Slightly Retired

"For our delight, poems are as varied and unique as the individuals who write them. This column is devoted to a fun smattering of poems in celebration of Poetry Month. I hope you'll enjoy them. To Satch (American Gothic)by Samuel Allen (Paul Vesey), b. 1917Sometimes I feel like I will never stopJust go on foreverTill one fine mornin'I'm gonna reach up and grab me a handfulla starSwing out my long lean legAnd whip three hot strikes burnin' down the heavensAnd look over at God and sayHow about that!The Spiderby Frank Collymore (1892-1980)I'm told that the spiderHas coiled up inside herEnough silky materialTo spin an aerialOne-way trackto the moon and back;Whilst ICannot even catch a fly.---from Peeling the Onion, An Anthology of Poems, selected by Ruth Gordonhorseby Valarie Worth In the stall's gloomHis back curvedLike a high sofa,Turns on unseenLegs, looms closer,Until his longHead forms aboveThe door, his faceOf thin silk overBone: to be strokedCarefully, likeFine upholsteryOn a hard chair.--from Still More Small Poems Moment by Howard MemerovNow, starflake frozen on the windowpaneAll of a winter night, the open hearthBlazing beyond Andromeda, the sea-Anemone and the downwind seed, O momentHastening, halting in a clockwise dust,The time in all the hospitals is now,Under the arc-lights where the sentry walksHis lonely wall it never moves from now,The crying in the cell is also now,And now is quiet in the tomb as nowExplodes inside the sun, and it is nowIn the saddle of space, where argosies of dustSail outward blIn the instant absence of forever; now.--from Verse Universe, Poems About Science and Mathematics, edited by Kurt BrownLet's Go Mets, opening 1984 seasonby Lillian MorrisonMookie and Hubie and Strawberry,These are the guys in the lineup for me,Hernandez can hit, play first base with style,Foster comes through every once in a while,But for hustle and muscle and artistry,Give me Mookie and Hubie and Strawberry,These are my hopefuls, these are my three,Mookie and Hubie and Strawberry.Thoughts After a Forty Mile Bike Ride by Roy WessonMy feetAnd seatAre beat.--from Opening Days Sports Poems edited by Bennet Hopkins (no title)Awake, arise, pull out your eyes,And hear what time of day.And when you've done, pull out your tongue,And see what you can say. As I was sitting in my chair I knew the bottom wasn't there,Nor legs, nor back,But I just satIgnoring little things like that---from A Noonny Mouse Writes Again,selected by Jack Prelutsky, illustrated by M. Freeman Forgive, O Lord. . . by Robert FrostForgive, O Lord, my little jokes on Thee, And I'll forgive the great big one on me.Birthday on the Beach by Ogden NashAt another yearI would not boggleExcept that when I jogI joggle. "

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