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 Dec 2016 Joshua Dougan
S M Chen
Pockets are a wonderful thing.

They hold a little piece of string

And little ***** and little jacks

(They’re not so good for shiny tacks

And other sharp things like small nails

Or slimy things like little snails).

*

Pockets are good to have in pants,

Shirts and jackets.  If you put ants

Inside a pocket, they won’t stay;

They will crawl out that very day.

So you should not put bugs and such

In pockets; they don’t like it much.

You put in something that’s alive

It’s dark in there; it may not thrive.

And if you put in something wet

Your mom is sure to be upset.

And she really does not much care

For toads or frogs to be in there.

*

What else goes into a pocket?

Perhaps a small Davy Crockett,

Faded photo in a locket,

Or tiny car, boat, or rocket.

A little stone, a card or two,

A stick of gum for you to chew.

Piece of paper on which you wrote

A secret code, or teacher’s note.

*

But what goes in there has to fit.

In pants, too much and you can’t sit.

In shirts it seems to matter less,

Although too much still makes a mess.

*

Pockets hold some coins and money.

So much stuff it isn’t funny.

Sunglasses, or maybe cell phone.

Likely the phone won’t be alone.

Something to write with, like a pen.

You never know you might write when.

*

Different kinds of sweets and candy.

To hold, pockets are most handy.

They let both of your hands be free

As hands should almost always be.

And let you carry around stuff;

(It seems you never have enough).

*

While some are big and some are small.

Some are barely pockets at all.

In different shape they sometimes come;

More useful than others are some.

Some are narrow and some are wide.

Wide ones allow more stuff inside.

Some are shallow and some are deep.

Deep ones permit more things to keep.

*

So when you buy a pants or shirt

Do look for pockets, which won’t hurt

To have, for I think it is wise

(And this should come as no surprise)

To have a pocket for which you

Might have no need (or think you do);

Like the spare tire that may be new.

*

Do I love pockets?  I sure do.
for a grandson
When I was a young man
A heedless headlong consumer of life, was I
Above and beyond the norm or necessity
I wore paths deep and wide
To the pleasure centres of my brain
And I rode my soul like an easy *****
Oh happy daze of hedonism
How sweet life tasted then

If there was drink to drink
We drank it
If there were songs to sing
We sang them
If there were fights to fight
We fought them
We had fast feet and faster wits
If there was hell to raise
We raised it
Excess and adventure in equal parts
How fast, how high we flew back then

And then the magic playground
Became a bleak and dangerous place
Peopled by predators and prey
In an ever changing food chain
And I was only one step away
From the totally oblivious
One brain cell ahead of
The permanent reality challenged
Then friends began casually dying
Barely noticed in the rush to join them
Now the race is on
And I have grown old and slow

                                              By Phil Roberts
I'm looking
at the slow ripple of time.
In the rhythms of the ocean
moving away into the past
The waves take our words
and cast into the abyss.
My soul is floating like a feather.
The darkness
absorbs the fears and anxieties.
Close my eyes.
Do you hear an echo of God
amidst the waves?
 Dec 2016 Joshua Dougan
Jessica
Through lonely country back roads we drive alone.
I'm a mess searching for light to guide me to a better home.
Always looking for a better place to hide. Keeping myself in check is something I could never get right.
Forget about the winding road to destinations we long for.
We were never worthy of our own self destructive behavior.
We were never worthy of the happiness we'd promised each other.
In my eyes peace is only found 6 feet under.
Hopeful thoughts will guide me to a better home.
With you by my side at least I won't have to die alone.
Splashes of green lined up row after row.
Limbs of green shooting skyward downward everywhere.
Vibrant light shades of newness this time every year,
each displaying its own quaint uniqueness. Explosions of color as Spring rolls around.
As the winds blow hot, green takes on a mature look.
Little orbs of green begin to appear, growing larger redder, same as last year.
Big red plumpness filled up by the rain.
Limbs droop and groan as the weight of the task made increasingly clear.

Warm winds give way to their northern brethren, blowing cooler and stronger.
Limbs pregnant with swollen redness moan waiting, wanting
to expel the burden, as it does every year.
Leaves darken, grow crunchy and float to the ground.
Redness has spread from sky to ground, as colder stronger winds begin to expound.

Straight lined scraggly row after row, hunched over old women worn down by the snow.
Limbs whipping in cold wind like witches hair,
gnarly bent fingers pointing, accusing everywhere.
Dark skies in control.

Old women waiting, waiting for warm winds to reappear to be once again made fruitful, as it was just last year.
 Dec 2016 Joshua Dougan
AK93
We bit our tongues
Until they fell off

Now we must find
A new way to talk
How far back do you wish to go?
Could the universe have failed to Big Bang?
Could the galaxies have all failed to form?
Could the sun have failed to be born?
Could the moon have been to small?
Could it have failed to form at all?
Could life have been still born?
Could the asteroid have passed us by?
Could Eve have been to shy?
Could Neanderthals have won the day.
Could the Vikings have held sway?
Could Columbus been sunk at sea?
Could the Pilgrims have stayed at home?
Could the Revolution have failed in vain?
Could Marie Antoinette have kept her head?
Could the South have won the war?
Could the Titanic have stayed afloat?
Could **** Germany have prevailed?
Do infinite realities indeed exist?
Has everything in fact occurred?
Where does it all go from here?
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