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The Vale of Tiers The English three-tier system starts off-key: High's medium, and Medium is low, Enabling Very High to be Tier Three— Variety's the spice of Covid woe! All Tier-Three pubs are closed throughout the day. Last orders in Tier One are called at ten, Ensuring tipsy throngs form right away Outside the pub to spread Corona then. For all three tiers, you still have Rule of Six, Though it means different things in different tiers: In Two, indoors, you're not allowed to mix Except ... oh, I forget, just drink your beers! Restock home cellars weekly. Don't run dry— Some day this vale of tiers shall too pass by! (First published in Light on October 19, 2020 as one of the Poems of the Week) |
British Big Cats Big cats with sightings in the British Isles Remain elusive, but there's one of note: It cannot be a tiger, since it smiles. The fur's too blonde to make a lion's coat. It cannot be a jaguar. It's too slow! Snow leopard, or plain leopard? I think not! How could this cat be either? We all know Both leopards cannot change a single spot! Instead this lazy feline morphs each day, Grandiloquently toying with its prey. Cat experts who have sighted it all say A Cheshire cat's more constant in its way! There is no species name to speak to that— So I propose: Panthera Boris Cat! (First published in Light on October 26, 2020 as one of the Poems of the Week) |
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Trick-Or-Treater The doorbell rings. You answer it. Who's there? Red Riding Hood? The Big Bad wolf? No, no— It's neighbors' kids who hope a friendly scare Can fill their bags with chocolate to go! Keep loads and loads of candy by your door— Or you may short an Alice or March Hare, Rapunzel, Robin Hood, a Dumbledore, Tyrannosaurus Rex, or Smokey Bear! ... Remember when you wondered if you'd got Enough supplies to last for Halloween, And so you bought another giant lot? That meant too much—the kids have now all been!... Excess amounts of candy on a shelf Remain for you to eat tonight yourself! (First published on October 30, 2020 in the Creativity Webzine) |
Won't Get By A Loan We know the pratie's what the Irish eat. Of eighteen forty-seven they despond: No praties meant a famine so complete, They needed help from way across the Pond. Good-hearted Choctaw in a distant land Eked out their cash to help the Irish feed. Today their gift is valued at five grand ... Both Navajo and Hopi now have need. "You won't get by alone," the Irish said. "And we recall we're in your people's debt: Long years ago you sent us cash for bread. One million's the thanks, today, you get. And though a gift is not a loan, all told, Now we've repaid our debt two-hundredfold!" (First published in Light on November 2, 2020 as one of the Poems of the Week) |