Jean Syed: Oinking
I really do not want to snore
Beside my love just like a pig.
The grunts spread up from floor to floor.
I really do not want to snore
Beside the one whom I adore.
Oinking is very infra dig.
I really do not want to snore
Beside my love just like a pig.
Barbara Lydecker Crane: Stopping by Woods
Whose woods these are I think I know —
he’s drinking in the clubhouse, though.
His drives are lovely, high and deep,
direct to greens. So sleek, I weep.
He will not see me swapping here
his bag for my pathetic gear.
His clubs, I know, I shouldn’t keep . . .
that thought will not disturb my sleep.
Damian Balassone: Nobel Prizes
Some say Song is Poetry
and Bob deserves the gong;
while others say that Poetry’s
the highest form of Song,
and if indeed that is the case,
it wouldn’t have been wrong
to kindly offer Dr. Seuss
the Nobel Prize for Song.
Pat D’Amico: Picture This
Hair and eye color changed (tint and contacts)
Her face over-lifted, sky-high,
Her stature increased by her footwear,
Her weight by banana cream pie,
She got stopped before boarding a Boeing
And suffered some hours of delay
Since her photo-identification
Was out such a very long way.
David Galef: Eight Reasons She’s Late
Can’t keep her affairs straight.
Just ate.
Likes to make me wait.
Isn’t feeling so great.
Still looking for a glove that needs a mate.
It’s a trait.
She had another date.
I don’t rate.
C.B. Anderson: Unsuited
There was a time my wife and I
Would tread warm waters thigh to thigh,
Attending to our carnal needs
Among the rushes and the reeds.
Because our bones have grown too old
To emulate the brave and bold
Who still engage in shameless stripping,
We now abstain from skinny-dipping.
Liza McAlister Williams: The Snake
The snake so sleekly sensuous
slithered succinctly past.
Like scissors slicing silken cloth
it lightninged through the grass:
a snatch of song forgot once sung,
a cruel joke said “all in fun,”
a task abandoned ere begun,
its shadow briefly cast.
Maírtín Mac Aodha: The Gastropod's Legacy
(Donoghue v. Stevenson 1932)
This is the tale of Paisley's snail −
A law change followed in its trail.
Found in some bottled ginger beer
It left a widow feeling queer.
This caused the plaintiff Donoghue
To sue, and win in '32.
We owe a mollusc thanks, for once.
Its gift? The tort of negligence.
