Jan Sand Poems
The Poet As Dr, Frankenstein
My floor is littered
The older they get,
The more they stink.
Each one began with great hope.
The idea was the seed.
Three or four words
That held hands in cunning design.
Poised, I thought, to dance and laugh.
Some of my blood,
Some of my guts
Was fitted to their syntax.
I rocked back their heads.
Their eyes opened with a clack.
'Dance! ' I commanded.
Each in turn faltered, spun,
Seemed, to my ear to have grace.
I left each one to live.
When I returned to look again,
They lay there on the floor
In disordered clumsy ...
The Funny Old Man
There was an old man who was lonely and grim
And excessively technically minded.
He lived with a cat and an owl that was fat
And a fancy new clock. He=d designed it.
Every hour it rang with a click and a bang
And was good for cooking up noodles.
While down deep inside it secretly fried
Sardines for wandering poodles.
Now poodles can be, as you really can see,