WHO AM I ?

 


PHOTOGRAPH   SANDRA SCHOU

WHO AM I

 

Who am I,

He wondered at ten

And who will I become

Will I be famous

For what he bethought

Will I still be My Father’s Son,

And why am I here by this bubbly brook

With a squirrel and larks nearby

He mulled and decided

If asked oft enough

That one day

He’d surely know why.

He flew the coop they’ll

One day say

He flew

After

Waving

Goodbye.

We thought we saw him

Up high in the clouds

He flew and

He flew and on

He flew.

He flew

After

Waving

Goodbye,

To return

In the

Nigh and nigh.

By Lee Broom

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MY SHOES DON’T MATCH

MY SHOES DON’T MATCH

My shoes don’t match
I said to myself
Observing one black and one brown.
One pointy toe
The other a moc
I noticed as I sat down.

I remembered a time
In Pershing Square
An orator holding his own
The end is nigh
Beware my friends
Repent before heading Home

Is he right I wondered
My shoes don’t match
I’d found them a moment ago
I repented not
They felt warm and snug
I left them on my toes.

My shoes don’t match
I said to myself
Observing one black and one brown.
One pointed toe
The other a moc
Each slipped over
A woolen sock
The time was passing
Tickety tock
A smile replacing a frown;

I have another pair just like these
And they are my very own.

CRUMBS
CH SIX
Lee Broom.

CREATING STANDUP

 


Eileen and Bill

My son, whose brief but popular career as a nightclub comic, once told me that his formula for creating standup jokes was one he learned from others of his ilk. His method: make a ridiculous statement; then prove it. Hmmm;

I am not thinking of a white rhinoceros. I know this because I am saddled to an elephant hippety- hopping hither and yon. (If this isn’t funny perhaps it ‘s because I am not standing up. Try hippety hopping astride an elephant some time…or atop a white rhinoceros.)


Dad

CRAP IS A FEELING

EASTER

CRAP IS A FEELING

 

Crap is a feeling.

Feelings are good.

It’s when we don’t have them

(And know that we should)

That we worry.

But you’re still here in the neighborhood.

You’re sweaty, impatient

Your ready to kill

You want to fight

And you take your pill

So swallow

Wash it down

And wallow

Lay there in those stinky bed-clothes

With bugs galore

But Goodness knows

You are almost well

And you know

Because you feel like crap

And that’s a feeling.

© Lee Broom

MY SHOES DON’T MATCH

lee_broom

My shoes don’t match

I said to myself

Observing one black and one brown.

One pointy toe

The other a moc

I noticed as I sat down.

(I remembered a time
In Pershing Square
An orator holding his own
“The end is nigh
Beware my friends
Repent before heading Home”)

(Is he right) I wondered

My shoes don’t match

I’d found them a moment ago

I repented not

(They were warm and snug
I left them on my toes.)

My shoes don’t match

I said to myself

Observing one black and one brown.

One pointed toe

The other a moc

Each slipped over

A woolen sock

The time was passing

Tickety tock

A smile replacing a frown;

I have another pair just like these

And they are my very own.

 

 

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