I was somewhat knocked out when sis-in-law sent me the following by my
nephew. He's a pale translucent 9 year old but looks about 7. He has
slight reading difficulties but has suddenly developed a passion for
writing. Apart from reading him one of my poems in the midst of my mad
batty Aunt routine (which I do exceedingly well as it comes naturally) he
has never read my poetry or to my knowledge any poetry. I'm obviously
prejudiced but on showing it to other poets they have been equally
impressed. Is writing poetry hereditary? Better keep my eye on him!
Land of Opportunity
South East
Miss
Trouble goes past it flows through your mind.
East we go, no little miss, south we go, no girl in sight.
Billy is scared, tears from his eyes drips, and pies
blueberry pie so good you will have to cry.
Then a beast eats you alive.
Bones rotten, smoke flows, birds in the sky.
Poor girl bye-bye.
THE END
by Robert Monk
?!* Geraldine
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