The MEMENTO, created by Emily Romano, is a poem about a holiday or an anniversary of some sort. It consists of two six-line stanzas as follows:

Line 1: 8 syllables

Line 2: 6 syllables

Line 3: 2 syllables

Line 4: 8 syllables

Line 5: 6 syllables

Line 6: 2 syllables

Repeat the above pattern for the second stanza.

The rhyme scheme is: a/b/c/a/b/c for each of the two stanzas.

More Information/Examples: Memento Poetry at Shadow Poetry


“Do This in Remembrance of Me”

 As oft I take the wine and bread
 Recall the cross for me
 He bore
 Rejoicing He’s no longer dead,
 The risen Christ that we
How wicked is the human race
 How deep the hollow of
 Man’s fall.
 The Author of redeeming grace
 Bestows His utmost love
 For all.

 © Copyright Marie Elena Good – 2013



Some days, you are full of fire,
ready for what life brings.
You stand
fanning the flames of that pyre
until those embers sing!
And then

some days you just get a raw deal,
too much life to handle;
to give.
You’re only as old as you feel.
So blow out the candles
and live!

© Copyright Walter J. Wojtanik – 2013


Photo Credit: Laurie Kolp

Photo Credit: Laurie Kolp

This morning, our poetry has gone to the birds. Choose a bird (Laurie gets first dibs on the Cardinal!) and make it the focus of your poetic piece. Common or exotic, wild or domesticated – these poems have waited to spread their wings and soar.

How quickly this month has flown! Don’t let it head south without posting your avian verse!





take time to observe
and rediscover this:
does not equal
nothing special.
© Copyright – Marie Elena Good – 2013




Near the park bench along the lake,
he takes his time basking
in its reflective glow.
His avian brethren swoop
again and again, enticing;
it is nice that they are concerned.
But he has learned that to fly
high, he must go it alone.
Until he makes his way home.

© Copyright – Walter J. Wojtanik 2013


It was good to see this place come alive with all the activity going on here at POETIC BLOOMINGS. We’ve had one of the (if not THE) busiest weeks since Marie and I butted… er, joined heads and brought this site to the masses. It gets even crazier. Aside from our weekly IN-FORM POET WEDNESDAY, the continued extraordinary Poet (Re)Interview with De Jackson and this new BEAUTIFUL BLOOM ANNOUNCEMENT, we have another (yes, another) Prompt for Sunday AND on Monday we will introduce Sheryl Kay Oder’s Chapbook-Memoir, “The Woman and the Child.” But first, the pleasure at hand, our BEAUTIFUL BLOOMS:


So like, I was gonna go all poetically mesmerizing on ya, but I kept thinkin’ like, you know — Andrew’s lonesome-if-not-eccentric snow blower might like the gratuitous attention. 😉

But seriously, folks, this is brilliant.  There is so much personality, humor, and wordplay packed in this little jewel, I just couldn’t NOT choose it for this week.    So ANDREW KREIDER, this Bloom is not not for you.  And thanks for the laughs!

When did you start smoking? By Andrew Kreider

So he comes home last night
and he’s all excited about something
and he bursts into my room with a
bottle and in his Dale Jr jacket.
Next thing I know he’s all over me
trying to warm me up, and I’m like,
Seriously? But OK I let him cause
it’s been a while and I like the attention

And then just when I’ve finally given in
And I’m kind of humming nicely
And I’m like is this a joke? Since like forever
Only you never even noticed you dipstick
Cause you never even ask me how I am
Except when you need something
And I have to watch you going out

With that plush-assed bitch all the time
With her fancy name and showroom perfume.
And he just looks at me like what are you talking about?
And right then I broke down. Just broke down.
And he just starts yelling at me.
And I’m like I don’t even care anymore.
You’re just a selfish user,
and I have had it with this relationship.

And he didn’t have the first idea what to do.
It was kind of funny, actually. His mouth
flapping open and shut like a broken intake valve
There he was, just a silly little brat having a tantrum
in his NASCAR shades, with a shovel in his hand,
and three feet of snow all the way down the driveway.
Well serves him right – and you can bet
SHE didn’t lift a finger to help him.


The saying goes, “People who live in glass houses shouldn’t throw stones”. That’s true, unless you’re a poet in January. Then it is clear (pun intended) that whether you’re writing about “glass houses” (or glass books) or writing small stones, the key is that you are expressing your heart. SARA McNULTY’s “My Windows” is rife with imagery and a beauty befitting this BLOOM.

MY WINDOWS by Sara McNulty

Smooth, clear, unmoving
unless I lift you. Luring
light in, shutting cold out,
you are always there for me
to follow the world–children biking,
people walking happy dogs,
postmen carrying packages
to front doors. When I turn
to face my backyard, there
you are again, showing me
miracles–buds opening,
hummingbirds darting,
whirling in air, trees loosening
leaves in November’s wind,
and rain sliding down
your lovely panes like
a waterfall. You are
my glass book.





May 25, 2011.  The day I conducted my very first-ever interview.  It was my total delight to choose De Miller Jackson as my first interviewee.  It is with even greater delight that I once again honor De with another “first” here at Poetic Bloomings:  our first-ever follow-up interview!  I simply had to re-visit De now that she has been bestowed the coveted titled of Writer’s Digest Poetic Asides 2012 Poet Laureate.

MARIE ELENA:  So, welcome back, De!  Can you believe it has actually been over a year and a half since our initial interview?

DE:  Wow! Has it really been that long? I love that you guys have been going that long, growing so strong, and have cultivated such an awesome group of amazing poets. I don’t spend enough time in this beautiful place, that’s for sure. When I do, there’s such a sense of camaraderie and serenity. Thanks so much for having me back.

MARIE ELENA:  Thanks, De!  Yes, it is hard to believe it’s been that long.  At the time, I asked if you consider yourself a “poet.”  Here is a quote from your response:Ha. That’s a tough question. Sometimes. I do like that you can be unpublished and call yourself a poet, while you’re supposedly not an “author” until you’ve sold something. I’ve always considered myself a writer, and I’ve tried my hand at poetry since I could pick up a pen…but I think the title itself comes tough sometimes.”  Since that time, you have published an impressive body of work, and were chosen by Robert Lee Brewer as Writer’s Digest Poetic Asides 2012 co-Poet Laureate (with Brian Slusher).  WOW.  You’ve come a long way, baby!  So, NOW do you consider yourself a poet?

DE:  Do I consider myself a poet? Yes. And I think I’ve always known I was a poet at heart, no matter what else I was doing (waiting tables, writing ad copy, wrangling kids). But I’ve definitely received more outward validation of that fact this past year than ever before. I’m so grateful. My husband bought me a bracelet for my birthday that says “Poet,” and he gave it to me early, the night the Laureate news came through. Some days I wear it outward, to tell the world. But some days I still need to wear it so I can read the word, rub the letters with my fingers, remind myself it’s simply true.
poet bracelet

MARIE ELENA:  Another quote from our previous interview:  “The administrative side of writing both flummoxes and frustrates me. I just want to sit around and play with the pretty words.”  And I must say De, I don’t know anyone who “plays with pretty words” better than you.  With every interview, I choose to share a poem written by our guest that I particularly like.  With your work, I could close my eyes and point, and would feel no less than utterly satisfied with my choice.  That said, I’d like to share your “Worrier Poet.”

WORRIER POET  (by De Miller Jackson)

See, the trouble is, our workplace
is the heart and we all know what an
inhospitable environment that is. When
doubt screams and inner critic steams,
we stand tall and begin to fall and we hold
our breaths and wait for the stars to
align just right, wait for the caffeine to
kick in, wait for rain or bow or sorrow or
the scarlet scrim of sunset or the ebony
of death’s whisper, or for the moon
to glow in such a way that
the words are knocked
loose…and then we
shed our salt to the sound of indifferent
crickets. We kill our trees and channel
breeze and hope there’s more
to this than word drops that fall as they
may, rebel phrase that wants to hear it
-self sing. We fling our skins, drink deep
our ink, starve ourselves silly and get
desperate and sell out and come
crawling back smelling like new money
and regret. We fret over period or comma,
climb stanzas in multi-syllabic slatherings
of fingerbeat and tongue. We love it well,
and it rarely loves us back, but we clack
that black because our heartbeat tells us so,
and we fight and fly and wrestle and write
……………………….…because it’s all we know.

MARIE ELENA:  *sigh*… Your poetry consistently makes me want to speak softly the biblical term Selah (pause and consider).  No wonder you were chosen Poet Laureate. And I must say, I called it.   Plus this:  do I know how to choose my poetic friends, or what?!  No less than two laureates in the house at the moment!  So tell me, De, how does it feel to be chosen for such a coveted title?

DE:  I’m still picking my jaw up off the floor. I’m thrilled, of course. I’m also still a little insecure about what article to stick in front of it, though. The other day my hubbie called me “The Poet Laureate,” and I argued with him that I am “A Poet Laureate” – since I share the title with Brian. I think I’m just gonna skip the article all together, like you did above, and go with “Poet Laureate.” And with a brilliant co-laureate like Brian, and so many talented souls at PA, I couldn’t be in better company.

MARIE ELENA:  I couldn’t agree more. What has it done for your confidence as a writer?

DE:  Honestly, it’s still sinking in. I haven’t jumped right in and submitted a manuscript to a major publishing house or anything. (Yet.) 😉  But it’s a tremendous honor, and something I will always cherish. I think my confidence as a writer ebbs and flows no matter what. Not the confidence to put something down on the page, which I can’t really keep myself from doing, but the tenacity and audacity to put it all out there, and hope someone reads, understands, loves the words the way I do. That’s hard, and I have a lot of inner voices that tend to tell me it’s not worth it, that my work isn’t worth anything. But God made me a Poet, and as that I’ve really only got one job – to honor Him with it. I can’t do that if I listen to my own inner critic. So I guess right now I’m moving forward with His confidence at the helm. I’m honored by the title, but it doesn’t make me a more legitimate poet. I am who I am, and I couldn’t stop writing if I tried, and there are always bruises and badges and lumps and laurels and hinges and hiccups that go with that. I’m trying to learn to accept them all with grace, and open hands.

MARIE ELENA:  You truly do live the very essence of your chosen mantra — Psalm 61:8: I’ll be the poet who sings your glory, and live what I sing every day.”

Another question I had asked you in your original interview with us is this:  Do you have plans for a book of poetry?  And again, here is a quote from your response:  “I wouldn’t have the slightest idea where to begin, but the prospect of my own little poem book does excite me. I’m just waiting for a healthy kick of audacity, I suppose.”  As far as I know, you do not have a “little poem book” in the works as of yet.  Am I mistaken?  If so, please tell us about it.  If not, it seems at least you got somewhat of a “boot,” since you went from being unpublished to published.  Who booted you, and how hard?

DE: I guess that depends on your definition of “in the works.” I’m toying with some ideas, and I’m writing daily. But I am creative chaos personified, and I’m still intimidated by the process of pulling together even a chapbook. It’s next, though. Definitely. It’s a necessary step, and I need to take it. Someday. Soon. Seriously. You all keep booting me about the book, softly and in the kindest, friendliest, but most persistent manner. Eventually I will listen. I swear. Hopefully by the time I do, I might still have a potential buyer or two.

As far as going from unpublished to published, I suppose last May, I finally booted myself (and this is every bit as awkward and difficult to do as it sounds), with a Submission a Day challenge. Then in October, Khara House kicked me a bit more with her October Submit-O-Rama challenge (  I highly, highly recommend the intensity of a submission challenge to any writer – taking submissions every bit as seriously as you do writing, at least for a short, intense period of time. I plan to do it at least three times each year, moving forward.

MARIE ELENA: Tell us more about “SAD.”  Was it your own idea?  It intimidated me at the time, and I did not participate.  Of course, now I wish I had.  Can you tell us how you went about choosing which poems to send to whom for possible publication?  How many acceptances did you receive that very month?

DE:  SAD stands for Submission A Day. Last May, some of us from Poetic Asides got together on Facebook and championed each other along, commiserated, and just generally hung out in a little writer’s corner, encouraging each other. When April’s Poem a Day Challenge ended, I started thinking hey, if I can write a poem a day (which I had actually done since January 1st), why can’t I submit at least one a day? I told everybody what I was up to, and lots of folks joined in, with Pearl Ketover Prilik as our head cheerleader (which she does so very well). We were “Happy to be SAD” together. It was a ton of fun, and yes, I got some acceptances that very month. To ask me to tally them would be to ask me to be both administrative and mathematical. Since I know you know my numbness (and numbskullness) for numbers, I know you wouldn’t do that. I do know that this past year in total, around 60 poems have been accepted by about 30 different print and online journals. And I got paid $1 for one, which makes me a paid poet, right?

MARIE ELENA:  60 poems in 30 different journals!  How impressive!  I’m thrilled for you, and inspired!  Advice I need to heed, indeed. 😉

It’s hard for me to fathom anyone in their right mind turning down your work.  When you received rejections, did you have a good idea of why they rejected your poems?

DE: I received dozens of rejections (and they’re still coming in), and…nope. Do we ever? I think all you can do is do the best research you can. As someone who is still quite a novice at this, I used Duotrope (I’ve read they’ve since gone to a fee basis for their services, so I’ll most likely be purchasing Poet’s Market soon.) I read through the offerings, read what they had published in the past, chose poems of my own I felt fit the bill, and then push send.  When I’m in the zone, I just send out a ton of stuff. That was what Submission A Day in May was all about – playing the odds. If you send out a ton, surely someone will accept one. Some poems that have been rejected by one publication have been enthusiastically received by another. So much comes into play: strategy, subject matter, form, timing, luck. All you can do is blow those seeds out there, and hope some stick.

MARIE ELENA:  You already know I adore your work.  I’m curious which of your own poems you would choose to share as one of your own personal favorites, and why.

DE:  This was written in Lake Tahoe, just about my favorite place on the planet, and where my soul tends to reside (sometimes I can coax her home with me, but not always). I often say I write (and breathe) best with inky fingers and salty sea-soaked toes, and it’s so true.

Cobalt Majesty (by De Miller Jackson)

Good morning,
Maker of perfect sky.
These pines and I
are pointing
to Your heart.
The jays sing praise
as our lyric limbs raise
this breeze-breathed song
before You. Below, painted flow
of indigo
poured just for me,
wandering wondering one,
restless soul
in uneasy skin
but held within Your patient gaze
adoring arms. Take this day,
whisper your waves
of love over me. Count grains
of sand, fairy dust in my hands and
set me free
to be Yours.


De, we all know you are unsurpassed when it comes to “playing with the pretty words,” but do you still feelflummoxed and frustrated” with the administrative side of writing?

DE: Oh, yes. I will always feel this way. I have no idea what I’m doing, really. But here’s what I’ve learned:

  1. Persistence pays off. Big time. Get busy, and play the odds.
  2. Perspiration is every bit as important as inspiration. Show up. Get dressed (for me this is yoga pants and a tank top), and get started. The one issue I’ve never had in the submission process is running out of poems to send out. Write. Every single day, if you possibly can.
  3. Don’t be afraid to write badly. You never know what might come next.
  4. Just keep swimming…just keep swimming…It’s all so subjective. You can’t take rejection personally. I’m sure this one will serve me well, when I’m trying to shop a book of some kind around.

MARIE ELENA:  “Don’t be afraid to write badly.”  Now THERE’S a unique bit of advice. 😉  But seriously, all of it makes sense.  Thank you, De.

Your blog now has 581 “followers.”  Wow.  Did your new title boost your numbers, or had you already garnered such an impressive following?  If becoming Poet Laureate had nothing to do with it, can you share your secret to success?

DE: Ha! I both LOVE, and am baffled by, the fact that you know this. I have been trying to figure out how many followers I have for over a year now. (Did I mention I am the least tech savvy person I know?) That number seems super high, and I’m not really sure where most of them are from, or where they are on a daily basis, since I generally get somewhere between 1-6 comments per poem. I’m flattered that I might have so many followers, but I truly treasure a handful or two, who have encouraged me so much along the way, and who inspire me every day. I had a rather healthy following for awhile when I was writing for larger sites like Poets United, dVerse and some others, but when I receive a kind comment from someone, I like to head over his or her way and return the favor. For awhile there, this (reading poems and commenting) was taking several hours a day. I simply don’t have the time right now to commit to that, so I’ve circled my wagons and kept only a few sites on the roster. If life slows down a little bit, ever, I may see some of those cyber faces again. In the meantime, I’m just happy to be making the time to write every day.

MARIE ELENA:  I noticed that you are on Twitter (which I am not).  How much time and energy do you put into Twitter (your own tweets, and following others)?  Do you believe Twitter plays a role in boosting your blog following?

DE:  First of all, apologies to anyone who has been “following” me on Twitter for the past year or so. I’m the lamest Twit ever. I got a Twitter account a few years ago, so I could “follow” my husband (who I would follow anywhere.) Then last April, I did Robert Lee Brewer’s Platform Challenge (, which featured one thing to do each day to promote yourself as a writer. Joining Twitter was one. I’m nothing if not obedient, so I dutifully resurrected my account, and for awhile I even sort of kept up. However, truth be told, With two crazy kids, real life kicks my butt on a daily basis. Add in an advertising client or two (I’m a freelance copywriter), poeming every day, working out, reading, spending time with my hubbie, and occasionally spending a few minutes connecting with friends and fellow poets on Facebook, and I simply don’t have/make/find the time (or desire) to keep up with Twitter. And my goal for the new year – for myself and my family – is actually to stare at screens less often, so that’s certainly not gonna help any. I know there are writers who leverage Twitter as a huge asset, and I admire and envy that. It just doesn’t feel like me.

MARIE ELENA:  Since our first interview together, you’ve done others.  In fact, it seems you are smeared all over the internet!  In a good way, of course.  How many interviews have you done, and where?

DE:  Aaaaaaaaaah. **goes off to try to round up the interviews in the disorganized mass that is her creative chaos brain/computer files**

Okay, here we go…
First, I got to do a guest blogger spot for Heather Day Gilbert:

Then Meena Rose asked me (and who can say no to sweet Meena?):

Then I spent some time with the awesome Sherry Blue Sky over at Poets United:

Then Izy from Imaginary Garden With Real Toads asked me to hop by:

I think that’s all of them.

MARIE ELENA:  Have you become more comfortable with the process?  What do you like about it, and what would you rather avoid if you could?

DE:  I actually do enjoy the process, since “interview” these days just means answering questions in writing. It’s a bit surreal, though, someone wanting to know things about you. I’m still very “Who, me? Why?” in my heart. It’s flattering, but so weird. It’s much harder being the interviewer, in my opinion. Marie, you are simply amazing at it, and I was so blessed by all who have interviewed me so far, too. One of Robert’s Platform Challenge days was to interview someone, and I chose Khara House (  I enjoyed it immensely, and Khara was such a good sport about it, but asking the questions is much more stressful for me than answering them.

MARIE ELENA:  In our first interview together, I had not yet begun asking all our guests this all-important final question:  If we could know only one thing about you, what would you tell us?

DE: I still ache to know myself. Every day.  Someday, I’m gonna fall into the page just right, see the way a certain spill of words dances together, and finally think, “Ohhhhh. There she is.”



You may find more of De at  I highly recommend “following” her blog.  She posts almost daily, and I don’t want to miss one poem.

De’s original interview may be viewed at:


The TYBURN is a six line poem consisting of 2, 2, 2, 2, 9, 9 syllables.

The first four lines rhyme and are all descriptive words. The last two lines rhyme and incorporate the first, second, third, and fourth lines as the 5th through 8th syllables.

More instruction:


Witty Kiddies

Now and again, itty bitty folk
Tell a whopping pretty witty joke.
Copyright © – Marie Elena Good –  2013



Following a happy, snappy day,
struggles in a sappy, crappy way!

Copyright © 2013 Walter J. Wojtanik


Remember to check out Robert Lee Brewer’s Wednesday prompt as well.  Today we are asked to write a fragile poem.



You are Dr. Victor von Frankenword (that’s Fronkenword!) and your experiments with inanimate objects have yielded bizarre results. Glance around you and pick something that is lifeless (husbands DON’T count) and personify it. Breathe life into it and make it the hero of your poem this week!


Or at least it will be when you’re through with it!


Nightlight  (A poem for wee ones)

 I light your path from bed and back
So you won’t be afraid,
Or fall from tripping on the drum
On which today you’d played.
I light your room so you can see
The photos on your shelf
Of mom and dad and gram and gramps,
And of your smiling self.
I light your bed so you can see
Your favorite teddy bear
Your pillow, blanket, sheets, and soft
PJ’s you chose to wear.
I light your night so you can see
The shadows on your wall
Are outlines of the things you love –
Not menacing at all.
© Copyright Marie Elena Good – 2013



Come here! I have something to say.
I’ve been waiting all day
to get into your head. Have you heard
a word that I’ve said? I’m all jacked
up and you would hear me
if only you’d listen. Hear my music.
The sound of these words calls you.
It befalls you to wrap what I say
around your head, or just place me
over your ears instead. My sound
surrounds you, sometimes confounds you.
But the beauty of me is that
I won’t let you mute me. My volume
is somewhere near heaven; it’s one more…
Eleven! Listen in private, the music
comes more alive. How did you
ever survive without headphones?

© Copyright Walter J. Wojtanik – 2013


Suspended in time – a moment to think and express. A wide range of thoughts to paint this vignette with a poet’s flair. And the quality is always and forever, off the charts. Making a difficult task a labor of love! The BEAUTIFUL BLOOMS:


Walt, you are not kidding — quality off the charts for certain. It seems to grow with every passing week, if that is even possible.

My choice for this week is entitled Beyond the Love of Fishing, penned by a voice I’ve missed for too long now: Linda Evans Hofke. Several of you are not only poets, but story dreamers. It seems what we struggle to do ourselves amazes us in others, and I truly envy this ability. Linda, your story is engaging, poignant, and complete.  Your poem is exquisite in language.  But combined?  Superb.  Congratulations, Linda. To be chosen from this week’s assemblage is quite a tribute.

Beyond the Love of Fishing by Linda Evans Hofke

Grandpa’s hands were old and gnarled
like the bark of the trees surrounding him,
yet in the thick of winter he clutched
his fishing rod, gloveless hands exposed
to the elements, patiently waiting
for a fish to nibble at the bait,
determined to provide for dinner.

Though the bounty of the river
was plentiful, he’d often spend hours
down by the water for one reason
or another—the need to reel in a second
catch because the first was too meager
for a proper meal, or fragile Mr. Wilkens
would stroll by and knowing the unfortunate
state of both his health and his finances,
Grandpa would offer the fish to him.

More than once his generosity resulted
in he and Grandma having a simple meal
of potatoes that evening, but Grandma
never complained. Not only did she love
his selfless acts but she loved every
little thing about him—that slightly
crooked smile of his just before he
recited the punchline of a joke,
the way he whistled church hymns
while he planted the garden in Spring,

the stray curl of a hair that always
flew out of place right next to his left
ear when wet. She noticed every tiny
detail, good or bad, and loved him
with all her heart. It was that love,
so deep and true, that allowed her
to get through any Sunday meal.

On the day of his funeral as we shared tales
of his life, we spoke of those year-round
Sunday fishing trips. A lump formed
in my throat as I thought of this tradition
ending and solemnly swore to do my best
to catch a fish the coming Sunday.
A sweet smile replaced her teary eyes
as she replied, “Don’t bother, dear.
I always hated fish, but he so loved
to fish and I couldn’t break his heart.”


The stark contrast of this black and white photograph by Keith R. Good (shouldn’t that be, Keith IS Good?) is expressed greatly in form and words, a new painting is crafted. The artist: RJ Clarken.  RJ, here’s your BLOOM.


The landscape was bleak, barren, sere.
My breath floated like a small cloud
across the chilly air. I vowed,
with all my heart, for all this year

to find the good. I was sincere.
In a sure voice, both clear and loud,
my breath floated like a small cloud.
The landscape was bleak, barren, sere,

but by this rill I shed no tear.
Instead, resolved, I had allowed
myself to cast off winter’s shroud.
At the shoreline, this did appear:
no landscape was bleak, barren, sere.

Congratulations Linda and Randi!


The Minute Poem (created by Verna Lee Hinegardner, once Poet Laureate of Arkansas) is a rhyming verse form consisting of 12 lines of 60 syllables (one syllable for each second in a minute).

The Minute is written in strict iambic meter (an un-stressed syllable, followed by a stressed syllable [da-DUM]).  The poem is formatted into 3 quatrains, with syllable counts of 8,4,4,4;  8,4,4,4;  8,4,4,4.  The rhyme scheme is: aabb, ccdd, eeff.

 The theme should describe a finished event – preferably something that can be done in 60 seconds.  It is best suited to light verse – humorous, whimsical, or semi-serious.

More info:



If you were cute, that would suffice
I’d treat you nice.
I tell you true,
I’d care for you.
If you were cute, there’d be no need
For you to plead
To stay a while.
You’d make me smile.
But you?  I’ll sweep you, little bug
With ugly mug,
Across the floor,
And out the door!
© Copyright Marie Elena Good – 2013



He used to have a way with words,
though so absurd
with what he’d say,
he had a way.

And surely words have caused him pain,
they’ve clogged his brain.
He mumbles now
this sacred vow

to come around with words profound,
his verbs and nouns

© Copyright Walter J. Wojtanik – 2013