L.A. Mereoie: Bruin’s Eye View
As poet-playwright rich and rare
And one whom ursines all should hail
For Will of Stratford, I declare
No reverence is off the scale
Since he it was who gave a bear
That plum role in his Winter’s Tale.
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Steven Kent: She Never Leaves ‘Em Wanting More
Though few will claim that Keats's Ode was wrong
Invoking mystic ditties of no tone
The ones who do no doubt endured a song
Delivered by my tuneless auntie, Joan.
O Stranger, simply take me at my word:
Her melodies are sweetest left unheard.
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Alan Millichip: Plunder
The feeders gone, the thieving rat,
I wonder how it could do that;
Positioned high up in a tree,
Quite difficult to get it free;
Not fair perhaps, but if you're able,
Others’ food can fill your table.
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Steven Kent: Silence Is Golden
Once more upon these racks I've seen
A literary magazine
In which some work of mine appears.
The clerks no doubt would offer cheers;
They'd smile and tell me, "Way to go!"
And yet they'll surely never know.
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Lindsay McLeod: Grapes of Wrath
You cannot fight time
and you can't fight the tide
and you can't fight city hall
and you cannot bite
the hands of those
that don't feed you at all.
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L. A. Mereoie: Head To Head
Dear baby, visiting for tea,
New twig upon a family tree,
Good-tempered, gurgling, problem-free,
You’re almost perfect, I agree.
There’s just one blemish I can see . . .
You’ve got a lot more hair than me!
♠ ♠ ♠ ♠ ♠ ♠ ♠
Jerome Betts: The High Life
An agile young feline called Simba
Ginger-coated, sleek, supple and limber
After dining (gourmet!)
Passes part of his day
In dozing surrounded by timber.
