“Populating Thanksgiving” by Ken Gosse

In a world full of people
there’s hate, crime, and war,
but today we recall
what we’re most thankful for.

At the top of the list
let’s place people again,
the young and the old;
girls and boys, women, men.

Our family, relatives,
neighbors and friends,
even strangers unknown,
way out where the Earth ends.

More than things or events,
fame, fortune, or glory,
the people we love are
the best of our story.

So pause to reflect
and take time to give thanks,
even though, now and then,
we’re all crotchety cranks.




Ken Gosse prefers writing short, rhymed verse with traditional meter, usually filled with whimsy and humor. First published in First Literary Review–East in November 2016, his poems are also in The OffbeatPure SlushParodyHome Planet News OnlineEclectica, and other publications. Raised in the Chicago suburbs, now retired, he and his wife have lived in Mesa, AZ, over twenty years.

“We’re Cats’ Welcome Mats” by Ken Gosse

A tribute to domestic cats
who drive us crazier than bats
while deftly they bemuse our views
and weave us into welcome mats.

Kittenhood is just a ruse,
a time pre-cats use to confuse
while they beguile with every wile
the natty mats they’ll soon abuse.

In deft, alluring feline style
their large, round eyes entice our smile,
a ruse in their campaign to feign
they haven’t eaten for a while.

“Feed me!” echoes their refrain,
entreaties which are not in vain
for we’ll concede and feed the lot;
their appetites our pet-peeve’s bane.

Dogs are people—cats are not.
A leopard will not change one spot
nor lion trim the vim of mane
advancing their dominion’s plot.

This ensures we’ll act inane
at playtime and we won’t abstain
nor pause the claws with which they style
each tat of ownership’s red stain.

But once we’ve passed their kitten trial
by proving that we’ll spew no bile
and won’t unloose their tightened noose,
a cat may walk us down the aisle.

Many find this quite abstruse—
subdued compliance with abuse.
So coy, they toy with us like rats
and yet, we’ll kiss our cat’s caboose.

That’s how it is—these furry brats
take pleasure winning our combats.
We’re bling, a string-like Gordian knot
which they drop on our welcome mats.




Ken Gosse prefers writing short, rhymed verse with traditional meter, usually filled with whimsy and humor. First published in First Literary Review–East in November 2016, his poems are also in The Offbeat, Pure Slush, Parody, Home Planet News Online, Eclectica, and other publications. Raised in the Chicago suburbs, now retired, he and his wife have lived in Mesa, AZ, over twenty years.

“My voice has lost its rasp” by Leslie Lippincott Hidley

My voice has lost its rasp,
Bolt fallen from its hasp,
My claw ungripped my grasp,
My hold has been let go,
There’s nothing more to know,
It’s not my fault and so
I’ll do as I am told.
I’m docile to the heart;
I mind whatever I should do
And raise my wings apart.
The air wafts me aloft.
It loves the way I fly.
We play together, air and me
And tumble in the sky.

 

 

Leslie Lippincott Hidley has been writing prose and poetry for her own amusement and that of her family and friends and others for most of her 73 years. And one of her ten grandchildren is named Kalliope. She has lived in Walla Walla, Washington; Frankfurt and Bremerhaven, Germany; Upper New York State; Enid, Oklahoma; Montgomery and Prattville, Alabama; Lubbock, Texas; Dover, Delaware; West Palm Beach, Florida; Goose Bay, Labrador; Washington, D.C.; Fairfield, California; Omaha, Nebraska; and now resides in Ojai (Nest-of-the-Moon), California, where she continues to write.