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THE CHICKEN-SCRATCH SHACK

Hey, you there. Yeah, you. C'mon over here, roll up one of those chairs, and get ready for some stories. Ignore the skeleton in it. How'd he die? I'unno, he said something about hearing too many crappy short stories before he let out a relieved sigh and... Expired. I can tell you're much more cultured than that guy, though. Promise.

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Writer's pictureNicholas Rauscher

Poetry - First Wave

Rhyme Poem: The Forest Maze

There’s a forest near my house, down some ways,

I go there to clear my head a few days,

The twist and turns and paths and knots,

Prompts unbidden the thought of a lush hedge maze,

Each day passed I grasp which turn is right and which is not.

A left past the old, dead tree,

Or was it a right -I can’t recall in all honesty.

Right might as well be down, and down might as well be up,

It feels like days before I’ll be free,

I think I’ll leave this grove when I’m grownup.

Haiku: Capricious

We gather swiftly,

But we are like the wild wind.

Ere long we abscond.

Free Verse Poem: End of the World: Ice

Of the paths to Armageddon,

Ice is the more insidious, more patient

It is the cold malice that seeps into the hearts of men.

It is dispassionate antipathy and aloof superiority.

Ice is a patient end, eventual and inexorable.

It, the tortoise, Fire the hare,

In the end Ice may finish first,

From the fire not stoked in time.

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