You tried to reach mike.
You ought to leave a message.
Perhaps a haiku?


My ans'ring machine asked for haiku
but y'all found it too hard to do
I need a new gimmick
so leave me a lim'rick
and I'll try to get back to you!

by Michael George

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Michael George is a hippo lover of the first order. He hopes someday to meet one of his beloved pachyderms in person. In the meantime, he is working on a doctorate in Computer Science in hopes that it will open many doors to him. Behind one of those doors will be a hippo.


Rossum's Universal Robot Rebuts

I would rather clean the house
than rule the world;
too much responsibility
makes me cringe
wishing that I were never made.

Give me mops and brooms
dishes to wash and dry
teach me to play a game of chess
drive you to your work
mow and fertilize the lawn
protect the little ones from harm —
but please, oh please,
leave politics to yourselves.

I have no stomach for war
(or even food)
no violence in my plastic heart
no courage in my metal gears
nor envy in my other parts.

Let me be what I was meant to be
the way that you assembled me
but please, oh please,
depend on me.

by Neil Ellman

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Neil Ellman lives and writes in New Jersey. Enough said.


Pin the Tail

"Where's my compass?"
Christopher Columbus
clipper unfurled
to circumcise the world


Give peace a chance
the communist romance
Lenin disgorged
of Ringo, Paul and George

by Jacob Edwards

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Jacob Edwards studied both ancient & modern history at the University of Queensland, extrapolating from these lessons of the past that the world will most likely end in either a four wheel drive or militant feminist apocalypse. Although covered for both he refuses to network socially with his insurance provider, just as he neither blogs nor twitters (despite having opposable thumbs). For now Jacob lives in Brisbane, Australia, with his wife & son and may be found online at www.jacobedwards.id.au


My Girlfriend's Eyes are Kinda Like the Sun

My girlfriend's eyes are kinda like the sun —
she glares at me and makes my face go red
when I am eyeing other chicks. "For fun,"
I grin. How can a guy not turn his head
to watch a babe with mounds of cleavage white
as snow, or one whose skinny thong strap peeks
between her shirt and cut-offs so skin tight? —
My eyes can peel her shorts right off those cheeks.
Thing is, my girl is really wide in the beam;
her eyes are city stars, so widely spread;
her weedy hair, a vacant lot of dreams.
But who would think of sleep when we're in bed?
      I'll tell you more, but not inside this sonnet.
      Be a pal — don't let her in on it.

by Barbara Lydecker Crane

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A former quilt artist, Barbara Lydecker Crane of Somerville, MA created fabric landscapes now in private, public, and museum collections. In 2005, poetry began edging out art. She's published over 40 poems since '07. In 2011 she won the Helen Schaible International Sonnet Contest and an Honorable Mention in the Foley Poetry Contest. This year she expects to publish her first book, Alphabetricks, with Little Red Tree Press. As a quiltmaker, her income was pretty paltry. As a poet it's positively puny. Fortunately her husband is gainfully employed.