I love to peruse the old histories
    whilst trying to solve some old mysteries
    about cardinals and popes
    who must think us all dopes
    about murders in papal consistories.

  2. Math and Literature

    All through school, math and literature
    became my equally favorite subjects.
    I perceived math as puzzles, for fun.
    Only, when it came to applying algebra,
    trigonometry, geometry and calculus,
    I was fairly clueless. When was the last
    time I worked an algebra problem?
    Like math, I loved literature and read all
    the stories before being assigned them.
    The difference is that literature has become
    important to me, an integral part of who I am.

  3. CREATIVE WRITING, by Walter J Wojtanik

    We came from all walks,
    volunteers in self-discovery,
    elective enrollees for the cause
    of poetry and the like.

    At the door he stood,
    animated and quirky,
    highly smirky in a
    Dick Cavett sort of way.

    Much to say for the honor
    of poetic verse, practicing
    without a license, suffice it
    to say, the man had a way.

    A disembodied beat poet,
    a diminutive sort, of sorts,
    surrounded by we neophyte
    poetic cohorts.

    Abandon was reckless; inspired,
    all wired crossly, delving for muse
    where even bravado refused to go,
    and no show was complete

    without a silent cheer. The milieu
    expressed and implied; the bold, the shy,
    the “Superfly”, some people looking for a pass,
    and even with us, he showed no class.

    Patrick Porter was our liege,
    lost in the siege of modern thought,
    what man hath wrought was dealt with
    promptly, sparking the flint, hoping

    to catch the tinder of ideas;
    into a conflagration unbridled.
    Mired now in aleatory, only telling
    half the story. A curiosity piqued,

    and a genre explored, self-expression
    with no convention, all but for the lead
    of a steady pulse. Where pathos, pith
    and schmaltz met for a good time.

    Embroiled in rhyme and a well worded verse,
    we could have done worse with another mentor.
    Verbal barbs fired and a musical
    based on “The Exorcist” was truly inspired.

    But the group and the place stay close to heart,
    for such was my poetic start.
    Watching as the sacred cows would fall,
    Creative writing, just down the hall.

  4. I was lazy today – don’t have a clue how to spell French or Italian and didn’t want to bother with a ton of special characters. But I loved studying languages in school.

    Me gusta aprender y
    Me gustan los lenguas lo mas.
    Parlez-vous francais? Non.
    Nitch spreckingtze deutsch
    Compreendo Portugues
    Pero hablo un “poquito” Espanol
    De “A” a “Zed”
    Cuando hablo, le habla “blah, blah, blah”
    Y los numbres; uno, dos, tres, hasta la diez
    El dia de la Semana? Sabado.
    Espanol y Ingles son similar.

    (In English)
    I love to learn and
    I love languages the most.
    Do you speak French? No
    Nor do you speak German.
    I understand Portuguese
    But I speak a “little” Spanish
    From A to Z..
    When I speak, it sounds like “blah, blah, blah.”
    And the numbers, one, two, three, to ten
    The day of the week? Saturday, the Sabbath.
    Spanish and English are similar.


    I just aint tellin
    I wont cunfess
    but it wernt spellin
    as yoo mite gess,
    and it wernt histery,
    siense n stuff.
    It aint no mistery
    skool wuz tuff!

  6. I don’t know if anyone else has had the pleasure to experience going to a one-room schoolhouse, but just in case…..

    One Room Memories

    The first day I walked inside I saw my older brother
    way back in the corner with the older children.
    He was in the third grade; I was only in the first

    Mrs. Bradley sat at the front behind a giant desk
    high up on a platform two steps above our desks.
    She was our teacher; our only teacher
    for grades one through four.

    Throughout the day she would shift from one class
    to the other, but we’d all get to listen in to the
    lessons everyone got. I learned a lot that year.
    A lot more than I thought I would.
    So did the other six in my grade.

    Our one room schoolhouse was back in the woods,
    set on top of a hill at the corner of two dirt roads
    We had a pot belly stove in the back that the
    fourth graders kept blazing during the long
    cold winter months. And it got really cold.

    The boys had a one-holer for a toilet.
    No running water way out there, just a pail
    filled each morning for us to wash our hands.
    Someone told me the girls had s two-holer
    in their toilet. Now that I’m older I understand why

    For two years I went to that school and
    learned a lot listening to all the lessons
    that everyone could hear.
    Mrs. Bradley gave us little prizes
    when we won spelling bees or
    on special days like birthdays.
    I had a blue cup that had googily eyes
    that would spin around whenever I drank from it.
    I won it for correctly spelling ‘picnic’
    I loved that googily eyed cup

    Mrs. Bradley didn’t go out for recesses.
    She would stay at her desk and talk to us.
    One day she taught me to play dominoes.
    I can still remember those dominoes;
    black with white dots and rippled sides
    to make them easy to pick up and
    put down where they belonged.
    I think she let me win while I was learning,
    but not after ‘cause we all need to learn to lose
    with dignity and honor. She love dignity and honor.

    At the end of second grade Mrs. Bradley announced
    that the one-room schoolhouse would be closing its
    doors for the last time and we’d all be bussed to the
    next town where we’d all have our own classroom
    with just kids in our own grade.

    That made me sad that I wouldn’t be at this old
    one-room schoolhouse anymore, and it made me
    sad that Mrs. Bradley wouldn’t be my teacher.

    I’ll never forget those days.
    They were wonderful.

    © 2019 Earl Parsons

  7. Bookish

    She surely must have been clutching
    A tiny book – the day she was born
    She loved to listen to her father
    Read stories – as a toddler
    Summer school for extra
    Reading assignments – as a child
    Reading light above her bed
    To finish one more chapter – as a teen
    Stories before bedtime was
    The routine – as a mother
    Packed a book with her lunch
    And kept a spare in the car – when she worked
    Reading any time of day or
    Long into the night – she’s retired

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