Assortment for August 2015

The Dove of Love

Brian Ring


There is peace in the sign of the dove,

But the thing about which to talk,

Is actually the aggressive hawk.

So what does one choose, hawk or dove?

One is for peace, t’other war;

They divide the military leadership

Into each of these.

Those that want war are hawks,

Those that deride it are doves .

Which do you choose?

The hawks are ruled by Mars;

The doves by Venus.

Which will out in the end?

Love or Hatred?

Most would rather be lovey-dovey!

So do you choose love and dove or hate and hawk?

If we could all vote on this, the people would have long since outlawed war!

Is peace all lovey-dovey for the wimps or is it noble

To fight for the right?

Perhaps, you think, the best is in between.

But, even so, who consciously wants to do even for a just cause.

Again the choice is simple; the answer complex.

The love of war is not ipso facto wrong in itself always and categorically.

But hope in death-less conflict,

Springs eternal from the human breast-

For death itself is apparently not the end,

And on such an upbeat note

Should all talk of peace and war rest.



Life Follows Art

Howard Luke


A Black beetle crawls

Up a willow bark

Of a dog in unison

With a quiz show host

Sits down for dinner

Life is comic book reality

Tv confuses me.

I pull back, back further

Within and am left without

Program schedules run my


Pictures, visual images

Crowd my mind projecting

On the retina to the optic nerve

Soap opera dialogue tumbles

In company or alone

Life follows art





Sasha Dee

 Tangerin Sky

Tangerine sky when you’re high

Away from all regimentations of life

And the genie in the hubble-bubble

Talks sweet and your forget the strife

Taking the bite of the tangerine syrupy

You walk down the Casaba of Tangier

And see the world out of the fairy books

And jolly walk lazily seeing all corner and nooks

You arrive on the sandy seashore

With freshly cut coconut sipping the sap

Laced with local heady spices and opium

You’re “Lucy in the sky” diamond eyes

You’re cool in the sea-cool breeze

And lying on your back not thinking of England

All you want to see and enjoy the Tangerine sky

Hear the heavenly music buzzing around

Then all you hear is a sudden spray of bullets thud

And there everywhere the pools of Tangerine blood!




A Meow and a Meow from the Missing Cat

Samantha Simon



I am that missing cat

As horded on all the trees

By a lady with missing screw

Appealing to all cat lovers

And cat haters and cat-allergists

That I am missing and how she is missing me

But frankly guys I do not miss her

Nor her stacks of “Sheba” tins

Or velvety soft pillows

In fact I hate her molly cuddling

Scratching my neck and tail

And touching my crown jewels

And all the saliva dripping baby talk

I am a cat a born free, nocturnal

Hunter that belongs to the big cat family

I do not like all that readymade food

And even the pseudo caviar goods

I am happy to play and kill at night

Those night creatures, mice and rats

Tasty yummy, yummy fresh bits

Along with the company of other cats

Oh those lovely sing song of meows

That put shame to the Welsh miners’ gala

Oh, those hissing and fussing and chase

Oh, those long wailings like the baby’s cries

And that awful self –indulgent cow in the house

Thinks she is missing me?

Why can’t she get married and live naturally

Like the rest of the women folks and grow babies?

I think she has a pathological problem

The other day she took me to the vet

And asked him to castrate my crown jewel

And make me a castrato silly woman

I sing Meow, meow in high notes

Low notes, and middle notes

And can put all feeling and

I do not need being a castrato

That’s why I ran away

I am proud of my crown jewel

And in all the cat people!


Last Hurrah!

Sydney Ball


The great battered bat

The battler of the plain fields

The last of the bats

Got his bat well planted

And took a brave stand

And looked at the pavilion

Where all his mates held

Their breath and crossed their fingers

All quiet on the Western Front

Even the pigeons stopped flying

The umpire on the opposite side

Dropped down his arm

And the bowler took the start

And took his ball in his palm

Spanned it round

And like a raging bull

Came to the wicket

And threw his last ball of the over

With a hundred fifty miles speed


He had already five of his balls and five downs

Five bodyline balls

Five batsmen down

Fallen down on the wicket

Taken away on the stretchers

By the paramedics

Created a terror of Chingiz Khan

His last ball dynamite

Spun around like a meteorite

Like a fireball, a granite

And the batsman with all might

Hit the ball right

Rebound and returned

With double speed

And hit the head

Of the bodyline bowler

A deadly blow!



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