The Seasons: A Poem

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Sunrise over Amazing Grasses Family Farm The mad Artist wields His brush, Painted colors rush, To life and give flush, Before the quiet autumn hush. The life seems to pour, As colors fall to the floor, To be seen no more, Outside the dark, grey door. Brightness from below, Sun upon the snow, High, cold clouds blow, Flakes and ice appear to grow. The man melts with little seen, Underneath, pale, grey green, Hides life in dark unseen, Waits for warmth and to careen. Buds on branches show, Patience starts to grow, Trickles, streams and veins flow, Bringing fruits of melted snow. Sprung to life it springs, Bees, birds, sound rings, Lush green flings, Its gift bounty brings. Green growth gives one last rush, Underneath the Painter's brush. The mad Artist wields His brush, before the quiet autumn hush. More poetry is available from James M. Hahn in  The Last Dragon and Other Poems  available now. My new book of cryptogram puzzles " Secret Messages from the Saints " is avai
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Child Labor

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Did you know that my baby is almost 8? Well he is and he can cook Ramen noodles all by himself (with adult supervision). Here he is with his 6 year old brother, showing him the ropes.


"Women like it when you can cook, you know."




These come in real handy when you want to, you know, stir stuff.


"Do you know this stuff is just full of MSG and artificial preservatives?"

"What else can we throw in there?"





"When is this going to boil, anyway?"




"First thing Mom taught me - a watched pot never boils"





Let me just say that I am very proud of my two chefs, they did a great job. Pretty soon I won't have to do any cooking!

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