.

Peter Lowell Paulson
April 30, 2011

The Oriental Lamp

The copper curl,

A teepee’d top,

The glass below a lemon drop,

It’s odd the way the brass wires

Hold the odd shaped sphere,

And deep within the flame flickers,

Like a firefly trapped,

In its crystalline cage,

Shine forth,

Erotic light on wood and cobblestone below,

Eerie shadows creep,

Darkened secrets keep,

As sovereign, silent souls

Wander warily,

Toward your beacon.


April 28, 2011

Peter Lowell Paulson

The Geisha

All style and grace,

A beautiful face,

Skin whiter than milk,

And dressed in fine silk,

Kimono the wear,

Kanzashi in hair,

The ornaments bright,

One fabulous sight,

Transformed from a girl,

A gem or a pearl,

The dance so divine,

She pours sweetest wine,

So gently demure,

Demeanor quite pure,

This geisha unique,

Creates the mystique,

And draws each in time,

A magic sublime.

Peter Lowell Paulson

April 27, 2011

Note: Inspired by the movie "Memoirs of a Geisha".

Sustaining Light

Oh cup of intermingling light,

Watch o’er me tonight,

For in my flight I fear,

The fancy and the fool in me,

And I long for inner days of peace,

And tranquility,

I know tis you that draws them both,

The road is dim yet plain before me,

Daybreaks at dawn,

My path is illumined,

And I consumed with passion,

Burning like the sun,

Will run to meet you,

Fear not for me,

I am strongly purposed,

Love first,

Duty,

Honor,

And trust in you,

My guiding,

And sustaining light.



Peter Lowell Paulson

April 28, 2011

The Rain

From ears half muted from within,

I still can hear the whoosh of wind,

And patter, patter of the rain,

It plinks and plays on window pane.

With eyes more blurred from aging sight,

A slip of moon is clear tonight,

Against a black and cloud filled sky,

A soulful, somber winking eye.

Now I with less of youthful gait,

Move freely still; I promulgate-

That I will move until my God,

Removes me from this earthly sod.

And I rejoice and nature sings,

I relish all the simple things,

And in the rain a teardrop fall,

Is strained; sequestered and so small.

Peter Lowell Paulson

April 26, 2011

Moses, Our Cat

I have a special ‘puss and boots’; he is so debonair,
He has distinctive gold –green eyes which have a special stare,
He’ll look at you; connect with you like Solomon the wise,
And anyone who sees him says “You have such ‘knowing’ eyes.”

A silver tabby cat is he with black and silver stripes,
And little white his mittens when cleans himself or wipes-
His mouth and ears they look like little napkins that he holds,
He’s older now and ‘talks’ much more it sounds as if he scolds.

Yes he will scold when bowl of food is empty; oh you’ll hear,
For he’s a big old fatty cat who loves his food so dear,
He was so big that when he sat he looked just like a ball,
We’d laugh at him; he’d turn and stare to make us feel quite small.

And one more thing he likes to do is lay right on his back,
Displaying underbelly and the etiquette he lacks,
My wife will say, “Now Moses that is really not polite.”
But does he care? Not one wee bit; it is his pure delight.

Peter Lowell Paulson
April 24, 2011

Animal Riddle for Grandkids

A swimming bird with paddle feet,

He’ll walk on mud; he’s never stuck,

And “Quack, quack, quack,” if you should meet,

You’ve guessed it right he is a ___________.



And this fine animal you ride,

Some like to gallop on a course,

Some pull cart or plow with pride,

This one’s not hard, it is a ____________.



Now think big, big, like truck or bus,

For peanuts with his trunk he’ll hunt,

Sometimes he works in a circus,

You’re right it is an __________________.



He hee-haws, hee-haw’s; that’s his song,

He’s stubborn as a big oak tree,

He’s like a horse with ears so long,

The right answer is a _________________.



The last one likes to, “Peep, peep, peep,

With tiny beak his food he’ll pick,

And in your hand he’ll gently sleep,

This fluffy yellow one’s a ______________.




Peter Lowell Paulson

April 23, 2011

The Joys of Life - Sonnet XI

Consider all that happens in one life,

One comes into the world and he must dare,

And face that many aspects are not fair,

Unlikely foe at times may hold the knife,

And death its sting will enter causing strife,

It feels as if your inner self may tear,

And all the burden more than you can bare,

But if you turn around true joys are rife,

There’s nothing, nothing like the truest friend,

Or loving wife, a daughter or a son,

A giggle when we see the awkward gaff,

We hear sweet tender words the heart does mend,

The happiness in children having fun,

And, oh the blessing in the infant laugh.

Peter Lowell Paulson

April 23, 2011

Morning Bird Symphony

Triumphant thrill from floral tree,

The cheerful little chickadee,

The mourning dove its soulful coo,

Amidst the leavened grassy dew,

Now purdy, purdy, purdy, chit,

The cardinal sings his morning bit,

Red robin with a cheeriup,

This early bird with worm does sup,

And if that’s not enough to wake,

The little wren his screech twill make,

Please no more chirps; not one more peep,

Oh please, oh please just let me sleep!

Peter Lowell Paulson

April 20, 2011

I Once Met a Lass Named von Schnickle

I wrote a limerick and it is dedicated to my father-in-law, Dr. John Woodbridge Van Cleve, who loved a good limerick! I heard a name yesterday that rhymes with “von Schnickle”. I changed the name to “von Schnickle” in this limerick to “protect the innocent”.


I “Googled” the name von Schnickle to make sure I wasn’t stepping on peoples’ toes. The only reference I could come up with is a funny line from a movie, which is the following:

The Contessa: Why look! I have the sneaky Miss von Schnickle in shackles!
Agent #1: Say that ten times fast!
Bunny von Schnickle: The sneaky Miss von Schnickle in shackles! The sneaky Miss von Schnickle in shackles...
The Contessa: What is this, a Mel Brooks movie? Shut up Schnickle!

I felt safe to proceed. So here is the limerick:

I once met a lass named von Schnickle,
Who had a big nose like a pickle,
She snorted some brine,
Then she said, “I am fine!”
“And it makes all my sinuses tickle!”

Peter Lowell Paulson
April 19, 2011

The Creator Artist

What power the intellect of man who touches not his God?
Can man create a single seed to burst forth from the sod?
Yet he believes the artistry which he creates by hand,
Transforms this world of beauty in a form he’ll understand.

No beauty greater have I seen than dogwood flower within,
The forest new with greenish hue the dogwood blooms begin,
White misty clouds the dogwood flowers within the springtime wood,
I wish I had the Master’s gift; I’d brush that if I could.

And on the highway as I go this canvas so serene,
A hundred miles I view the greatest art I’ve ever seen,
I truly value all the art which man himself has made,
Yet it may only mimic the Creator’s sovereign grade.

I thank you, thank you my dear God for everything you’ve done,
True blessings you’ve bestowed to us; you’ve given us your Son,
So as I watch as every bud and flower is unfurled,
I know it’s You and only You who made our lovely world.

Peter Lowell Paulson
April 17, 2011

The Floral Spring Review - Sonnet VIII

Oh welcome now the warm and radiant sun,

On gentle yellow pansy sunbeams fall,

It whispers to its neighbors, one and all,

They shiver in the breeze; all having fun,

Through tulip beds the rainbow colors run,

The daffodils with golden trumpets call,

While purple lilacs perfume does enthrall,

The crocus croons that winter time is done,

Magnolia flowers the blooms are fully set,

Ten thousand wedding dresses in each tree,

The redbud with its mystic subtle hue,

Burst joyously to join the springtime fete,

The apple blossom budding; soon to see,

Its place within the grandest spring review.


Peter L. Paulson

April 11, 2011

The Storm

Black, on black and blackest night,

And then a rumbling gasp of white,

And gentle soft the pattered rain,

It calms my conscious fettered brain.


Roll on roll on thunderous drums,

With fearful crack the lightening comes,

All nature watches; rapt spellbound,

Within a silent stillness found.


Pounding, pounding rain does pour,

As heaven as opened every door,

Incessant now and falling free,

And all creation welcomes thee.


As storm recedes and we bereft,

The distant drumming all that’s left,

Occasional the rumble roll,

Return some day to ease my soul.


Peter Lowell Paulson

April 9, 2011

The Secret

Her small soft fingers caress his neck,
And he so tall,
Standing still, silent,
Unable to speak, yet wanting her so,
Her head buried in the pillow of his chest and shoulder,
With intention,
Tenderly as his mind allows his fingers to be gentle,
He cradles her head,
Treasure troves each strand of hair is felt, caressed,
Slight sobs with whispered word,
She speaks yet barely heard,
“You’ll want children, I know,”
“You are that kind man,”
He holds her closer,
Letting her sense strength in his embrace,
A future unknown,
Barren possibility,
His watery eyes release a tear,
For her, the woman he loves,
For her belief in a child yet unconceived,
For one who may never be,
He withdraws, stepping away,
Only to free his hands and hold her face,
Fears and secrets exposed,
Submitting,
Expectant and unknowing,
A future wrapped within a moment,
She gazes deep into his eyes,
Three words, two people, one love,
I want you,
I want you,
I want you.

Peter Lowell Paulson
April 6, 2011

Gabriel, Elijah and the Frog

A long time ago in the land of Oodijah,
Lived Gabriel the Elder and younger Elijah,
Now Gabriel was four when Elijah was born,
And they were good brothers from that very morn.

They loved to do everything always together,
They’d fish and they’d swim and play ball with a tether,
They’d read and learn math and they both were quite smart,
They would run and ride bikes and play Mario Kart.

These two were now older they asked their fine mother,
We’d like to go hiking just brother and brother,
We’ll walk to the ocean and then to the park,
So Mom packed a lunch and said, “Be home by dark.”

Now Gabriel Elijah as they were good scouts,
They readied their backpacks then gave gleeful shouts,
“Don’t worry a bit Mom, don’t worry at all,
We’ll be home for our supper, be home by nightfall.”

They headed right out to the path in the forest,
They walked toward the ocean near foot of Mount Torrest,
They walked most the day ‘til they felt the noon heat,
So they found two big rocks and they sat down to eat.

No sooner than they would but take a big munch,
They heard a small voice say, “I’m hungry for lunch.”
The brothers they looked and they spotted a log,
And perched right on top was an odd looking frog.

Yes, this frog was quite different than any they’d seen,
For it was multicolored not regular green,
It had red and orange stripes and blue polka dots,
And the stranger thing still it just talked lots and lots.

Elijah walked up the frog and said “Hi”,
“We’d like to be friends, Yes, my brother and I”,
“Then you would be first,” the frog said as he cried,
“But, I have no frog friends at all”, then he sighed.

So Gabriel spoke up, “I have thought up a clue,”
“We’ll take you to our Dad; he’ll know what to do.”
“If there is a problem that’s hard to work out,”
“Then Dad is the one we would ask so don’t pout.”

Elijah and Gabriel headed right back,
The frog sitting safely inside their backpack,
They showed their proud Mother the frog that they had,
She looked in the backpack and saw he was sad.

So Mom said to the boys, “Now Dad’s in his study”,
So they hurried right in there with their small frog buddy,
“This frog has no frog friends; we’re really not sure,
What to do at this point, Dad; do you have a cure.”

“We’ll it’s obvious you two are friends with him now,
But we’ll help him find some frog friends oh and how”,
Dad talked to the frog; yes he had a name Hoke,
“Do you know how to speak to the frogs with a croak?”

“Oh can I”, spoke Hoke, “I can croak like the rest’”
“I can croakity croak, yes, my croak is the best!”
Then Dad said to Hoke “Why don’t you live right here?”
“There’s a creek right out back, and there’s many frogs near.”

“Just speak to the frogs with a croak and you’ll find”,
“You’ll have many fine frogs friends and they will be kind”,
And Hoke did find frog friends they laughed and they croaked,
And they swam in the creek ‘til their toes were all soaked.

Now Hoke is a teacher to all his frog pals,
Yes he teaches English to frog boys and gals,
Elijah and Gabriel play with them too,
For they were the brothers that helped Hoke, it’s true!

Peter Lowell Paulson
April 5, 2011