For Schopenhauer

Show me your sun-drenched sprigs of winter,
The juniper bug as he howls,
The rise and fall of oatmeal
In the misty dawn of a burgeoning wahoo!

Show me these things,
My sweet, bare-faced darling,
And I shall inherit your property
With the gay abandon
Of love’s lost moth at eventide.


~ Russ Allison Loar
© All Rights Reserved

No Umbrella

He did not see the hummingbird,

Its iridescent scales

Flashing small rainbows in the noonday sun.

He did hot hear the electric buzz

Of its pulsing wings,

Hovering above a honeysuckle flower,

Sipping nectar,

Dusting pollen.

He did not feel the rising humidity

Giving promise to possible showers.

No seeing.

No hearing.

No umbrella.

~ Russ Allison Loar
© All Rights Reserved

Mysterious Ways

Thinking about the mysterious ways of the Lord
And all,
I came upon a squashed bug,
Some kind of beetle,
Swarmed by ants,
And realized
I was standing on the line of ants
That led from the dirt
To the hot cement sidewalk
Where I stood,
Doing the Lord’s bidding,
Somehow.


~ Russ Allison Loar
© All Rights Reserved

As If

O this revolving world,
I am dizzy with all this spinning,
Cumulative now in my later years.
I feel the solar winds
Tugging at my sleeves
As we hurtle through space,
Madly erecting shopping centers
As if there were no tomorrow.


~ Russ Allison Loar
© All Rights Reserved