Dave Moore loved the word. He loved it spoken in prose, sung in a voice, and rhymed in lines of poetry. During the thirty-two he anchored the news for WCCO-TY,he spoke more words to more Minnesotans than anyone ever had or ever will. He chose the words carefully, and he talked us through some very tough times. He told us of Kennedy’s death and the deaths of our sons and our neighbors’ sons in Vietnam. He got us through the struggles for civil rights, and he explained to us the deceit of Watergate. He celebrated our children’s achievements on the...

The best part of winter, the best part by far,

Is kicking those ice chunks that form on your car.

No matter our ages or races or genders.

We all enjoy booting that slush off our fenders.

It’s deeply fulfilling, that contact and sound

Of boot hitting chunk and then chunk hitting ground.

It makes you feel better, it makes your day brighter,

It makes your Tercel about twenty pounds lighter!

And boy, what a workout! We all could be hunks

By starting each morning with kicking some chunks!

So next time you spot one, no matter how awesome,

Don’t...

Why do we live here?Why do we stay?

Why don’t we leave from October to May?

Surely there must be a logical reason

We stand for this icy, interminable season.

“We’re hardy!” say most folks.“We’re morons!” say some.

The truth is we’re frozen—our brains have gone numb!

So here we sit, shivering, ’til spring plays the hero—

Dreaming of Fahrenheits higher than zero!...

Well, we’ve done it again!

Every March we pretend

That it’s spring and the winter is ended.

We ignore that black mound

Of old snow on the ground

So our disbelief’s nicely suspended.

Well, I think you’d better

Keep on that nice sweater,

This is MARCH, just in case you’ve forgotten.

It’s not warm, for God’s sake,

There’s still ice on the lake

(And the swimming, quite frankly, is rotten).

No you can’t say it’s spring

’Til the birds do their thing

And the meadows and trees are in flower,

And you put on short pants

’Cause you know there’s...

I'm not one of those

Who like flower shows.

The sight of a mum

Only makes a heart glum,

And to view a petunia

Can practically ruin ya.

Heartbreakers, liars, deceivers—I know!

They tell us it’s spring,

But outside—two below!...

I get depressed this time of year, when ugly things abound;

The blackened, patchy piles of snow, the landscape dull and brown.

There’s trash along the highway that the melted snow’s revealed,

And if the sun’s inclined to shine that fact is well concealed.

It’s too warm for a parka, but a sweater’s not enough;

We’re stuck in Nature’s waiting room, and Nature can’t decide;

Sometimes March is Dr. Jekyll, sometimes Mr. Hyde.

But yesterday I think I saw a tiny tulip bud,

Or else it was a crocus shoot that peeked out through the mud.

And so for now...

It’s summer now, and folks all say,

“It’s gorgeous! Don’t stay in all day!

Let’s roam the woods and traipse the fields

And reap the bounty Nature yields!”

Well fine, that’s great, go breathe some air,

I’ll tell you bluntly, I can’t bear

The biting, sucking, crawling things

That gentle summer always brings.

I mostly like what God hath wrought here,

Except for all the bugs He brought here.

And that’s reverse psychology

’Cause they seem awfully fond of me!

When I go out on nature trips

The insect world just smacks its lips.

They know me well, I’m much...

When August arrives, life gets muggy and thick,

Like Nature’s been conked on the head with a brick.

The air isn’t moving, the sky is all hazy,

My energy level drops well below lazy.

Forget about exercise, workouts are rare;

In August my favorite conditioning is air.

I glisten with sweat, I wear very few clothes

(Which has its advantages sometimes, God knows).

School hasn’t started yet, Softball is through,

There’s nowhere to go and there’s nothing to do.

August is boring, August is hot,

August is all the things April is not.

If life were a ball game and...

I’ve got allergies, ain’t that grand?

You do, too? So you understand.

I cannot breathe or smell or talk,

My head feels like it’s filled with caulk.

I took some pills, I drank some soup,

I rubbed on some strange herbal goop,

I sipped hot teas, used nasal sprays,

I inhaled steam for several days.

Old stinky socks, ripe Gorgonzola,

Nothing helped my blocked schnozzola.

And guess what else? When I’m not well

My attitude goes all to hell.

Try speaking clearly—there’s a process;

Is “doze” a nap or a proboscis?

Forget fine food: it’s such a waste

To...

I tried to write a poem last week (a thing I often do);

I wanted something rich and deep, but really funny, too.

But when I called upon my muse for rhymes my fans might like,

She calmly dropped a bombshell, saying, “Sorry, I’m on strike!”

“On strike?” I said. “But you’re not real!You’re just a mere conceit!”

“That may be so,” she sneered, “but even concepts have to eat!

We muses thrive on praise, but you’ve been stingy with the credit;

And I’m the true creative force, while you just mostly edit!

It takes a pro to find a...

Here we go! Baseball! Time to play again!

Sittin’ in the boxes with a scorecard and a pen, brought

Along a couple buddies, got ourselves a couple beers, say now

I ain’t missed an Openin’ Day in almost forty years! Yeah, I

Seen ’em when they won it all, I seen ’em when they stank, and I

Seen ’em when the pitching staff went right into the tank! Got a

Rookie here from Portland who they say can do it all, got a

Old guy from the Dodgers who can still shellac the ball! I know

Everybody’s number, I know...

If you woke up this chilly morn and thought, “Let’s fish!”—think twice.

Both morally and physically, you’re probably on thin ice.

I know that nothing rivals Opening Day for angling drama,

But keep in mind it’s Mother’s Day and what you owe your mama.

Who gave you your first rod and taught you how to calmly wait?

Who showed you all the subtleties of how to use live bait?

She bought you your first tackle box, she made you practice trolling,

Yes, she was right there on the dock when other moms went bowling!

She loved you, man, and...

You say the baseball strike’s a drag;

The hockey strike is, too.

The sports page of your daily rag

Is now so thin it’s see-through.

You say these slimy legal guys

Have killed the world of sports,

And all the losses, wins, and ties

Now happen in the courts.

You say we sports fans have it tough,

This lack of games is gruesome.

Well,I say, hey, get off your duff—

Quit watching sports and do some!

Let’s hit some balls, let’s ride a bike,

Let’s dribble, swim, or run

(Don’t tell me I should take a hike;

I’d that a...

You ask me why I’m feeling bad, you ask me why I’m blue,

You ask me if I’m eating right

Or if I have the flu.

You ask me if my inner child is unfulfilled and cries.

You ask me if I need to get

Some outdoor exercise.

You ask me why I can’t enjoy this autumn so resplendent.

You ask me quietly if I’ve met

Some leggy flight attendant.

You ask me if I’m in despair about some global crisis,

The disappearing forests

Or the rise in oil prices.

I know you want to help but you can never...

I think it was Freud who said nothing’s enjoyed

To its fullest until it’s recalled;

And so let’s reminisce about all that we’ll miss

And just why this guy kept us enthralled.

His first claim to fame was his musical name,

A children’s song, rhythmic and fun.

And that kidlike physique, so compact and unique,

That could do things that couldn’t be done.

We all saw his fire, his guts and desire,

But the thing we sensed watching him play

Was this overgrown kid really loved what he did;

He had fun at his job every day.

So remember his...

The fishing season’s come and gone, and anglers, please take note:

We poets scoff at those who spent their weekends in a boat!

There’s not a special art to catching walleye, trout, or herring,

But poetry requires a ton of patience, skill, and daring!

You have to rise at 3 A.M., a dark and quiet time;

No noise or lights to scare away your fragile sense of rhyme.

You need a special pen, of course (I like the five-inch Parker);

A Bic is fine for sonnets, but haiku needs Magic Marker.

You then go to your secret spot, your favorite...

I’m a turkey, nice to meet ya,

Step in closer, I won’t eat ya.

That’s just a common courtesy

I wish that you’d extend to me.

Right now you think I’m such a sweetie,

But you’re the eater, I’m the eatee.

Don’t say we’re friends, it’s too depressing.

Friends don’t serve their friends with dressing.

Thanksgiving dinner’s all I am

So no more questions. Beat it. Scram!...

A question to set the mind reeling:

Whydowe find Jello appealing?

It’s tacky and cheap, a shivering heap

Of sugary substance congealing.

But the answer, without being rude,

Is that Jello can alter our mood.

For in theory and practice,

The plain simple fact is

We all like to play with our food.

O how it quivers, O how it quakes,

O what a huge heaping portion it makes!

Whether red, green, or yellow, with carrots or not,

The folks here at home sure do eat it a lot.

And why do we like it so much? Here’s...

This Thursday past no doubt you ate

The splendors heaped upon your plate:

The steaming soups, the candied yams,

The basted birds and honeyed hams,

The crème brûlée and rhubarb pies

Brought forks to lips and tears to eyes.

And yet, amidst this wondrous fare,

These answers to a gourmand’s prayer,

The lowly squash is hands-down winner

Of “Things I Love the Best for Dinner.”

It isn’t trendy, hip, or posh

To sing the praises of the squash;

I know it’s not a glamorous viand

Like chocolate mousse or Chateaubriand.

But it’s a shame this tasty gourd

Is much maligned...

Forgot the lyrics? No big thing:

The words aren’t that appealing.

It’s not importantwhatyou sing

As long as it’s with feeling.

Good King Wenceslas just grins;

He could not be prouder.

He forgives our lyric sins

If we all sing louder.

So let ’er rip and have no fear,

Just let that song go ringing,

Because the point this time of year

Is just to be there singing!...

That time of year has come again,

And much as it appalls,

We usually sane and cautious men

Will head out to the malls.

It’s time to join the shopping race;

Bring wallet, spouse, and kiddies,

And hope we find a parking space

That’s still within the cities.

The store’s a madhouse, wild as hell,

It’s shopping in flagrante!

The people writhe and moan and yell

Like something out of Dante.

“Do you have this in red or teal?”

“Is that an extra-large?”

“Do you think this has sex appeal?”

“Will that be cash or charge?”

The whole thing’s gotten...

Preserve us, Lord, this holiday

From clods who would a glass uphold,

And at the table drone away

While all that lovely food gets cold.

O grant us, Lord, a gracious host

Who keeps his blessing short and sweet,

And knows full well a perfect toast

Should finish with the words, “Let’s eat!”...

For those of us much disinclined to revel New Year’s Eve,

We marvel at what you call fun; one almost can’t believe.

No doubt you found some large soirees in places unaesthetic,

Packed tight with boring, common folk—how dreary, how pathetic.

You gorged yourself on fattening foods, cold shrimp and tortellini,

And probably clogged an artery with all that clam linguine.

You laughed so loud and drank so much you could have had a

blackout,

And goodness knows, the way you danced you probably threw your

back out.

And then at midnight, I’ve no doubt, all heedless of the...

Nobody knows where the old year goes,

But the new one is here once again.

And on January first, in a pious outburst,

We resolve to be much better men.

We all swear to lose weight and to not sleep late

And in general renounce all our vices.

But it’s kind of like shopping without ever once stopping

Just to take a quick peek at the prices.

Because virtue ain’t cheap, it’ll cost you some sleep

As you sneak down the stairs for a smoke;

Or you have a piece of pie and you think with a sigh,

“That’s the...

The old year is finished, the new one’s begun,

And since it’s still early you might find it fun

To dream up a list, either long or petite,

Of what you might do this year, who you might meet.

You might learn to dance (you’ll be glad you did later).

You might meet Madonna and casually date her.

You might write a screenplay, a lighthearted romance,

Produce it for peanuts and clean up at Sundance!

You might get discovered and move to L.A.,

Call everyone “Babe” and drink decaf au lait.

You then might become Cindy Crawford’s new beau

(She...

At last I’ve made some resolutions,

New Year’s Day—inspired solutions

To the many faults that haunt me,

Like these rolls of fat that taunt me,

Like my hair, my breath, my skin,

The general mess my life is in.

So no more sleeping late for me,

And no more pizza, no more Brie!

I’ll rise at 6 (6:10 at most)

And start each day with dry wheat toast.

I’ll exercise a thousand ways:

Lift weights, do sit-ups, jog for days.

I’ll shun dessert and nightly feast

On tofu, kelp, and brewer’s yeast.

And if I keep it up each...

It’s hard sometimes to be autonomous

And keep things with your mom bonhomonous....

Romance was born the day we met, the fates brought us together;

We drank champagne, wrote odes to love, and had some fun with leathe

But I noticed once we married and I moved into her place

That our thundering, swirling passions thundered at a slower pace.

So I said, “You’ve seemed so angry since the day that I moved in,

And I hardly ever see you flash that wicked little grin.

I’d do anything to fan the flame, refill our loving cup.”

She said, “Honest?” I said, “Yes.” She said, “All right, then listen up:

Light a candle in...

Here’s a fact that married folks should know about sex:

Too much, you have a baby; not enough, you have an ex....

A special sound is in the air,

A lovely noise, unique and rare;

That gentle roar we’ve all been hearing

Is fifty million parents cheering.

It’s clear what’s made them so lighthearted:

The simple fact that school has started!

They’ve hugged and kissed the little tykes

And sent them off on bus and bikes

To learn and grow and do their best

And give their frazzled folks a rest.

They love their kids, make no mistake,

But boy, it’s nice to have a break.

Five days each week, from 8 ’til 3,

It’s kind of great to be kid-free.

That’s...

Zosha Kenya Winegar Schultz.

A lovely child, she has no faults,

Except her long and complex name

For which her parents are to blame....

Women will always forgive men their faults

If (a) they do housework and (b) learn to waltz....

If love is like water, then I’m not an ocean;

It’s lonely and empty and always in motion.

Nor am I a glacier, all frozen and hard,

That takes fifty years to move forward a yard.

I can’t be a dewdrop—too youthful and callow.

I could be a puddle, but then I’d be shallow.

I might be the rainfall on soft summer nights,

But that wouldn’t work ’cause I’m too scared of heights.

It isn’t romantic, but I like to think

Of myself as the leak in an old kitchen sink.

It’s often annoying and gets on your nerves,...

Holy smokes! Is that abook?

Move over there, let’s take a look:

It weights a ton, the print is small,

There ain’t no pictures here at all!

It figures that those nerds at Guinness

Would love a book no one can finish.

You well-read types may think it's groovy,

But I’ll just wait and see the movie....

Have you seen the Weisman?

It’s really a nice one!

If buildings were football, I’d give it the Heisman!

It glistens and curves,

It bulges and swerves,

It gets on a lot of the Lutherans’ nerves.

They gasp and say, “Golly!

An architect’s folly!

Mies van der Rohe teamed up with Salvador Dali!

It’s ugly! It’s cold!

Too daring! Too bold!

It’s bad for our youngsters! It frightens our old!”

They’ll holler and whine

About the design

But once some time passes they’ll like it just fine.

For despite shows of piety

And outward sobriety

Even Norwegians enjoy some variety....

Sound the horns and strike the tabors!

Hail to thee, O eastern neighbors!

Your great Wisconsin legislature

Has changed the course of man and nature.

With sinews stiff, they’ve risked a chance

And named the polka your state dance!

They dealt first with minutiae,

Like highways, schools, and bills to pay,

Then passed this bill so bold and fateful,

Making tuba players grateful!

Let Rio keep its carioca,

Madison’s endorsed the polka!

Those legislators, deft and nimble,

Have nabbed another fine state symbol.

They have a bird, they have a beer,

They have a sandwich (grilled cheese, we hear).

They...

Your average Malaysian

Needs little persuasion

To eat spicy dishes;

He finds them delicious.

An East Indian child

Finds curry quite mild

And consumes fiery chutney

To the point we’d call gluttony.

At hot food a Thai

Probably won’t bat an eye,

And of course the Chinese

Eat whatever they please.

But I’m Minnesotan,

Where spice is verboten;

And that’s why hot chilies

Just give me the willies....

I hate the State Fair! That’s shocking, I know,

But, really—whywouldany nice person go?

Though the size of the crowd in itself is dumbfounding

The size of the folksinthe crowd is astounding!

The grounds are a mess and the buildings are crude,

But the worst thing about it, of course, is the food.

Those donuts and cheese curds are fragrant illusions:

They’re really deep-fried coronary occlusions!

Just listen: you’ll hear, as you fill up your gut,

The sound of your arteries all snapping shut!

The Grandstand is tacky, the Midway’s a rip-off

(Tattoo-covered vendors are always a...

If you should choose to watch the news

Remember it’s sweeps month—watch out for the ooze!

The month when each station can cause a sensation

And good taste is sent on a four-week vacation.

Just turn on the set; I’m willing to bet

The sizzling reporting will make your teeth sweat!

“ON-THE-JOB SEX BLAMED FOR FATAL TRAIN WRECKS!”

“MOTHER TERESA CAUGHT PASSING BAD CHECKS!”

“WE’LL MEET SISTER FAY, WHO AUTHORITIES SAY

IS RUNNING A BROTHEL JUST SOUTH OF CLOQUET!”

“THE DWARVES—ALL SEVEN—SAY SNOW WHITE WAS HEAVEN;

SHE’S SUING FOR DAMAGES—FILM AT ELEVEN!”

It makes me feel...

So this researcher’s shocked that our hygiene is bad;

Big deal—here’s whatreallyappalls:

The thought of some guy with a pencil and pad

Taking notes while he hides in the stalls!

I think we’re just lazy, we’re not really slobs,

And I sure hope this guy understands

That most of our mothers did pretty good jobs

And taught us: Don’t pee on your hands!...

High-altitude gaming! An airborne casino!

It’s kind of redundant from everythingweknow.

If you like taking chances whenever you ramble

Then flying Northwest by itself is a gamble.

Will the plane land on time? Will it be the right town?

Will they go out of business before we touch down?

And how could a video jackpot compare

To bouncing white-knuckled through turbulent air?

They say it’s to help us get through the long haul,

But it’s just one more way to get back at us all.

It’s subtle, but nasty, the ultimate hurt:

Along with your luggage, you can now...

The Megamall’s announced a test:

They’re using wasps to battle pests!

The bugs are bad, but hey, no prob,

These macho wasps can do the job.

Well, maybe normal wasps could,but—

These guys have had their stingers cut!

Now I’m no shrink but there’s no doubt

A gelded wasp has lost his clout.

He’s born to sting and if he can’t

He’s just a wimpy flying ant!

He’ll hang his head in deep embarrassment,

Quite uninclined toward insect harassment.

The price of Hugedale’s pest-free dream

Is loss of waspy self-esteem.

The bugs know this—you think they’d care

If...

The pelican’ a funny bird,

The body slim, the beak absurd;

He glides and soars to heights divine

And then takes out a power line.

And this has happened more than once,

So is this bird a total dunce?

Well, I think not; it seems quite clear

He’s sent a message we should hear.

By knocking out your TV show

He’s saying, “Off your butt! Let’s go!

Don’t sit inside! Don’t watch TV.

You’ll learn a lot more watching me!”

With almost genius-like invention

He’s telling us to pay attention.

So if we stay indoors all summer,

He may be...

It’s Earth Day again, our yearly reminder

To treat this old world a bit gentler and kinder.

You’ve heard this before, but the earth’s like your mother;

She just hopes you’re happy, she won’t be a bother,

She knows you’re so busy with big deals that thrill you,

But really, a call now and then—would it kill you?

As long as she isn’t completely forgotten

She’ll gladly forgive you for treating her rotten.

So keep this in mind (as truths go, there’s none greater):

Ignore your mom now, and you’ll be sorry later!...

I’m not going to write about this year’s election;

No pithy bon mots, no witty dissection

Of ugly campaigning and badly done ads

Depicting opponents as liars and cads.

No sharp, funny send-ups of power and greed;

To put it quite bluntly, there’s simply no need.

The daggers of satire can stay on the shelves

Since all of the candidates skewered themselves.

No bright, clever rhyme scheme could be half as funny

As watching politicos try to raise money

Or strive to convince us they’re honest and good

While bearing a striking resemblance to wood.

Their mudslinging battles get downright...

I’ve learned a lot about myself through all these many years;

I’ve had my share of laughter and I've had my share of crying.

And of the many things that bring me untold joy in life,

Like having friends I treasure and a warm and loving spouse,

I find that writing poetry remains my heart’s delight;

Had I the time I’d just write verses morning, noon, and evening.

So many things inspire me, like a lovely night in June;

The soft, romantic midnight light that shines down from the sky.

Or maybe it’s the kitten I saw playing with a...