Into Each Life

The weather this weekend
It did explode
Leaving fallen trees
Upon our dirt road

The wind was hellacious
The rains poured on down
And the fallen trees
Cut us off from the town

No water from well
Since the power went out
No cell phone is normal
But we choose not to pout

The candles and flashlights
We rummaged and found
But the cat was still scared
Of the thundering sound

Next morning we hoped
But power still wouldn’t work
Living in the country
You get used to these quirks

No coffee was hard
But what could we do?
No one had power
If we had bushwacked through

Chainsaws came out
Once the rains finally stopped
And on to our task
The neighborhood hopped

Some people chopped
And some people cut
Some of us dragged branches
It was hard work, yet, but

The road was cleared
In two hours or less
Without such kind neighbors
We’d still have a mess

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A Loony Obsession

You’d think it not possible
But yet it is so
I love them so much
I’ll give it a go

I think it’s my fourth
But it might be the third
When it comes to loon poetry
I am a real nerd

Please excuse the excess
But they give me delight
And this summer I’m happy
To report a new sight

The loons have a chick
Their nest did succeed
They prepare for the future
Of a glorious breed

In case you need telling
The chick is darn cute
And black is the color
Of his birthday suit

His parents do gather
Lots of fish for his feed
They are rather doting
They attend to his needs

At first on their backs
The time he would pass
But now that he’s bigger
And gaining some mass

He swims on his own
Between parents he bobbles
They stay close to help
If he starts to do wobbles

Eight weeks or about
And full grown he will be
To make the long journey
Out close to the sea

Next summer I’ll return
To this very spot
Hoping to see loons
Since an obsession I got

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On the Subject of Spiders

Someone read my poetry bad
And told me he’d be very glad
For a poem about spiders

I’m not sure the reason why
But told him I would go and try
Here’s my poem about spiders

I like how they swing from strings
They do okay, despite no wings

Their webs are pretty, that’s for sure
With geometric patterns I do adore

Eight legs they have, which seems a lot
Since only two is what I’ve got

Arachnids they are called, I think
I’ve not idea what they like to drink

On second thought I think it’s blood
Insects caught must say “Oh, crud”

That’s enough on this here species
Writing more would give me creepies
And that’s my poem about spiders

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