A GOLFER NAMED JORDAN SPIETH
It happens many Sundays on TV
Jordan Spieth falls apart
From leading the golf tournament
With a wonderful start
Too much stress during the final round
His golf ball lands at a place on the ground
Out of bounds! Out of control!
While his brain takes a nap
He finds a sand trap
What else can I say?
He ruins my day
I am a previous member of his fan club.
Then I changed my mind
I will try to be kind
Because Jordan Spieth, a golfer extraordinaire,
Is struggling to be the best and to stay there
A young golfer to admire and emulate
He is caring, persistent, and humble; a joy to contemplate
At least three times he won majors in the past
Yet that championship significance doesn’t last
Here’s to Jordan with respect, “Please do the best you can.”
For the rest of your career, I will be cheering as your fan.
By Patricia Holman Peckham
I know that you reached out
And that I can recall
I was supposed to do something
But can’t remember at all
Don’t want to admit
That my memory’s amiss
I’ve a lot to remember
But I can tell you this…
It wasn’t a phone call
My cell log is clear
The last text you sent
Was sometime last year
I searched through my emails
And didn’t find yours
But dozens of others
Now they’ll be more chores.
Wait…was it SnapChat,
Messenger or What’s App?
Yikes! I’m gonna start cursin’!
Oh, now I remember. You told me in person!
By Karen Crowson
ode to the tree frog and the music they make
tree frog song surprised me... in itself unexpected delight...
and then more!
the height of the pitch the tangible urgency the careful censorship…“shhh she's coming!”.
the epitome of resilience; with blood that never freezes even when the water below beckons skates.
disco beating melodic screaming exclusive but loud but secret… translation not available.
I imagine this giant tiny frog song might be
a natural serenade,
biology singing its symbiotic poetry.
or perhaps, their song, it is a harkening…
announcing a valuable find,
an invite to better bark implied…
I think it is most likely, (tho still a guess)
a sirens song,
to the insect not yet frozen, even in spite of icicle walls.
these wolf- n -sheep’s clothing tree frogs beckoning…
offering, irresistibly, the alluring warmth of their lily-pad hearth.
“come to me my sweet “says the froggie to the fly
or maybe they inquire more simply still, “please, might I have this dance?”
By Katy Galica
AND HERE I THOUGHT I LIKED CHANGE
My lap has grown larger, that I cannot deny
Yet napkins at restaurants are smaller. But why?
Where once one could do, I now need so many
A half-dozen later, did they really save any?
Once we had fewer channels when watching TV
And I always found something of interest to me
Now I burn up such time, perusing what’s there
I seem to lose interest and not really care
I had spotted a movie to hold my attention
But can’t recall where, now that you mention
Was it Hulu or Netflex or Amazon Prime?
It’s eluded me now, and I’m out of time.
If my TV’s so smart, why doesn’t it know
Everything that I watch, lined up in a row
I’m certainly missing that simple old knob
With a quick little turn, it just did its job
But the fact more apparent I am sorry to say
Is the lack of our children outside as they play
Our world is less safe than it once used to be
For protection, our kids are a little less free
Their playmates are often just one click away
A cell phone, or game app for anonymous play
Their worlds are much smaller than ours used to be
Is it all for the good? I’ll be anxious to see
So many things have been, adopted by me
But it’s hard now with the sheer rapidity
I would never have thought, one way or another
That’d I’d miss the old days, just like my grandmother
By Karen Crowson