Iowa (The 29th State, 1846)

In an era that has long passed,

this land was covered in tall grass,

where bison ranged, both west to east

while grazing on that tasty feast.

Farming is the state’s tradition—

some have made it their religion:

in faith they plow and sow each field,

and hope to gain the highest yield.

There are miles of corn and many hogs

but no oil wells and few great logs!

As place to live, you won’t ask more—

but touring here might be a bore!

Hawkeye greats are hardly flawless—

take Hoover and old Henry Wallace—

though they flopped they still weren’t crooks—

they did not cheat or rig the books,

and thus, they heeded Iowa’s rule—

that being honest is most cool!

  

London, England

Along the Thames there was a town

where Roman Legions bedded down;

and later in this lovely city,

King Henry showed Anne little pity!

Let’s not forget that Will Shakespeare

wrote his greatest stuff right here;

and later, bards like Mr. Keats

were crafting new poetic feats.

If you would like a spire and such,

Big Ben will please you very much,

or for some Gothic that’s not shabby,

take a tour around the Abbey!

To get a view of royal power,

you will want to see the Tower,

and if at noon you need some grub,

you just seek out a friendly pub,

but should you yearn to view the Queen--

I’m sorry-- she is rarely seen!

  

The Suicide (Knox College, 1965)

We knew of Hegel and Marx,

had heard of Kierkegaard,

but he had read their books,

and dismissed our meanderings  

through theodicy and First Causes,

pouring out a fine scorn,

a contempt for unfinished thought.

As we joyfully shed our devotions,

he shunned our eager doubts,

and our easy agnosticism,

embracing the risk of knowledge,

and demanded we make choices.

We wilted from such scrutiny,

conscious of our nakedness

in the probing of his lights,

scrambling for the shadows

during frenzied late nights

spent with angels and eternities.

He spread out his conclusions

in the clearest of detail:

no one seemed more confident

of the geography of truth,

but behind that mask of certainty

were the terrors of an abyss—

artfully concealed, never confessed—

and there were no footprints  

left from his walk to the last place,

its downed curtain and broken glass.

Dumbly, we survivors—

numbed by his willfulness  

and neither brilliant nor informed—

did the duties of the living,

trooped off to his funeral in the town

where he had never been at home,

neither with room for the other;

found no comfort in the solemnities,

and said the wrong things

to a distraught mother and a silent father.
Returning home to beer and History 301,

the last papers and final exams,

so young and still so far

from the words and means

to finish a grieving,

we waited for the end of May

when we could close a door

and leave this world behind,    

make our escape into summer.

Book Samples

Minnesota (The 32^nd State, 1858)

Its people are a northern breed,

with elements of Norse and Swede,

where natives love lutefisk and lefse,

will say “Uff da” and “Yah, you betcha,”

and strangely find deep snow and ice

is no big deal and maybe nice!

Ten thousand lakes means lots of fish,

which explains a favorite wish:

here up Nort’ to be a winner

means you caught walleye for dinner!

We will find the landscapes varies

from woods and hills to great wide prairies,

and from the Range to Lake Calhoun—

delights to fill three months of June!

Now here for you is my short test—

“Which Twin City is the best?”

You may think hard— you may think long—

And half the state will say, “You’re wrong!!”

1818

That year, Mary Shelley (nee Wollstonecraft Godwin)

was in the midst of what we’d call a bad patch:

at nineteen she had already buried two babies with two

more deaths to follow.  Orphaned at her own birth, she

was no stranger at funerals, and everyone around her

seemed in peril: she lost friends, and before long,

her husband, but she gave birth to a book called

Frankenstein, a tale still alive two centuries later,

and the world still wonders how this precocious author

caught a glimpse of the atom and DNA so many years

before the rest of us.    

                                    There was a genuine Prometheus

around, and a few months later he introduced his

Grand Sonata for Hammerklavier in B Flat Major,

which mystified Europe for the rest of the century,

and from the first was declared unplayable.  The maestro,

by now inured to controversy, was untroubled. He had

never allowed the needs of his music to bow to the frailty

of human fingers or breath, and now an elderly 48,

and securely sentenced to the land of the deaf, Beethoven

sat serenely at his Broadwood piano and moved his hands

across the keys, making sounds that he heard only

in his imaginings.

                                 In our infant empire John Q. Adams

began a brilliant tenure at the State Department

and found some unfinished business in that last corner

of eastern real estate not yet securely in the Republic,

Spanish Florida.  Jackson was sent off to rattle the saber,

and the Spanish decided to sell rather than fight,

earning Old Hickory laurels he’d use to his advantage

when he and Adams squared off in the election of 1824.

The Secretary now moved on to the next pressing issue—

where Canada began and we ended, still unresolved

after two wars, and agreed to the Boundary Waters

and the 49th parallel, a decision still applauded

in our day when we feast on the walleye caught

in those brisk northern waters.  

                                                            Science could not sit still

while its lovely consort, Nature, continued to amaze:

Venus occulted Jupiter, the last time it would happen

before 2065, but hardly the last time that an agile woman

overshadowed a bully.  Off in the Paris laboratories

of the Ecole Polytechnique a chemist of great skill,

M. Louis Jacques Thenard, discovered hydrogen peroxide,

a chemical whose useful life still lay in the future.  What

Louis Jacques thought he might do with it I do not know,

but I am sure he did not envision me in the next century

watching it bubble and fizz over some cut or scrape,

before my mother put on the bandage, pronounced me fit,

and sent me back out to play.

    

  

Missouri (The 24th State, 1821)

Forgive me if I’m in a hurry

to tell you all about Missouri!

It started as a trading post

perched along a river coast;

and then it hosted pioneers

on their way to wild frontiers—

that last is how we know it best—

our longtime Gateway to the West!

The world’s fair was a grand venue

where fast food made a great debut:

since then, the burger and the cone

have both become most widely known.

Its gifts to us have been quite plain—

fine souls like Truman and Mark Twain,

and then that sage of any era:

I speak of course of Yogi Berra,

and if you love a song and dancin’

then take yourself away to Branson!

Arkansas (The 25th State, 1836)

We learned in school that Arkansas

is pronounced to sound like jaw,  

and why it doesn’t rhyme with Kansas?

I would need a lot of stanzas!

It is the home of those grand Nine,

teen aged heroes who chose to shine,

who put to shame a hateful rule

by choosing where they went to school.

For visits it has all you’d wish:

trails to hike and lakes to fish;

agreed, there are no ocean waves,

but lots and lots of lovely caves;

and Mountain Home will warm your heart

with its array of great folk art.

Can any place be called divine—

whose chosen mascot is porcine?

But this state we shall not bash:

for it gave us Johnny Cash!

Margaux of North Port

Not too far from old Key Largo

lives a stalwart Cairn named Margaux.

Like her hero, General Sherman,

she knows her job is chasing vermin:

she would give up her favorite pillow

just to catch an armadillo,

and often spends her afternoons

on guard against the local goons.

We’ve tried to offer recreation,

but she replies, sans hesitation,

“There is no way I can have fun

when I know the job’s not done!”

We’re sure the Scots are true die-hards

(it’s all recorded by their bards),

but still we send out this alert

as she goes on with all her work,

“Your tribe would never call you traitor

for passing on an alligator!”