August 18th, 2019

Poetry Corner

By Darlene Sprague

A-a-h spring is here and the snow is gone
Look outside something has undermined my lawn

Is it gophers that make these holes
Experts say its tiny moles

Piles of mud and furrows deep
Makes one wonder what’s so good to eat

If I could harness them and make a team
Rototilling the garden would be my scheme

When I see these piles of dirt, it makes me think
How to heck do they keep their little feet
so clean and so pink

By Wayne F. Burke

and the city hushed;
a somber hue
of shadowed-ness.
Scars of the brick buildings
wrinkles folded-in for night.
Black birds on the wing
beneath a charcoal sky
with pink ribbon.

Her Golden Hair
By Old George

Each morning she comes walking down.
The sun shines through her golden hair.
As she comes closer
I begin swimming happily about.
Then she feeds me
And I begin to pout.
How could she ever love me!
For I am but a trout.

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