UP THE WRONG TREE BARK
The group was seated
at the sit-in,
awaited the studious poet
to start, to begin,
or the stony silence to break
with the drop of a pin.
He stood there quiet
as the bark on a tree,
might have stood longer
than is my memory
of the man who cried "Timber,"
loud and suddenly.
THE WHITE HOUSE BUILT JACK
There in the huge-garden
all his flowers wilt,
and the rooms are empty
in the house that Jack built.
"It is his white elephant,"
village folk are heard to say,
"it is the guy's own folly,
the man's money-throwaway.
But it is no use him crying
over white milk spilt,
though white as a ghost
Jack who the house built."
AN UNDERGROUND POETRY PIECE
The magician was to put his hand
in the upturned top-hat,
while the jumpy rabbit inside
wouldn't have any of that.
It bolted along the lengthy tunnel
that was the big hat's top,
down to a poetry underworld
the rabbit was then to hop.
"Welcome to our Wonderland,"
said the magic poetry lines
that were written on the walls
of that shiny diamond mine.
But almost an eternity later
the rabbit just had to go,
and headed for the spotlight
like that in the stage-magician's show.
Yet the grand circle of light
was the tunnel's very end come,
and the rabbit was to exit
to the loud applause of everyone.
The people were now fluffy bunnies...
what conjurer's trick ? What scheming ?
The rabbit had to pinch itself,
but the child Alice woke from her dreaming.
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