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 Feb 2013 Wiblet
Ogden Nash
A child need not be very clever
To learn that "Later, dear" means "Never."
 Feb 2013 Wiblet
Ogden Nash
Praise the spells and bless the charms,
I found April in my arms.
April golden, April cloudy,
Gracious, cruel, tender, rowdy;
April soft in flowered languor,
April cold with sudden anger,
Ever changing, ever true --
I love April, I love you.
 Feb 2013 Wiblet
Ben Jones
Peter built a paper boat
Which he could float about the sea
To hidden spots of lonely coast
Where not a ghost or man would be
He painted words along her bough
That soon would plough and skip and trot
Between the waves that rose and falled
The boat was called 'Forget Me Not'

He bid his wife a fond goodbye
The tide was high when he embarked
He drifted from his tiny cove
While weather drove and seagulls larked
He set his course horizon bound
For solid ground of ****** shore
As darkness came he made a bed
To keep his head above the floor

The voyage took him straight and true
Across the blue, toward the sun
But soon a tongue of lightening spat
And thunder rattled like a gun
The waves encircled hungrily
And angrily about their prey
The tempest heaved with no regret
It blew Forget Me Not away

He found himself all caked in sand
And on a strand of desert beach
Forget Me Not had run aground
But safe and sound from tidal reach
He folded down his paper yacht
And found a spot to build a home
But saved the sail and rudder strings
To forge some wings and daily roam

He glided high and long and wide
Past mountainside and shore to shore
And through the night he forged a blade
And with it made a lumber saw
He felled the trunk and snared the beast
And cooked a feast to celebrate
The rain it sought to disagree
But quick was he to remonstrate

The moonlight waxed and waned apart
And on his heart a longing formed
For home and his beloved bride
For fireside and there be warmed
And so he took the house he'd made
From humid shade of seldom oak
He set the island to his aft
And cried and laughed the words he spoke

They matched the words he'd lately hewn
Beneath the moon in shady spot
He carved into that seldom tree
'Remember me, forget me not'
 Feb 2013 Wiblet
atilol
There are women
Short skirts
Tight shirts

Leaning on counters
Popping gum
Smiling at every man that passes

Handing lollipops out to girls with braids
Ribbons
And ambitions.

Women who get undressed
Flip hair, don't care
Sliding into passenger seats
Standing on tip-toes to reach

Wear blue on a golden afternoon
Read books "far too complicated"
Eat messy food with unmanicured hands
Who don't belong to you.

There are women

Can't even begin to squeeze
into that tiny size 2 dress
Don't have the time to stress over
How many times a week
A month
A year they shower.

Women that don't even think about the color pink.

There are women
With babies
And menstrual cycles
With short hair
And Harley motorcycles

There are tough women
And strong women
With tattoos
Degrees
Febreze
Who love other women.

There are women that save lives
Who thrive on the idea of being free
"I don't want children"
"Don't need no man"
Who don't like to sing
Don't like to dance

There are women who are loud
Who take tokes
and laugh at jokes
Women with hymens still unbroken
Or reminded of it's absence every single day.

Women who have hair in more places than one.

And there are women who are sad
Who are broken
And angry.
But those same women can be glad
Can be put back together again.

There are women
Who don't know stereotypes
Or how to break them.
And there are women
Who have hips
And know how to shake them.
An assignment for my class tomorrow.
"Focus: portrait of a women who has broken gender stereotypes."
I don't know if I've succeeded in capturing what my teacher wanted, but I like it so.
 Feb 2013 Wiblet
Elizabeth Ann
Hey, Mr. Sunshine, where have you gone?
Hey, Mr. Sunshine, you've been gone too long

The winter is over
So wake up from your sleep
Come out from the covers
There are flowers to meet

The spring is near
It's time to play
So meet me there
In the late of day

It's summer time now
Time to stay young
I lay out my towel
While your days are long

Fall is coming
And I see that you're tired
You're waiting for something
Wishing to retire

But winter comes again
Not far behind
When a question begins
To grow in my mind

Hey, Mr. Sunshine, where have you gone?
Hey, Mr. Sunshine, you've been gone too long
 Feb 2013 Wiblet
Pearly Whites
I marveled at                            every sunspot,
every freckle on            your naked body.
With my fingers,
I traced them
as though I
were plotting a map,
and I had               set a course
which led to                      your perfection.
 Feb 2013 Wiblet
Don Bouchard
Prohibition came, but not to Whiskey Hill.
A man has got to eat; a drunk must have his fill.

Old Abner dug a basement before fall
Beneath the milking barn at night;
Dug down and mortared up a wall;
Bought copper sheets and hammer-fit 'em tight,
Disguised his vent holes in the stall
By countersinking posts to keep them out of sight.
Set down a trapdoor and a sturdy stair,
Strawed the lot and penned up his old mare.

In all he did, he didn't tell his wife a thing;
He reasoned there was money to be made...
More than the crops would ever bring,
More than the eggs the chickens laid,
He'd be enriched by moonshine in the spring.

He learned to ferment mash from an old book,
Soaked down a bag of corn and let it sprout,
Waited twelve full days before he took a look,
Cracked kernels, poured on water, boiling hot,
Then pitched the yeast and left his hidden nook,
And all the while kept his mouth shut;

Seven days and Sunday passing by,
Old Ab could wait no more;
Ate supper quick and told his wife
He'd one more feeding chore...
Stole to the barn and shoo'ed the mare aside,
Pulled up the vent posts from the floor,
Climbed down and lit a fire inside
Beneath the still to let the vapors soar.

A thrill began as drops began to fill the jug;
The fore-shot blended in as Ab forgot
That methanol would poison off the slug,
So when a shot he took, his breathing stopped.

Above, impatient Molly stamped, then paced
Hungrily in her pen, shoved to reach her hay
And dropped the standards in their place,
Plugged tight the vents, above where Abner lay.

When Hildy woke, her husband still was out;
She walked down to the barn, no sign to see;
And thought it odd the horse was out...
The cattle lowing hungrily for feed.

The sheriff came to have a look;
No luck had he,
Old Hildy sold the place and moved away.
Where she went and how remains a mystery.
A cousin bought the place: house and barn and still (unseen).
His sons, exploring, found old Abner in the spring
Beneath the horse's paddock where he lay.

— The End —