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The Short Plot

Posted by MFish • Profile • 05/26/19 at 11:41AM • Humor • See more by MFish

Late last Summer; some barren ground,
Tempted me to spread or lay down,
A mixture of old Perennial seed.
The seed did grow, without a weed
And flowers with a very strong stalk,
By the edge of our City sidewalk.
Daisies, Bachelor Buttons and mystery flowers
Grew and grew through day light hours.
Blues, Whites, Golds one could see
And a sense of good, was mine to be.
This year, the flowers, some new to me,
With the arrival of a Orange Blackseed Poppy.
I can hardly wait to see the surprise,
When that corner of flowers do arrive.

Dream or Illusion

Posted by MFish • Profile • 05/25/19 at 01:01PM • Humor • See more by MFish

Was it a dream
Or just an illusion.
I am uncertain,
Without any doubt.
I looked in a mirror;
What did I see?
A small Chimpanzee,
Looking at me.
It smiled,
While scratching it's head
And was wearing a hat,
A bright shade of red.
What do you want?
What can it mean,
When you see a Chimp,
In your mirror scene?
I don't know,
What's in my mind.
It's an animal,
So don't be unkind.
Then, in a hurry,
It was gone,
So don't you worry.
Will it return?
That I don't know,
But if it does,
We'll put on a show.

The Mole

Posted by MFish • Profile • 05/25/19 at 12:55PM • Humor • See more by MFish

Out by the sidewalk,
Close to our front door,
I espy a mound of dirt,
Sitting up about an inch or so.
I mutter to myself,
"This Mole just has to go."
I have no desire to dispose
Of this small creature,
But I do want it to be,
Discouraged and just leave.
Stick a hose down into the hole;
Turn on the water and see,
Where it goes, flushing a mole.
There is a powder, I sprinkle
On the remains of his hole,
That shows the work of
A quite active Mole.
It won't harm this little fellow,
But will encourage it to move
Away from this site,
Then I'll sleep better.
Perhaps a whole night

Eighth Grade

Posted by MFish • Profile • 05/24/19 at 10:22PM • Humor • See more by MFish

I was in the eighth grade
When my friend and I,
Decided to go from Seattle
To Lynden, to pick strawberries.
We were both Boy Scouts
With back packs and sleeping bags.
We left our homes
On this wonderous journey,
By hitchhiking, up North, on old 99.
We arrived in Lynden, later that day
And were told "no strawberries";
it was the end of the season.
We turned around, noting our plight
And slept in a Bellingham field that night.
Back to our homes, we then went
And noticed that green bean picking
Would be another event.
But that is another story.

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