Greetings, Poetry Lovers! HAPPY HALLOWEEN! I hope you have just the right amount of spooky fun this weekend.
I found myself heavy with the weight of the real horrors in the news this week - a huge hurricane bearing down on Caribbean islands, threats to the cease-fire in the Middle East and continued killings in Ukraine, the threat of food assistance disappearing for needy folks here against a backdrop of a future golden ballroom (and a demolished White House wing) - and though I had much to do after traveling, I decided to have some fun with my dog, Rookie, a two-year-old Keeshond. Mainly because I needed a humor break myself.
And though it appears the détectives français might be closing in on the real thieves, for Halloween, I conjured up a poem to go with the picture I took a couple of days ago.
C'était moi
by Robyn Hood Black
I could not help myself, you know -
I smelled the wealth. I heard the jangle.
I saw the glinty, sparkly glow -
from royal crown to baubled bangle.
With floofy fluff and padded paws,
I shadowed into the Louvre
to add those gaudy, gleaming gems
to my stash, my cache, my oeuvre.
(My breed is Dutch - counts not for much; I can parlez-vous.)
Humans made a ladder clatter - who saw a gray chien?
You might call me a wicked boy,
but my stealth is très bien.
Make your getaway over to the marvelous world of multi-talented Jone Rush MacCulloch for this week's mwah-ha-haa Poetry Friday Roundup. Thanks, Jone!