My friend, Leigh Gannon, shared this poem with me: "Nothing Is Too Small Not to Be Wondered About" by May Oliver...

The cricket doesn’t wonder if there’s a heaven

or, if there is, if there’s room for him.

It’s fall. Romance is over. Still, he sings.

If he can, he enters a house

through the tiniest crack under the door.

Then the house grows colder.

He sings slower and slower.

Then, nothing.

This must mean something, I don’t know what.

But certainly it doesn’t mean he hasn’t been an excellent cricket all his life.

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Sybil Bruncheon's "People In Poetry!"... A Wedding Day...

Mimsy knelt at her sister’s feet, so proud and glad, you see.

For Myra was to be a bride, and married off to Lee.

“The eldest daughter leads the way”, their Mother sagely said.

“No other girl may marry till the oldest girl has wed.”

 

While Mimsy knelt, dear Flora Sue kissed Myra on the cheek.

Not yet her chance to run away, a honeymoon to seek.

She had her eyes on Carlton Drubb, an up and coming Clerk,

Whose Father owned a notions shop and forced him there to work.

 

And Stacy Sue, there on the right, tried on her sister’s veil.

The youngest of the Fernley girls, her fancies didn’t fail.

She dreamt of Princes, Shahs, and Kings, or maybe just a duke.

She’d even settle for a judge wearing a high peruke.

 

But Mimsy, Flora, ‘n’ Stacy Sue, just didn’t seem to note

That Myra sat in her bridal gown, her thoughts all so remote.

Her feverish brain was filled with fears and riddled through with dread.

A week of nightly terrors that concerned her marriage bed.

 

To tell the truth, our Bride-to-be had never played the bride

In childhood games with other girls, she even sometimes cried!

And kissing boys behind the barn had nearly made her sick.

Their rough and stupid manners, their intellects so thick!

 

Now here she was, a grown-up girl, compelled to play the game.

The game that every woman knows or else to live in shame.

Be a wife, and be polite. Eventually bear a child.

And cook and clean and bake a cake… Or always be reviled.

 

So Myra stared now straight ahead, to a dreary, weary life.

Of baby showers and diaper dirt as Lee’s so pretty wife.

But walking in right through the door was her school chum Clara-Ann!

Their eyes did meet, they shared a kiss, and off the two girls ran!

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Sybil Bruncheon's 31 DAYS OF HALLOWEEN... Guess Who Came To The Party! #17...

The class had assembled for Halloween Day,

All the students in costumes had come!

Maurice was dressed as a gay caba-yay.

And Joe, as an old hobo bum.

Debbie decided she was a great movie star.

And Phyllis had come as a witch.

Dean was a ghost or maybe a ghoul,

He never could tell which was which.

One was a tiger, another a ham... and... um...

Sadly, no one heard the giant lizard-man-thing that came in through the back... The End

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Sybil Bruncheon's 31 DAYS OF HALLOWEEN... Guess Who Came To The Party! #11...

Stevie came as a race car driver, with goggles, slicker, and such.

And Dee Dee there flapped about like a moth, her antennae were such a nice touch.

Suzie dressed up just like an old mule or maybe an old Democrat...

and Carl... um... he came as his mother. The End.

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Sybil Bruncheon's 31 DAYS OF HALLOWEEN... Guess Who Came To The Party! #11…

Stevie came as a race car driver, with goggles, a slicker, and such.

And Dee Dee there flapped about like a moth, her antennae were such a nice touch.

Suzie dressed up like an old donkey-mule or maybe an old Democrat...

and Carl... um… he came as his mother. The End.

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Sybil Bruncheon's Poems With Purpose for Pre-Schoolers!... "Edgar Fitzwilly!"

Perpetually naughty and riddled with spite,
Edgar Fitzwilly was bad day and night!
He'd break all the dishes.
Vex everyone's wishes.
But was fine when he was tied out of sight!

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Sybil Bruncheon's "People In Poetry"…… page 78. "My Facebook Friend"...

My Facebook Friend never said “Hello”. Never clapped or cheered or wished me well. When I posted news or luck and such, He was never there to say, “That’s swell!”

He didn’t “like” my brand new job, my dog, My hat, my hefty raise, My move to Perth for three whole months And back again for the Holidays.

And not a peep when I met the boy Who then became my greatest love. Nor not a tear when I lost my joy, And he left this Earth for clouds above.

But my Facebook Friend posted ev’ryday And told the world his latest stuff. His rants, his raves, he stubbed his toe. No newsy thing was small enough.

He found some lint, he burned a cake! He cut his hair, and changed his vote. And we, the people, standing by Should clap our hands, or at least take note!

I’d laughed, and cried, and cheered, and “liked”. I’d clicked the Angry face and Sad. I’d praised and flattered like a fool. When he stubbed his toe, I’d felt real bad.

And then one day, I saw the light. At last, I knew I was just a prop. A thing to support my Facebook Friend. I faced the truth. It had to stop.

So late one night, so dark and deep. While moon shown high and Facebook slept, With MACs and PCs sound asleep. I pressed “Unfriend”. Away I crept.

And have I missed a single post? His so-called wit, his hearty heart, His learning, skill, his lint, his toe. Have I missed his news? No, not a fart.

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Sybil Bruncheon's "People In Poetry"…… page 113. "The Big Match!!"...

Listen

The match was planned, oh, weeks ahead
And both the fighters famous.
The challenger was Jaunty Jim.
The champion was Seamus.

Now Seamus stood just five feet two
And weighed 200 pounds.
And Jim they say was six foot ten
And could go eleven rounds.

The sniping started right away
On both sides and so petty.
Bragging, ragging, bally-hoo!
The Beachball meets Spaghetti.

The pair prepared in every way,
With exercise and diets.
The tickets for the special night
Had ended up in riots.

It’s said that Seamus looked his best.
He’d dropped a goodly sum. 
Perhaps a dozen pounds or so
And weighed one eighty one.

And Jim was lifting weights all day
And eating like a horse!
He stood much taller than his foe
But lacked a punch with force.

The weeks rushed by. The date drew near,
And both the gents were ready.
The press and bookies made their rounds.
The odds on both held steady.

And then at last the night had come. 
The crowds had filled the tent.
The heat, and smoke, and sweat were thick
When the telegram was sent.

The referees, promoters too, 
And trainers stood there shaking.
They read the message right out loud
To all whose hearts were breaking.

“Dear Sirs, you see, we’ve left you all. 
We’d rather never fight.
We talked a bit and made a plan
To leave by train last night.

We’re going to Niagara Falls.
And travel far and near.
Then Jim and I may buy a house.
Please wish us luck! We’re queer.”

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