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John F McCullagh Jan 2012
On the flight path down from Quebec
in the recent past, they say,
The lead goose saw a foursome
on the fairway, hard at play.

Their clothing was intriguing
Bright Argyles and Staid plaids
Little lackeys followed them,
carrying their bags.

The goose brigade lost interest
in proceeding South that day.
Instead they landed on the course
intent on watching play.

The lead Goose now spent all his time
At Bethpage, on the Black,
and honked golf commentary
to all his fledgling flock.

This lead Goose was the First,
brave Avian pioneer,
who broke the pattern going South-
instead he wintered here.

The Geese are protected by the law,
so we have no recourse.
We can't hunt down these honkers
who are greasing up the course.

Within one human lifetime-
a revolutionary change.
the geese have all stopped flying South
They're students of the game.
In my youth flocks of Canadian Geese flew South for the winter in massive V formations. Now they linger in parks and local golf courses. A major behavioral change in 50 years. Here is a myth about how it came about.
Lillian Rae Lee Jan 2015
When I was young had a lot of trials, Faked Smiles.
Pretend everything was fine, Denial.
Growing old drive a lot of miles, Have Style, Argyles.
Nah, but I wear a lot of sweaters, act better.
Dreaming bigger dreams, seeing better things.
But still my parents are apart of me, partially.
She loves he and they become we, he and she.
Forever with me plus three. But that's not reality.
I dream of bigger infinites.
The Faults were in their stars, not ours.
I get it, Families split, grow apart.
Keep her close through the arts.
Ma and me, no heart to hearts.
Dont get too close because I'm too smart.
Dont get me wrong, my loves strong.
But the drives long and thats whats wrong.
And shes like Cheech and Chong. So Gone. Now Im Gone.
sandra wyllie Nov 2023
the pieces splitting
become parts of their own,
each with a tongue
and a backbone. The jagged

edges are my sharps
that I pluck as the steel strings
of a harp. This music I dance
over the page. All the pieces

pulchritudinously engage! Crystal
snowflakes embound. A brilliant
diamond in the round. Like a mosiac
of colored tiles I wear it as

my father's grey and red
argyles. I fine tune this craft
out of broken splinters
and built me a raft!

— The End —