Jennie Radley Poems

Five little piggies, struggling for the teat,
Curly tails trembling, aren't they sweet!
Served on a platter with an apple in his snout,
Now there's only four, he's been counted out.
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Why don’t I believe in God? Oh, heck; what a question.
Trying to form an answer gives me mental indigestion.
If you really press me, when push has turned to shove,
I think what really balks me, is “God’s Infinite Love”.
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The wheel of life is always turning as along the way we wend,
At each new step there is more learning 'til we reach our journey's end.

As little children, how we grasp at each new skill that comes our way,
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Edmund Bent-
ley wrote “The Last Case of Trent”.
His middle name was Clerihew,
Rhymes for that are very few.
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Anger, slowly gathering.
Black cumulonimbus of emotion,
Piling anvil heads on the horizon,
Ever rumbling threats of a great storm;
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The night is not silent;
A million creatures scuttle and creep, forage and flee,
Sniff and snarl in the darkness.
Terror and death wait there, pressing in,
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The bony hand of death paints grey shadows on his cheek,
And clutches at his entrails, till the spasms make him weak.
The healthy rounded flesh of the young man has dropped away,
And a caricature stares out from fevered eyes today.
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The room is silent.
The hiss of the machine is drowned in silence,
Invading noises from beyond are swallowed.
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