The Great Gingerbread Rescue and Other Poems

By Ken Gosse

The Great Gingerbread Rescue

It happened in Maine at the Gingerbread Fest
where the “World’s Best Cookie” is made.
A deer got ensnared in the “Dough That’s The Best”
when it wandered away from its glade.
Though I wasn’t near, I did overhear
what a lovely young lass told her beau:
“Did you see how he saved the dear deer, Dear?
The brave man threw the doe through the dough.”

All the Clonely People

If everyone agreed with me,
with what I say, with how I see
the world, the stars, the universe,
the hearts of others, so diverse,
then that would mean what they would see
are others who are just like me

in which case, I would rather leave;
for joie de vivre we’d have to grieve.
Our differences make life worth while—
they bring both anger and a smile.
At my departure, none would grieve
until the last of me would leave
but then, there would be no one left

to disagree or feel bereft;
so if I die before I wake
I beg of you, for goodness sake,
of differences, don’t be bereft—
make life worth while, while life is left 

Casey’s Downward Spiral

(a reverse Fibonacci)

The day began when sun arose and soon his team put on their hose to make sure everybody
 knows that their home team would win without a doubt.
The bull at bat steamed from his spout, raised a dust cloud all about, then swung and heard fans shout.
When the umpire said, “Strike two!” He turned and thumbed his snout
because his bat still had its clout.
It wasn’t a rout.
One last pitch
and he
struck
out.

Master and Mat

My kitten has opposable claws—
two left, two right,
to wake me at night
when dreaming must come to a pause.

My kitten has composable claws—
they score my chest
when I’m at rest,
the musical purring of paws.

My kitten has exposable jaws—
only a dummy
would dare touch her tummy.
Why? Just try. Because!

And so, I have disposable gauze
within close reach
to cover each
of the patches she scratches and gnaws.

A Cheer for Lear Who Forgot Not Swat

When I read Edward Lear,
I always find cheer
in a rhythm of verse
that my heart finds most dear.
The cunningness of his manipulation
of logic and words, his sensiblation
of reason and rhyme,
so soothing through time
makes me glad to think I’m
of a similar clime,
at least in my writing,
although less inviting
than his always shall be
for readers who, like me,
would not have heard squat
of the Akond of Swat,
of that very small spot
on the map—just a dot—
had it not been for Lear;
yes indeed, this I fear,
for no one knows where,
and perhaps we don’t care—
not anyone here,
and maybe none there—
but had that odd lad
(the old Akond of Swat),
whether mighty or bad,
whether icy or hot,
crossed his i’s and anointed
his t’s with a DOT,
his writings would all
have been plagued with a SPLOT
from the pen of the Akond of SWAT—
though, if that was the case,
we know not.

Ken Gosse usually writes short, rhymed verse using whimsy and humor in traditional meters. First published in First Literary Review–East in November 2016, since then in The Offbeat, Pure Slush, Parody, Home Planet News Online, Sparks of Calliope and others. Raised in the Chicago, Illinois, suburbs, now retired, he and his wife have lived in Mesa, AZ, over twenty years.