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