Poetry

Piper was a girl who was chipper.

She played with frogs that were green

While her father abused all the liquor.

What could give that hopeful candle a flicker?

5     Well (of course) it was her sweet sixteen.

That was what made her so chipper!

And her frogs continued to lick her

And cover her in a silky sheen

Like the sheen of her dad’s bottle of liquor.

10     He drank more and more, sipping quicker

As Piper froze like a canned sardine–

The poor whipper had lost all her chipper!

Her brain thought of times long past that were sicker:

Like eating a moldy tangerine.

15   But even that she relished more than the liquor.

So soon came a thought to consider–

On her street, trees were being destroyed by machine.

With force, she threw herself into the wood-chipper

To escape from her dad’s love of liquor.

 Unversed in Christie’s work was I that night,

But daring movies catch my eye with glee.

For soon and strewn about (a cause to flee)

Were gruesome murders hewno that forced a fright.     to cut by blows of an ax

5     When human angst is hackneyedo, stale, and trite,     lacking in freshness

Beneath my judgment rests a fervent plea

To halt the shameful acts–thus set me free–

But yearning makes not fake remorse contrite.

Now spooked at every sound I find myself,

10     It seems a weapon could be shoes or strings!

Delusion’s grasp on minds is fear indeed.

That book I think will come not off my shelf,

As long as pictures harbor equal things.

 For love of joyful dreams I must concede.