THE POET'S
NOOK
A word is dead when it is said, some say
But I say it just begins to live that day.
Emily Dickenson

THE SPECIAL ONE
By Corky

THE ANNIVERSARY
By Corky

THE GNOME
By Corky

ROSE COLORED GLASSES
By Corky

THE SPECIAL ONE
Corky

Of all your four kids, which way does your love run.
The Special One? Which one is it, you ask now?
That's easy, I quickly reply, but guess just for fun.
There is a system parents have, you have to know how.

I know! Its easy to see, the first born is always dear.
That's always the favorite, especially when it's a boy.
No, I'm sorry you are not right, but you were very near.
The quest won't be that simple, but don't let it annoy.

Well now, the explanation's easy, it's the baby for sure.
They are always the closest, especially a little girl.
Once again you were very close, but your answer poor.
It's hard to understand, but keep giving it a whirl.

The second boy then, the skinny little introvert kid.
I know parents always have a special love for a son.
You are still very close, but now make yet another bid
The answer is pretty elusive, but you are almost done.

The answer will be easy now, as there is only one more.
The afflicted child has to be the one who gets most love.
Again you are so close to right, to say no is a chore.
As strange as it sounds you have missed with the above.

You have named them all, the whole roll has been called.
The Special One you have ask me, which one can it be?
I've called you wrong on each and you must be galled.
But, I wasn't really quite fair with my answers you see

.Sometime it's the one who needs help building a fence.
It may be the one needing some aid with a composition.
Sometime it's the one who needs help with their rents.
It may be one far from home just needing conversation.

Contrary to popular belief, they all fit the description.
The Special One is the one needing help at the time.
But they all seem to forget and then have a conniption,
When others get help and they act like it's a crime.

You're The Special One, they poke a finger at each other.
Dad does more for you and likes you more then me.
Don't be silly one says, you are the favorite of mother.
Well we know who it really is, as for once some agree .

But they all fit the specifications, the same, or close.
Now of course, some seem to fit more often then not.
But if less often they get, it's more with each dose.
When love is spread around, it's all from the same pot.

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The Anniversary

By Corky

Billy Bob Jimson staggered and he almost fell,
He'd tromped on Bulger, who gave a mournful yell.
Billy Bob was drinking a few at the Dew Drop Inn.
"Crazy ol' hound, I'll shoot you and all your kin."
"It's hard enough to balance after having a few
Billy Bob mumbled and stumbled a step or two
Specially with 6 long necks under your arm."
And your old coon dog sounding like a fire alarm.
Bulger always followed Billy Bob and lay near by.
Billy Bob loved coon hunting, now that's no lie.
But, for ol' Bulger, coon hunting was his whole life
Full moon tonight and he'd heard Billy Bob's wife.
She'd hollered at Billy Bob as he stomped out,
"I guess you forgot our anniversary, You lout."
"Oh sure, we'll spend tonight together, you said."
Betty Sue flew off easy cause her hair was red
But, Billy Bob was a man, he had to be boss.
Like his daddy before him, who was a real hoss.
Bulger watched the shotgun slip it in the rifle rack
And, when the pickup started, Bulger was in back.
Bulger sighed as they'd pulled up to the Dew Drop.
He hated the delay, but he was used to that stop.
After Billy Bob went in Bulger lay by the door.
He always lay there for a nap, on the porch floor.
Billy Bob shuffled, on over to the pickup truck.
Bulger followed, now alert, not stretching his luck.
"Get on back home, you stupid ol' coon hound."
Billy Bob got in. Bulger followed in one bound.
Bulger was puzzled as they pulled into the yard,
But trying to figure out humans was just to hard.
Billy Bob had the long necks as he walked to the house
Old Bulger watched as he slipped in like a mouse.
Bulger sighed and jumped down like he did a lot.
He crawled under the bedroom to his favorite spot.
He heard caps from the long necks hit the floor.
Boards squeaked and someone had opened a door.
Betty Sue mumbled something, he couldn't tell.
Then bottles clinked and all was quite for a spell
Then Bulger could hear whispers up over his head.
Then Betty Sue giggled and Billy Bob got in bed.
Even through the floor, Bulger recognized the tone,
And he knew that this night he would be all alone,
Bulger got comfortable, he remembered these deals
Then he put his paws on his ears to block the squeals.
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THE GNOME
By Corky

It was a dark and foggy night,

You couldn't even see a light,

It's the normal weather for fall,

People here learned not to stall,

Jed had just left the pub again,

He started down the old dirt lane,

But, to old Jed twas no concern,

He knew every hillock and turn.

As he walked the dark narrow lane,

They sent messages to his brain,

Somehow tonight wasn't the same.

He couldn't say what's to blame,

A strange green star last night,

The loud boom, the sky bright,

He'd lay on the bed to ponder,

But after sleep he didn't wonder.

But older memories begin to jog,

Eerie noises from in the fog,

Then way off a howl from a dog,

The light floated nearer in the fog,

The lane glowed with a green light,

Jed tried to see far as he might,

It's a gnome standing in the mist,

Then the green form lifted a fist,

Jed made the sign of the cross,

The gnome also seemed at a loss,

But the tension was finally broke,

Who be you?" Jed loudly spoke,

The gnome appeared to be startled,

He replied "WIMBRA HIST MARTLED."

Though scared, Jed didn't stop.

He banged his cane on it's top,

A green ray cut the cane to a nub,

There was a red flame at it's stub,

"Sixty years I walked this lane,

Then I attack him like I'm insane.

What a tale to pass on at the pub,

But then again, there's the rub.

He walked on down the lane a bit,

If a gnome opens a glass to spit,

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The Rose Colored Glasses By Corky
Back when I was an ignorant young babe in arms,
my mother knew everything and kept me from harms.
Then time passed by and now as a toddler of three,
my brilliant father would explaine all the world to me.
But when I was past six and had started to classes,
I widened my horizons (and begin making the glasses.)
At twelve the glass tinted and my parents grew dumb.
They wouldn't even notice how learned I'd become.
When I was eighteen and I had gone away to college,
the glass turned pinker as I filled up with knowledge.
At twenty two I knew more then the graduating classes,
and I saw the world through real rose colored glasses.
In no time I was forty and had lived life as it really is.
I had discovered rose colored glasses only hid how 'tis.
Then I was sixty and realized how quickly years pass.
And remember the years wasted with rose colored glass .

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