Monday, December 15, 2014

Party Snacks

The Salsa
with apologies to William Blake
Salsa Salsa, burning bright,
In the dip bowls of the night;
What dark maw or grim abyss
Could meet thy fearful zestiness?

On what distant hill or plain
Grew your peppers so insane?
Beneath what sun did they perspire?
What demon filled them with such fire?

What gloved hands & what stout heart
Could tear these vile fruits apart
And simmer them at the full moon?
What dread pot? & What dread spoon?

What the recipe? What wife,
In what kitchen gave thee life?
What container? What dread nerve,
Dare thy deadly bite preserve?

When the cook's eyes filled with tears,
And something prickled in her ears:
Did she smile her work to taste?
Did she enjoy this scorching paste?

Salsa Salsa, burning bright,
In the dip bowls of the night;
What dark maw or grim abyss
Dare meet thy fearful zestiness?

in Volume 3 Issue 2
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Monday, December 8, 2014

Florida Holiday


To a Child First Seeing Epcot Center

with apologies to Joyce Kilmer

This stuff that we at Disney see
is really nothing like a tree.

That plastic palm with leaves impressed
now slouched on Earth's extruded breast,

has nuts of fuzzy shredded foam
recycled of milk jugs from home.

To save from raking, mulch and spray,
they've circumvented Nature's way.

They've fashioned dummies, "Ever-Wear":
a laurel with spun-acrylic hair,

and birch with polyester grain,
and oak that never needed rain.

Hollywood's great, but believe you me—
only God can make a tree.

And Disney's park will ever be—
just like this poem—a parody.

by Catherine McGuire

in Volume 3 Issue 2
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Monday, December 1, 2014

Who needs to shop?

The Present

On a cold white Christmas long ago
A friend gave me a present.
Ooh and Ahh I told him then,
"How kind, how sweet, how pleasant."

At once I started on my scheme
To pass the present on.
I had no use for this old junk
And it didn't take me long.

So soon I found my lucky chance
And gave it to a friend.
I thought I'd seen the last of it,
And that had been the end.

But little did I know it then
My friend would follow suit
And soon the gift was sent again
Along its merry route.

Round and round the present went
Passed along the chain,
Of family, friends, acquaintances
And back to me again!

by Anita Haas
in Volume 3 Issue 2
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Monday, November 17, 2014

Escaping the Snow

Playing with Words on a Sunny Evening
with apologies to Robert Frost
Whose words these were I think you know
His bones are in the graveyard, though
He will not mind me playing here
To give his words a novel glow

A lot of folks might think it queer
To change a work that they revere
But I've no task to undertake
This longest evening of the year

They'd give their little heads a shake
And ask if this was some piss-take
But I would claim, although it's cheap
A parody's no piece of cake

His words are lovely, dark and deep
And thus respect will always reap
So Robert Frost in peace can sleep
So Robert Frost in peace can sleep

by Roger Berry
in Volume 3 Issue 2
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Monday, November 10, 2014

A Bit of Brit Hist(ory)

Elizabeth II

British Bessie number two—
What does her Royal Highness do?
Despite the glory that she hogs,
She mostly plays with Corgi dogs.



Kate Middleton

Irrelevant Miss Princess Kate
Arrived a couple cent'ries late.
Her only duty, she'd confess,
Is occupying England's press.

by Paul Burgess
in Volume 3 Issue 2
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