More Poetry by Robert R. Woods

May o9, 2o13

   I gotta a lot of catching up to do. Been a little slack on posting here. I know, I know, I said wouldn't do that... but hey, I'm only... almost human. Probably post poems that I just finished, and work backwards to the poems that I wrote earlier. Lately, I've been working with a rhyme scheme, abba that I've become quite addicted to. I like working with it. The form is a little looser than some might think it should be... but you can blame the poet Molly Peacock for that. She really showed me through her writings how to open up... Thanks, Molly.

Man’s Best Friend

And there was hope stuck to the bottom of his sole.

He grabbed the largest knife he had and tried to scrape
away the gooey mass… But, alas, there’s no escape;
hope has a way of clingin’ to a thing and never letting go.

He flung his shoe across the room and squashed it like a frog

against the kitchen wall. He was, of course, aiming for the trash
but missed it by a foot or more. He then did something rather rash.
He snatched hope up, reshaped it in the likeness of a dog.

And very unexpectedly (to himself and new found pet)
he grabbed a piece of string and tied it round the doggie’s neck,
flung the door open and took it for a walk! “What the heck,”
he thought, “ I’ll march you round the neighborhood and let

The neighbors see.” And did they see? Oh, yes indeed!

From their porches came the people (many whom he loathed)
they gathered round the master and his pet and patted both
upon the head and smiled and laughed and all agreed

that hope, yes, hope peeled off your kitchen wall,

transformed into a friendly beast ?
That’s much, much better, yes, to say the least,
than to have no hope, no hope at all.
—rrw o5-o9-13