I love you every time there is and every time there's not. I love you when it's cold outside and also when it's hot. 6/23/02010

You won my affection and broke through my armor. Your kiss, my confection, you sweet little charmer. 6/22/02010

I love you in the afternoon and later, when it's dark. I love you whether bicycling or strolling through the park. 6/21/02010 Another gushy love poem.

Your fingers shrinking got me thinking about your wedding ring. On the day we married, that ring I carried as such a precious thing. Now you are my wife, the best part of my life. So much more important than bling. 6/20/02010

Another dead mouse this time a homegrown victim super-cute while live. 6/19/02010 Our border terrier killed a mouse in the house on the day this poem was composed. I had seen the mouse scurrying around the kitchen earlier, but I was unable to capture it and set it free in a safe location. It ran under the oven, where I lost it. Some hours later, it must have reemerged, whereupon it met its violent end. I'm sure you've noticed that this is a haiku.

I wish I were with you wherever you are. In a boat, on a train, on a plane, in a car. 6/18/02010

I will love you every day even when you've gone away. I hope we'll talk on the phone. Then I'll feel less alone. 6/17/02010 My darling wife was still on vacation.

Fluttering, my heart quickens its rhythm when you approach and kiss me. 6/16/02010 Another gushy love poem.

If Miss Willow saw Don Orsillo, I'm sure she'd run and hide. She'd disappear whene'er he'd come near. Especially if he offered a ride. 6/15/02010 Here "Miss Willow" refers to our cat, who is extremely fearful of strangers. Don Orsillo is a guy who does television broadcasts of Red Sox games. He might be a former baseball player. Of that I'm not sure. What I am sure of is that Willow does not like to go for rides in cars.

I love you on your knees. I love you on your pelvis. I love you more than circus fleas. I love you more than Elvis. 6/14/02010 Another gushy love poem.

Life is sometimes challenging but it's really not a test. At the end may come a stroke or a cardiac arrest. 6/13/02010

If only you would let me, I'd love to kiss your cheek. Then I'd have a reason to explain why my knees are weak. 6/12/02010 Gushy love poem.

Solo and lonely. I miss having you with me. My spirit's so low. 6/12/02010 This must have been composed on the first day of my darling wife's vacation. She gets more vacation time from her job than I get from mine, which means that sometimes she goes away, leaving me alone for a week or so.

A grand slam scores four, unless it's at Denny's for breakfast. Then it's not really a score… or at least it isn't the best. 6/12/02010 Silliness.

Suzie, Cindy, Martha, Lupe: Names that are not yours. If you had them framed and hung, Perhaps you could give tours. 6/10/02010 Bucking the odds, the poem posted for St. Valentine's Day is not a gushy love poem. Strange, that.

I love you when you're toasty. I love you when you're cold. I love you when you're timid. I love you when you're bold. I love you when you coddle and even when you scold. I loved when you were younger. I'll love when you grow old. 6/9/02010 A gushy love poem.

Nitrogen and oxygen are floating through the air. You don't see them doing so but still, they're always there. 6/8/02010 A science poem!

I am Mr. Sleepyhead. That is why I went to bed. 6/7/02010 No doubt, composed late at night.

In case anyone is actually counting on the consistency of one poem per day, I hereby apologize for missing yesterday's posting. Still, I think 145 consecutive days without a miss is pretty amazing.

If I end up falling apart at the seams I can still be whole, at least in my dreams. 6/6/02010 It's not good, but at least it's not a gushy love poem.

Wouldn't you like to fly to the moon on a cloudless night in the month of June? Wouldn't you pity those who try in the mid-day heat in the month of July? 6/5/02010 I think I like the rhythm better this way: Wouldn't you like to fly to the moon on a cloudless night in June? Wouldn't you pity those who try in the mid-day heat of July? 6/5/02010

I haven't written a bit of verse since before this morning. But I'm going to sneak one in almost without warning. 6/4/02010 I'm not quite certain, but I suspect I sent this one just before midnight.

I hear that you like one poem better than all of the rest— something about your eyes. I guess you think it's the best. I don't recall just how it goes. I suppose it's complimentary. Perhaps it's about their beauty or about how far they can see. 6/3/02010 My darling wife tells me that her favorite poems are the ones about her ojos, but she got into the habit of saying "o-yos" instead of "o-hos". It's endearing.

Have you ever noticed? Do you think that it's strange? That when you say "thank you" my response is never "you're welcome"; it's always "I love you." 6/2/02010 This is true. I almost never say "you're welcome" to my darling wife. Also true is that when I'm addressing her directly, I almost never call her by her name. I call her "my love" almost all the time. It's not that I've forgotten her name, of course.

Perhaps I should write you a poem to rhyme all your troubles away. Then you might end up relaxed; spend your time blowing bubbles all day. 6/1/02010

I love you more than Thanksgiving and more than Christmas day. I love you when you're near to me and when you've gone away. 5/31/02010

If Mr. Newton were made half of gluten and the other half pure peanut butter, do you think he'd make kids break out in fits or perhaps even cause them to stutter? 5/30/02010 Here, "Mr. Newton" refers to our chihuahua.

With a kayak on my back, I took my bike for a hike. I climbed a mountain in a fountain and did some dunking while spelunking. 5/29/02010 This was purely an exercise in rhyme.