You Thought It Was Bad
Smart paper
wireless reports
your letter home,
computer misinterpretation
plans for world conquest.
poem by David Howerton
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Once they're lost
Old books piled
every dusty room
notebooks scattered
on every stack.
Some full others not
just gathering poems
on pages most bad
a few worth typing.
Can't find half finished sonnet
start throwing
filled notebooks in boxes
as they fill
put in garage
a couple years before rereading.
Only then will half-finished poem
let itself be found,
muse playing games.
poem by David Howerton
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At That Minute You'll Smile Or Maybe Cry
When you stand before deity
will your dog stand at the right hand
to give judgement?
Will your dog speak, wagging its tail
of love
and caring
concern
and play
and did you worry when he was ill?
Or will he stand there trembling
tail hung low
speaking of abandonment,
pain and beatings,
being left alone,
no one to play with,
empty food dishs,
empty water bowls
for days. The sadness?
Which will your dog tell?
poem by David Howerton
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