Pat D’Amico: A Hard Day’s Bite
At the end of the day when we’ve been away
Stalking the corporate beast,
We return to the nest hoping to rest
And to share in a hard-earned feast.
We’re too tired to cook so we hungrily look
Through the house with primeval anxiety.
We eat what we find and again, we’re aligned
With a hunting and gathering society.
(First published in The Wall Street Journal)
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Carey Jobe: The Gardener
With feet that itch from stealthy ants
that roam and bite his tender toes,
that aren’t deterred by shoes and socks
more than flip-flops or mismatched crocs,
he stands forlorn with leaking hose
spraying his parched tomato plants,
reflecting how his thumb’s green skill
raised nothing but his water bill.
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Shamik Banerjee The Devil's Best Plan
If there's one plot the devil's been successful at,
It's storing half his vileness in an insect that
Carries a fine-point needle which can burrow in
Through any layer of furry pelts or human skin,
With one objective only: to adeptly draw
Life's sanguine drops like juice sucked through a paper straw,
To turn our pleasant sleep time (by its covert mission)
Into a long and apoplectic clapping session.
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L.A. Mereoie: Beastly Beginning
His grin at the start soon grew forced
When chaffed by the point-to-point crowd
Yet his doggedness must be endorsed
For that poor badgered rider was proud.
Though from saddle so often divorced
To stick on till the last he had vowed
And was trimly turned out and well-horsed . . .
But he came back all bruised, badly-cowed!
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Don Nigroni: Made for Each Other
I like seashells, she likes snakes.
I make sandwiches while she shakes and bakes.
I fancy John Milton, she reads Henry Miller.
I watch screwball comedies, she likes searching for the killer.
Everyone said it wouldn’t last long.
Our relationship was dubbed our swan song.
But we were smitten sixty years ago,
so what did the whole wide world really know!
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Oscar Kenshur: Beyond Hemlock
Old Socrates “corrupted” youth
With spoken words, not printer’s ink.
He taught the young to seek the truth,
By saying things that made them think.
If now your writing stirs them up,
Shows how the past might really look,
They won't present a poison cup.
They'll just decide to ban your book.
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Bruce McGuffin: In Search Of Lost Time
I had some time and so I read
Proust’s A La Recherche Du Temps Perdu.
At least Swann’s Way, but then I said
“And now I’m losing my time too”
My mind made up, my course was clear.
I dug out volumes two and three
And took them to a bookstore here
Which sells old books for charity.
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Aaron Nydegger: Positive Mental Attitude
The lion's out, cage door ajar,
Trap open, though the rope still slack,
Two seconds from the leading car
Relaxing on the railroad track.
Adrift at sea without the oars,
Tsunami racing on its way,
Plunged head-first twelve of sixteen floors . . .
But. so far, everything's okay.
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L. A. Mereoie: It’s SI Gone Mad!
The feet that took men to the moon,
Are hardly things to ditch too soon.
Like inches, they are body-based
And make up yards that can be paced.
Kilometres, however stressed,
Are stunted measurements at best.
From Durness down to Seven Dials
Hurray for Housman’s ‘’smooth green miles’!
