Would Venus really trap a fly?

The Venus Flytrap doesn't shout,
Or tell its prey what it's about,
But spiders, flies, and frogs deplore
This unrelenting carnivore.

Its open petals sit and wait
For bugs, to fill its dinner plate;
When insects light upon its lap,
Its teeth close quickly, with a snap!

Once caught, each victim melts away,
To meet the Flytrap's needs that day.
It's lucky that the plant is small;
We're safe, because we're much too tall.

Crossing the river

Kharon the boatman,
Crosses black waters,
Bridging Styx river,
Heading for Hades.

Doomed to dark duty,
Fearsome, he ferries
Souls lost to sorrow,
Futures unfathomed.

Weighty his work is,
All light and laughter
Lost to the lifeless,
Waiting for judgment.


NB: In Greek mythology, Kharon was the ferryman who brought the dead across the River Styx to be judged by Hades, god of the underworld. The good were transported to the Elysian Fields; the sinners stayed below. The obol was a small coin paid to Kharon for his services.

Autumn music

In late October at a country place,
A man and maid stand silent, hand in hand,
Marvelling at the falling maple leaves,
As bursts of beauty meld into music
Keyed in a minor, melancholy mode,
Silken notes caressed on a clavichord;
The lasting memories in faded ink,
Inscribed in a dead girl's diary

Thanksgiving turkey

The turkey's life is short and sweet;
He's the tasty bird we eat
To make Thanksgiving meals complete.

The story says that started when
Pilgrims sat down with Indians;
Turkeys that fly were eaten then.

Today the turkey doesn't fly,
He doesn't even give a try;
It's best we never tell him why.

The Great War ends

November 11th: that day
Everywhere, men stopped to pray;
The time had come to end a war
Like mankind never fought before.


The moment came: the guns went still.
Shy silence filled the fields, until
Church bells rang out in joyful peal;
The war was done. Now peace was real.


Since then, we all commemorate
That final day, that fateful date;
Four horrid years of death and gore,
Till Europe curbed the Dogs of War.

An archduke and his wife were killed,
And when their scarlet blood was spilled,
Their tragic deaths determined why
Ten million men were doomed to die.

Mankind unleashed its dogs to fight,
They savaged, raged, turned day to night;
Death sealed the fate of fine young boys,
And cast them off like broken toys.

As cannon roared that dreadful year,
And soldiers died in pain and fear,
Their leaders spread what they called "truth,"
That killed a generation's youth.

The graves are there for us to see,
As proof for all eternity;
The war was simply bloody strife,
A useless waste of human life.

What good was served for those young men?
Why kill again, and yet again?

On a new word

I almost gasped, my mouth agape,
To learn about the new word, "vape."
Devised for smoking electronic,
Its common use might soon be chronic.

What we do with "o" and "u"

Of varied words with "o" and "u,"
The dictionary lists a slough,
And how to say them right is key;
They may not sound like what you see.

They're used to spell a word like rough;
A choice that might sound strange enough,
But then we see them used in bough,
And wonder what comes next, and how.

Are vowel changes ever through?
The answer's "no," for change they do.
These changes may seem curious,
But none of them are spurious.





































































EWW'/<: <<<<<<<<<<''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''































  '














4

Climate change?

The fossil records all agree;
Trilobites ruled the ancient sea,
Far back in the pre-Cambrian,
Eons before the Dawn of Man.

Their species seemed to good luck linked,
Until the day they went extinct;
The winds of change blew high and low,
Three hundred million years ago.

Most scientists, in concert, say
A mass extinction came their way,
The trilobites are ancient lore,
Preserved as fossils, nothing more.