Dad’s Resumé

by George Davis

Born a baby like me,
but grew into a man.
Became a planter –
sowing life into the Earth,
carefully pruning and
providing the perfect balance
of love and care to ensure
a fruitful harvest.

With no formal instruction,
Dad became the world’s greatest Project Manager –
turning sugar-stained popsicle sticks
into log cabins for a full family of toothpicks.

An engineer –
he turned bunk beds into double decker buses,
that carried us to anywhere in the Universe.
It even came equipped with a custom horn
(that looked just like the pillows we slept on)
that we used to alert the natives when we arrived.

A trained physician –
Dr. Dad had the remedy
for everything!
He cured boredom,
stomach aches,
and runny noses.
Even when we came down with
frequent cases of the I-don’t-wanna-go-to-school’s,
he’d find a way to get us excited.

Believe it or not,
he was even a Captain.
Not just Captain of the Household,
but also the spaceship that we
built out of cardboard.
To this day, I’m still not sure where
he got a spaceship license from –
but, hey, he’s Dad!

He’s a magician,
motivational speaker,
and monster-in-the-closet slayer.




Job(s) well done.



Happy Birthday to Edward Lear!

Illustration by Cathy Simpson 

There was an Old Man with a beard,
Who said ‘It is just as I feared!
Two Owls and a Hen,
Four Larks and a Wren,
Have all built their nests in my beard!’

There once was a poet named Edward…

The English poet who popularized the limerick was born May 12, 1812, to Ann and Jeremiah Lear in thevillageofHolloway,England, nearLondon.  Born the twenty-first child, Edward Lear was raised by his eldest sister, also named Ann, both of whom made their way together after the family suffered financial travesty.  Lear suffered many health problems in life as well, including epilepsy, asthma, depression, and partial blindness.

As an author, Lear published A Book of Nonsense in 1846, turning limericks into a poetic mainstay.  However, Lear’s limericks distinguished themselves from what are common today in at least two respects: he wrote in multiple formats (anywhere from two to five lines), and in his four and five-line limericks, would frequently end the first and last lines with the same word or phrase, as opposed to today’s more whimsical rhyming technique.

The limerick, believed to have derived its name from the third largest city in Ireland, is composed of the following characteristics: 1) it contains five lines, 2) follows either an anapestic (two short syllables and one long syllable) or amphibrach (one stressed syllable flanked by two unstressed syllables) meter, and 3) typically has nine syllables on the first, second, and fifth lines, all of which end in rhyme, with five syllables in the third and fourth lines, ending in their own rhyme scheme.  Some variation may occur to accommodate an extra syllable in a word choice.

The following limerick below was created especially for you.    Enjoy!

Friendship by Heart

The best of friends show that they care,
The bond shared between them is rare,
Heart-to-heart’s on the phone,
So they’re never alone,
There’s comfort they’ll always be there



"M is for…" Mothers Day Poem

by George Davis

M is for…


you made me

A mirror-image
of your spirit,
the same spirit
I meticulously
monitored as I matured.

More than amazed
at how you seemed
to have everything

Without missing a beat,
you managed to make
every mountain a molehill
eventually moving it
completely out of existence.

With many mouths to feed,
you made meals out of morsels.
With fevers off the meter,
you made medicine out of
multiple scoops of ice cream
and that “Motherly” brand hug.

Instinctively maternal.
No Bachelors in Birth
or Masters in Motherhood.
No, it wasn’t a miracle,
it was meant to be.

Matriarch of mankind,
Mother of my soul…

This M is for you.










Origami Soul

by Brian MacDougall

Kami… thin, flat, and open,
Full of infinite possibilities.
Soft, artistic hands, wrinkled with wisdom,
Ready to embark on the ancient practice,

Polyhedra past lives from countless directions,
Converge at vertices, wisdom aggregated…
Some from afar, some more recent,
All treasured and unique.

Shapes emerging from folds
Are more than merely decorative,
Honoring the magic of tradition and ancestry,
Lineage too precious to ignore.

If the soul could be seen
Beyond its aura,
Would it not resemble
The art of origami?

Each a different shape
Of noble complexity,
Every one carefully crafted with
Purpose and foresight.

Ever marvel at the symmetry
And scope captured in each crease?
At the same awesome spectacle
Of life’s journey?

An ancient art
practiced to perfection,
Mimicking our sacred paths,
Recorded before time.

April is National Poetry Month. We wanted to celebrate with a poem authored by Brian MacDougall called Origami Soul.  Want to poetically express to your loved ones how much you care but aren’t quite ready to dip your feathered pen into the ink well?  Send a Blue Mountain poetry eCard today to creatively connect with all the special people in your life!



Look Beyond the Clouds

by George Davis

In life, trials and tribulations are as inevitable as the rain. And much like the rain or any other unfavorable weather condition, the obstacles in life can be just as uncontrollable. Clouds form in the sky and a big smile begins to shrink. Thunder crashes and that smaller smile gets even smaller. Lightning flashes and any evidence of happiness that existed washes away with the first drop of rain.

Regardless of preparation – the size of the umbrella, the durability of the rain coat, the water resistance of the boots – some people choose to solely focus on the rain. And while they may remain dry, they allow themselves to drown in despair and depression. The one thing they tend to forget is that regardless of the visible, seemingly miserable conditions that they’re standing in, the sun is still shining.

The clouds, like most emotions, trials, and/or tribulations, are temporary. Whether they’re visible only in passing or they stay around for a few days casting dark shadows over us, they don’t possess the power to outlast the sun. The sun will always shine. Rain, sleet, hail, or snow, the sun will shine. It is as permanent as love.

When obstacles arrive (and they WILL arrive), know that they have an expiration date. Like the rain and the clouds, they pass. In the midst of the storm, look beyond the clouds. Find peace and comfort knowing that the sun is still shining.



Sudoku Memories Poem

by Brian MacDougall

A nearly blank canvas of mostly forgotten memories

Images slowly surface,
assembling in places that make sense.

Gaps take on critical importance.
Their significance remains dormant,
wisely awaiting interpretive guidance.

Momentum grinds the tumblers of
lucid definition as dream architecture begins to unfold.
Influenced by all that came before,
bottlenecked into inevitability.
Craftsmanship pours forth
like automatic writing.
The rich, intricate lineage
of uniquely altered sequences
interlocking and firm.

Rapid-eye movement threading
into the broad tapestry
proceed intuitively for their
fair share contribution.
Evolution of a recollection
rounding the bend.

Momentary frustration
as once obvious positions of
impressions, now second-guessed.
Rewriting one’s history pauses to acknowledge
it all might have been chance opportunity.
Destiny, perhaps a pipe dream,
toward fulfilling expectation.

Rank and file vignettes
switch back and forth
sifting through eleventh hour possibilities.
Blank spots unravel
and give in to the resolve
of problem solving.
The panorama ironed out
by the sheerest of wills.

Hypnotism dissolves into awe
and the veil lifts,
a landscape of extreme organization.
Retrospection plays midwife
to smiles of recognition.
Once dead end efforts
now prize monuments and keystones.
All fall into place a scrapbook
of answers and life having lived.