Wednesday, August 16, 2017

A poem by Wendell Berry

DARK WITH POWER
Dark with power, we remain
the invaders of our land, leaving
deserts where forests were,
scars where there were hills.

On the mountains, on the rivers,
on the cities, on the farmlands
we lay weighted hands, our breath
potent with the death of all things.

Pray to us, farmers and villagers
of Vietnam. Pray to us, mothers
and children of helpless countries.
Ask for nothing.

We are carried in the belly
of what we have become
toward the shambles of our triumph,
far from the quiet houses.

Fed with dying, we gaze
on our might's monuments of fire.
The world dangles from us
while we gaze.

--from The Selected Poems of Wendell Berry, page 28,
originally in the book Openings (1968) 

Friday, August 11, 2017

MID-SUMMER RAINS (poems)


AUGUST, 2017
T-storms
forecast daily
this week. Eek! New Orleans
is flooded. Are we next in line?
Not yet.
~~~
DELUGE
Blowing
rain--hard--pooling
in the grass; grays the street
and air. But--as if in a one-up
contest,

vicious-
sounding pickups
roar past angrily toward
somewhere. I sit under the roof
and swing.
~~~
AUGUST 1, 2012
Raining
just long enough
for me to walk around
the side of the house and turn off
the tap.
~~~

AUGUST 31, 2012
"Speed bump
ahead" sign just
above the floodwaters.
Boaters using other street signs
as oars.
      *
Remnants
of Isaac make
it to our state, with wind
and downpours, somewhat relieving
the drought.
~~~
~~~
c 2017 PL dba lovepat press    





















`

Monday, August 7, 2017

Several Etheree poems

PROBLEM
A
hummer
trapped inside
the screened-in porch--
it wouldn't be shooed,
hov'ring above door frame
bumping 'gainst transparent walls.
No butterfly net handy. But
an open wire hanger just might work:
hook red feeder on open door. Voila!
1997 ~~~

FRUGALITY
I
go through
coupons clipped
four months ago
from papers' inserts,
note expiration dates--
some 3 months old, some three days
past, which I separate and trash,
add current ones, still full of the hope
that I might save a dime or two next trip.
1998~~

THE SWIM SUIT AD
You
see this
bathing suit?
Now, do you see
the model pictured?
Is she a size 16
in women's, for heaven's sake?
More like a 6, but hey, her top
enhances her like mine: it smashes;
the waist minimizer feature doesn't!
2000~~

DR. JOHNNY WINK, OBU
His
satchel
in one hand,
a paper scrap
in the other, the
English professor walks
to class on the city's bike
trail and memorizes poems.
Once, I offered him a found pencil.
"Thanks. Some student always comes without one."
2001~~

c 2017 PL, dba lovepat press


Wednesday, August 2, 2017

Poems from the Unpublished card file - August

1997
God's feathered fools
surely remain in the woods
of cat heaven
[image from Charles Allbright's AD-G column]
~~~
2000
today, calico
following MY lead
naps at my bedside~
~~~
2005
picking his garden
with a dead leg and a cane
92-year-old
[image from Jay Grelan's AD-G column]
~~~
2006
fishing the river
snake holding a live catfish
floats near my bait
[image with no attribution]
~~~
2010
a late breakfast--
shall I take an early nap
or eat some ice cream?
[I did both]
~~~
2015
new grocery list
cat food, calcium
and coffee
~~~
2017
Second
blooming this year,
the Encore azaleas
brighten the mid-summer landscape's
green-ness.

c 2017 PL dba lovepat press

Thursday, July 20, 2017

More summer poems cat, heat, drought

Greye Laster cat

IT'S COOLER DOWN HERE
smart cat!
Rather than rest
in the attic's heat, he
spends his afternoon nap on the
fourth stair.
~~

STRANGE ONE
Strange one
at the birdbath:
stretched out, a foot long, eyes
checking the water. Finally,
he laps.
~~

A FIRST!
After
all these years, Greye
jumped up on the loveseat
in the space between my paper
and me.

Never
has he done such
as that. He reclined in
the small spot, put a gray paw on
my leg.
~~

Storm building in Fairfield Glade, TN on sisters' trip

smelling
rain, but the sun's
shining
~~

ALL THINGS IN THEIR TIMES
Every
time I looked up
at graying clouds, I prayed,
"Please rain. Please rain." Hours later,
spitting.
~~


Yellow
pansy hanging
out of the pot. Could I
hear it gasping, "Too hot! Water!
Water!"?
~~

parched ground somewhere

c 2017 PL dba lovepat press

Wednesday, July 12, 2017

Birds in the Bush and Tree- poems


LIVE MUSIC
A wren is close
in the holly tree,
a mockingbird farther out,
a robin in the dogwood,
and a cardinal's 'chit-chit'
from the maple.
~~

woodpecker
tapping on the roof
above me
~~

Thrasher
flies to, lands on
a horizontal limb
of the ancient crape myrtle, lost
to sight.
~~

"Killing
me with your song!"
I tell the bird, not six
feet from my ears in the holly
treetop.
~~

Slight breeze
but no wind chime.
Mockingbird takes that role
well enough. Ah! There's a very
soft tone.
~~


I swing,
cooling off from
a spate of afternoon
yard work, while the mockingbird sings
for me.
~~

FROM THE BACK PORCH STEPS
Last call
of the redbird.
As the night bugs waken,
western sky shows only its blues.
I rest.
~~
~~
PL, 2017

Friday, July 7, 2017

Poems from the Past - Cinquains

1996 - ETHICS
"I know
it's not allowed."
Ruth stretches out her trunk
to fenced-out docent. "Goobers taste
so good!"
~~
1998 - DANGER!
My son's
experiment--
the glint in brittle leaves
is sun's reflection through the glass.
"No, NO!"
~~

2003 - FOUND IN AN OLD JOURNAL
I crave
ice cream after
two weeks' deprivation,
and he walks in with a bag of
corn chips.
~~

2005 - OUT OF THE COUNTRY
"Goodnight
for the last time
in 13 days," my boy
says before his school trip to Greece
and Rome.
~~

2006 - 101 DEGREES
Robins,
redbird and squirrel
glean from the shady yard
in grass that is drying up from
the heat.
~~

2009 - TOO BIG
Huge brown
thrasher wobbles
on the column feeder
eating seeds that the smaller birds
ignore.
~~

2012 - SO HOT FOR SO LONG
ACs
turned on at eight-
fifteen a. m. Nearly
80 degrees already this
morning.
~~

2015 - WHAT DOES THIS MEAN?
Five days
after seeing
"Oklahoma," I'm still
mind-singing "People will say we're
in love."
~~

2016 - IF THAT'S ALL WE HAD TO DO
Counting
the unmarked mute
swans on the Thames each year
for their owner, the Queen. What a
great job!
~~

2017 - SOUNDS
Music
of the wind chimes,
drone of the airplane, swish
and hum of passing cars . . . so far,
peace reigns.
~~
~~
PL, posted July 7, 2017

Thursday, June 29, 2017

An Edgar A. Guest poem for the holiday


THE BOY AND THE FLAG
Edgar A Guest

I want my boy to love his home,
His Mother, yes, and me:
I want him, wheresoe'er he'll roam,
With us in thought to be.
I want him to love what is fine,
Nor let his standards drag,
But, Oh! I want that boy of mine
To love his country's flag!

I want him when he older grows
To love all things of earth;
And Oh! I want him, when he knows,
To choose the things of worth.
I want him to the heights to climb
Nor let ambition lag;
But, Oh! I want him all the time
To love his country's flag.

I want my boy to know the best,
I want him to be great;
I want him in Life's distant West,
Prepared for any fate.
I want him to be simple, too,
Though clever, ne'er to brag,
But, Oh! I want him, through and through,
To love his country's flag.

I want my boy to be a man,
And yet, in distant years,
I pray that he'll have eyes that can
Not quite keep back the tears
When, coming from some foreign shore
And alien scenes that gag,
Borne on its native breeze, once more
He sees his country's flag.

From Collected verse of EDGAR A. GUEST, published 1934 by Contemporary Books, Inc.




Thursday, June 22, 2017

Just in the past few days. . . poems/ photos

First day
of summer, yet
the pansies, though leggy,
still show off their multicolored
faces.
~ ~ ~


Purple
jew coexists
with coreopsis, cone
flower, dianthus, oxalis,
stone crop.
~ ~ ~ ~

Close up
of bronzy 'mums
blooming for the second
year in Mom's ancient concrete porch
planter.
~ ~ ~



c 2017 PL

Monday, June 12, 2017

Sights, sounds, smells - POEMS

Yellow
blooms of lance-leaved
coreopsis litter
the lawn. Son says "Leave them." Brother:
"They're weeds!"
~ ~ ~

Fragrance
of gardenias
another perk of porch-
sitting early in the morning's
coolness.
~ ~ ~

MOM! DAD! HELP!
Its first
trip to the bird-
bath? "Now that I'm here, what
do I do?" It wades in and sips,
then stands.
~ ~ ~

Orange
canna blossom
stands as an overlord
above the mandevilla's two
pink blooms.
~ ~ ~

Bluejay
squawks, "No suet
in this feeder, lady!
and I could use some sustenance."
"Soon, sir."
~ ~ ~

First time
in a long time
I see althea blooms.
Demise of hackberry-tree shade
the cause?
~ ~ ~

Barely
audible this
early, nearly-summer
morning, a freight train trundles toward
Texas.
~ ~ ~
c 2017, PL - dba lovepat press

Tuesday, June 6, 2017

Memories of a writers retreat experience


 Karen, Carolyn, Deanna at a book signing by Ruth Hawkins

At the Hemingway-Pfeiffer Museum
--a senryu sequence

Hasten, hasten all
writers –you who’re interested
in ‘one true sentence.’

Come to the old barn
where E. H. once wrote
parts of A Farewell . . .
Surrounded by ghosts,
his typewriter, leopard skin
rugs, whispers of lust
we focus efforts
to learn to write like Papa,
stark words, whittled to
the pith, gist and gut.
Imaginations flit, soar,
breaking boundaries
found in home, office,
school. Like doves released, we fly,
fill page upon page,
exult in fatigue:
a story begun, finished.
To Papa! Hear, hear!

 ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

[10:24 pm, 1.21.14, Tuesday]


[Pat Laster
To the state critic, 1.16.14
Revised ala critic, 1.21.14] 






Sunday, May 28, 2017

Poems from a dedicated service person and poet: Lew Taylor, deceased

Lewis B. Taylor, R.I.P.

THE OLD VETERAN

I was born in this house on a country lane
that has become a four-lane pavement
across fields my ancestors cleared
and my father farmed during all his years.

I have lived my years in this self-same house
at peace with all men, except when called to war
to defend the land my forebears built.
I was proud to fight, preserving the land I knew.

Now, I die in a land I do not know.
This is not the land my father built.
It is not the land I fought to save.
It is a foreign land, with ways I cannot comprehend.

Is it the fate of generations
to die in lands they never knew?

--Lewis B. Taylor, from Lees in the Pail, 2009
~~~

ON THE COPTS IN EGYPT

All light is lovely in darkness.
A candle can be a beacon on a starless night.
They who trim the flickering wicks
May light a whole land.

One who travels in reflected brilliance
Never knows the worth of one long candle.
Then, moving from light to darkness,
He gropes to find familiar forms.
Holding no candle of his own, he gropes.

And then at last he sees.

The source of brilliance is the shining of a million candles
Each held proudly high
By solitary trimmers of wicks.

--Lew Taylor, from Drippings in the Pail, 1995

de TOCQUEVILLE WAS RIGHT

He said,
Americans
Will prosper until they
Vote themselves money from public
Coffers.

POLITICAL CORRECTNESS

Orwell
Saw it clearly,
A vociferous few
Can make themselves more equal than
Others.

--Lew Taylor, from Cinquains Caught in my Pail, 1998

AT THE FIFTIETH REUNION
(of the Class of '47, U. S. Naval Academy)

The Class
has seen a life of forty-thousand years
nurtured from more than eight-hundred roots,
each anchored here in honored ground.

Uncommon men united in common cause,
gathered from around the earth,
began here the voyage of The Class;
a voyage on eight-hundred compass headings
that embarked from our hallowed yard fifty years ago.

Mystic ties unseen join this now-shrinking band.
So long as survivors range the earth
they are The Class, wherever each may be.
There will be no new recruits.
And the loss of each man in his turn is mourned
in each remaining heart.

Service--honor--country
bound these men with lines too strong for breaking.
The link in the chain has been tested:
it beareth the strain.

--Lew Taylor, from Leaked from the Pail, 2003

c 2017 PL




Wednesday, May 24, 2017

Small pictures of spring: poems

2017 in Gulf Breeze, Florida (Gordon's yard)

pruning
azaleas . . . finding
one pink bloom
('12)
~~~

Decoration Day
his work-roughened hands
clean the pioneers tombstones
('97)
~~~

rainwater pollen yellow
('14)
~~~

A lone
coreopsis
rescued from a distant
bed, leans its yellow face into
the rain.
('14)
~~~

male cardinal
flashing in and out
of the lorapetalum
('15)
~~~

white-breasted squirrel
stands looking at the daisies
are they good to eat?
('13)
~~~

all this mid-May day
the doves across the way
calling . . . calling . . .
('13)
~~~

between camellias
and lorapetalum
the  stunted Shastas
('13)

Thurman Couch photo, '17

alone
but not lonely
me, the cat, the birds
('17)
~~~
~~~
c2017 PL bda lovepat press

Monday, May 15, 2017

Poems -- from today . . . backwards

May 15 - 2017

Between
morning bird calls
the sound of sirens as
they approach: a sheriff's speeding
cruiser.

RETIRED - YAY!
Walking
to mail birthday
cards, I watch two yellow
buses pass on this last Monday.
I wave.
~ ~ ~
May 14 2017

Neighbor's
mailbox askew
again, even after
I stripped the vine, and he attached
plywood.
~ ~ ~
May 13 2017

Cool breeze
at my back, an
opus of birdsongs, bright
sunshine's shadows on the wet grass.
Praise be!
~ ~ ~
May 12 2017

THE RETURN
A dove
under the seed
feeder--the first one I've
seen on this acre in two, three,
four years.
~ ~ ~
May 11 2017

Storming.
The cat is scared.
I try comforting him,
but he doesn't trust me, hides in
stairwell.

PL-- dba lovepat press

View from back deck of 505, WCDH
birdsong everywhere

Sunday, May 7, 2017

various and sundry - haiku/ senryu

A previous mission trip: Ursula, Colleen, Pat, Kathy, Mary

mission trip
no time to nap
no time to write
[2015]

water hyacinth
its slow twirling
down the bayou
[2015]

a motorcycle
louder than a semi
blasting by
[2015]

spring cold spell
checking on blackberries
I find narcissus
[2014]

the holly tree
I wished for
now higher than the roof
[2015]
between her photinia
and my euonymus
our doorways hidden
[2015]
son and wife visit
she can't know my coffee mug's
from his old girlfriend
[2014]

wedding dress for sale
worn once by mistake
call Mattie Helen
(from email forward of UK want-ads, etc.)
[2012]

Emptying book bags to check against requirements, then repacking them according to specifications. Mission trip, '15, UMCOR depot, Baldwin, Louisiana


Tuesday, April 18, 2017

Birds, squirrel, cat and storms - poems

Wren flies
to the metal,
bird-topped shepherd's hook, looks
at it as if to ask, 'where can
I nest?'
~~~

How to
describe bird's sound?
Oh, 4 feet of iambs!
'Mi-SHIP-ee-SHIP-ee-SHIP-ee-SHIP'
Aha!
~~~

A squirrel
digs in the yard
close to the house. Even
when I ask it what it's doing,
it digs.
~~~

Mama
cardinal lights
on the yard tricycle
before flying to the suet
feeder.
~~~

Watch out
bird! I'm closing
in on you and your feast
of roadkill. I don't want to smash
you flat!
~~~

THUNDERSTORM
A storm
thundered in, moved
east, leaving gentle rain,
fresher air, and a scared, old cat
behind.

After
the storm and rain
the grey cat follows me
outside, but stays close to the door,
in case . . .

Later,
thunder rumbles,
quiet-like; the cat mews
quietly, too. Soon, both increase
their noise.
~~~
~~~
c 2017 PL bda as lovepat press

Thursday, March 30, 2017

A spring day in cinquains-March 30 '17

Lenten Roses - photo by Uncle Norval Ziegler, Oak Ridge, TN

I. I hear
doves from across
the road. Cardinals--from
behind me--chitter. Cool after
the storm.

II. & III. Mocker
eats from the new
suet cake on a limb
of the still-bare beautyberry.
Red bird

against
the blue metal
feeder has trouble with
perching peg. I need to fill both
feeders.


IV. A large
red-headed wood-
pecker at the suet
cake until I moved to take a
photo.

V. Pink bloom
of azalea
falls onto the growing
hosta's heart. They nestle nicely.
I smile.

VI. "Please God, no fatalities"
Siren
sounding frantic
on vehicle headed
west on the freeway. Now, the air
is still.

VII. "Cloudy, but bright"
No lights
in the sky, but
plenty around. Grounded
nightlights abundant in neighbors'
acres.

VIII. "Easy to read"
With two
floodlight bulbs, my
"patio" area
is bathed in enough light that I
can write.

IX. "Contentment"
I sit
outside at night.
The yard light shows a red
bougainvillea newly blossomed.
I sigh.

THE END

Friday, March 24, 2017

Spring subjects in poems

Son Eric's day lily

Privet,
honeysuckle,
thick layer of gray leaves
cleaned from Grandmother's bed of day
lilies.

New ones
from a daughter
who needed to thin hers
wait to go from bucket to ground
quickly--

a three generation
effort to plant beauty
and provide solace at this pet
graveyard.
~~~~( 2014-PL)





DO YOU SUPPOSE?
I swear
I heard a bird
mocking my daily call:
"Kitty, kitty, kitty, kitty!"
today.
~~~~ (2015 - PL)


neighbor's
wandering terrier
rests by my brush pile
~~~~ (2015-PL)

bumblebee
in the hydrangeas
crow calls from the sassafras
~~~~ (2014 PL)

Two white
irises bloom
apart from the prepared
bed. Lesson? There is joy outside
some groups?
~~~~ (2014 PL)





Sunday, March 5, 2017

Haiku written in March from 1998 - 2014

1998
the Matterhorn
emerging into sunlight
stopping my breath
~~
1999
mail delivery route--
the same road every day
but always different

a woodpecker
at the feeder
chased off by a jay
~~
2003
eve of his 13th
grousing and grumbling
over nothing

below the mesa
a running colony
of wind turbines
[from Jenn Hansen]
~~
2004
above the clouds
a whole different universe
is this like heaven?
~~
2009
crows'
courting cries in the dead leaves
on the hillside

blue jay
alone at the feeder
eating rejected seeds
~~
2014
strewing birdseed
on the thick layer of ice
tiny flakes of snow
~~
~~
c 2017 PL dba lovepat press












Saturday, February 25, 2017

TANKA TIME

devising a place
to work . . . on the front porch
of the Writer's Room
where I can see and hear
birds, squirrels and walkers

[Writer's Colony at Dairy Hollow,
Eureka Springs AR, 2009]
~~~
addressing
three birthday cards
all three names contain
the middle initial
        J

[Fran, Billy & Barb, 2015]
~~~
outside
of the cup
hotter
than the coffee
inside

[Dot's pink "Friends" mug, 2015]
~~~~
lone blackbird drinking
looks around as if to say
"Where are the others?"
now, a bluejay squawks and drinks
but still, no doves or thrashers

[2016, Couchwood]
~~~

doesn't the wind know
it's against the law to blow
leaves into the street?
Aha! Nature trumps
mere local, human law
[2016, Couchwood]
~~~

near the bird feeder
a crow in the redbud
calling . . . calling
still agitated
it flies to the maple

[2016, Couchwood]
~~~
yellow and black
butterfly
stops by
a purple iris
around the oak stump

[2016, Couchwood]
~~~
~~~




Wednesday, February 15, 2017

Still winter, but hints of spring already: poems


C. Hoggard photo

Three found poems:
IN THE NEWS

Thirteen
Burmese pythons
captured during one week
at a Key Largo refuge. How
scary!
~~

Lifetime
bus pass and two
new canes for the man who
broke his cane defending the bus
driver.
~~

Stopping
the bridge upgrade
after finding an egg
in a hummingbird nest. "Resume
when hatched."
~~

Staring
at a bare oak,
I notice a giant
quarter-rest symbol: a "Z" with
a "C"!
~~

Honey-
bees on the pink
quince blossoms, excited
--it seems--with their new food source, warm
weather.
 I, too,
delight, exult,
and work outside: dig up
monkey grass, trim yarrow and clip
hedgerow.
~~

Robin
flew to the rim,
waded around the rock,
dipped its beak a couple of time,
then flew.
~~
japonica
seems more lush
more pink this year
~~

Fluid,
interactive
art: watching the circles
made by raindrops in the birdbath
water.
~~

Who needs
a Valentine
when leftover fudge squares
are as close as the door of the
freezer?






Thursday, February 2, 2017

Sticks Are For Walking - Part 1

Lynn Hoggard - PL

               You’ll never find one of Lynn Hoggard’s walking sticks in a flea market, craft show or church bazaar. UNLESS a shopper is using one—a gift from him--to get around.
                Hoggard, a retired band director who is a bassist in all the musicals presented by Benton’s Royal Players, creates walking sticks as a hobby. He began collecting interesting sticks around 1984 while working as an appraiser.
“I was working at Conway in a little subdivision,” he said. "The fence row had been cut off. I had to walk down the row to measure the property, and I ran across this stick. It had vines all over it, but it seemed about the right length, so I threw it in the truck thinking it would make an interesting walking stick.”
                Before he began working on it, however, he found a different project.
                “A cherry tree had died in our back yard and when I pulled it up, the root came out, too. The root had an interesting shape, so I whittled on it, cut the extra length off, rejoined and sanded it. I began to see a bird’s head, so I kept whittling until I was satisfied with it. It’s kind of ugly, but it’s my first one, so I’ll keep it.”
                After retrieving that first vine-covered stick in Conway, Hoggard began looking for sticks. Several years ago, he would walk from his Benton home in Hidden Valley toward Saline River’s Lyle Park, then up the hill. That was before the hill became bedrock for an upscale subdivision.
                “Once when I was walking, I came upon a really long piece that I looked at for about five minutes, wondering. I finally walked away. It was trash, really ugly, a piece of cut timber the subdivision people had pushed to the side. I went on about a mile before going back. In the distance, I saw two boys walking, and when I got back, the stick was gone. They had picked it up, but then decided they didn’t want it either. They threw it about twenty yards away. I had a little trouble finding it, but when I did, I thought that if they were interested enough to pick it up, then I was taking it home.
                “I cut out a section of it, sanded it down partially to get all the crustiness off, then I stained it and added a coat of lacquer.”
                Gnarled and thick, the deep ebony-colored wood with its cedar-red highlights is both functional and beautiful. Surrounded by two dozen other sticks of varying lengths, girths and designs, Hoggard discussed his hobby.
                “I’ve always been interested in the way wood looks when it is finished.” Picking up a delicate stick and turning it in his hands, he continued. “For instance, this wood glows when you catch light just right; it actually glows down in there. You can see the satiny insides.”
TO BE CONTINUED
PL
               






Thursday, January 26, 2017

Will this winter bring snow to the heartland?

SNOW POEMS FROM EARLIER YEARS

snowstorm--
windfall branches
on barbed wire
~~
a window between
kitten and the birds
snow on the feeder

~~
how low can he go?
the snowman melts
refreezes
~~
in from the snow
he begs to be allowed
to eat in his room
~~
pickup
with snow-covered ATV
inching down the road
~~
the purple pansy
peeks through the blanket of snow
teakettle's whine
~~
my chair closer
to the picture window
last night's snow
~~
fire hydrant buried
but nothing moves that needs it
the daylong snow
~~
~~
c PL 2017


Wednesday, January 18, 2017

[Mostly] Anonymous Limericks




Anonymous (unidentified) subject- I - photo by PL
(perhaps snow on the barberry?)

My poetry blog needs new look
So I reach for an old hardback book
That looks like it might
Have something just right.
Oh, yes! An anonymous hook!
--PL, 1/18/'17

The Life and Works of MR. ANONYMOUS by Willard R. Espy, was published in 1977, so long ago that Amazon has no record of it. And I've had it so long that there's no annotation about when/ where/cost, etc. It does have a dust jacket.

After thumbing through it, I chose the LIMERICKS section of PART II: "Selected Works of the Anonymous Clan"  Here are a few to get us through the upcoming weekend. Perhaps by Sunday you will have created one of your own.

The limerick packs laughs anatomical
Into space that is quite economical.
   But the good ones I've seen
   So seldom are clean
And the clean ones so seldom are comical.

There once was a sculptor named Phidias
Whose manners in art were invidious:
   He carved Aphrodite
   Without any nightie,
Which startled the ultrafastidious.

There's a wonderful family, called Stein,
There's Gert and there's Epp and there's Ein;
   Gert's poems are bunk,
   Epp's statues are junk,
And no one can understand Ein.

There was an old lady of Ryde
Who ate some green apples, and died.
   The apples (fermented
   Inside the lamented)
Made cider inside 'er inside.

A friendly challenge: write one during the remainder of this week. PL

Anonymous subject II (looks like winter)-PL