Best Whittle Poems

The Spit & Whittle Club
As remembered: by Miracle Man
3-21-2020

As a kid it was always town on Saturday,
horses and wagons dotted our main street.
 Tied to curb rings up and down Broadway,
then penny candy, was sometimes a treat.

Many had come to gin a weeks cotton,
and buy...

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He sits silent with the old man;
as intrigued watching his gnarled hands
whittle away at the pine twig,
as he is with tales about Gran,
and their life on the wild moorlands.

As he now and then takes a swig
from a large, chipped, dusty brown jug
the man’s rheumy blue-gray...

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somewhere 
along 
its 
jagged 
route,
bitter owl 
will 
blot 
the 
sun
and 
carve 
the heart 
into 
a 
mouse...

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