Short Hydrants Poems

verification to send soup mail is a pain in the tush ~ forsooth

counting fire hydrants, busses, bridges and bikes ~ no one in P S likes...

Read More

Heat from  the pavement
Rises in shimmering waves
Torrid  summer day 

Looking for relief
Fire hydrants gush cooling spray
City children play...

Read More

Haiku Three Verse Poem©
 
Avalon Hurricane Snowstorm 

Twas nice to see folks
Of St. John’s, Mount Pearl, surrounds
Turn a hurricane 
Snowstorm into a 
Snow clearing activity
For everybody.

Shutins, fire hydrants,
Vehicles, drive and walkways
Were all cleared with cheer.  

W.C.Hull © 2020-H1059-2170-I45-K45-3-L45-14...

Read More

Mad as loons in the midday heat
Hydrants open, oh the treat.

Screaming, laughing, splashing too
Bystanders enjoying the hullabaloo.

Joyous children having fun
Cooling off beneath the Sun,

Smiling faces, having a riot.
Parents wishing they could try it.





Entry for Hot Summer Day contest
Sponsored by Eve Roper
14/9/2017...

Read More

city snow piles in a row
a row of cars
lamp posts
or evenly distributed on a flight of steps

it gives top hats to garbage cans and
fire hydrants and dresses the bare trees
as skimpily clad brides
who lose their veils with a artic shiver

city snow becomes dirty snow 
overnight
snowplows, slush and car grease turn it
grey in the morning

you must catch its silent beauty in the night

02/01/20...

Read More

Took my dead dog for a long walk today.
I like to think that some that passed by
glimpsed the whisk of her bushy tail
or heard her cheerful panting,
as she strained at the leash.

I was reading a book about Shelties,
how they were bred to be working dogs,
sheep herders,
and won’t ever be lapdogs.

Back home, both tuckered-out,
I glance down,
she is asleep already,
no doubt chasing my legs,
around a bunch
of lampposts and fire hydrants....

Read More

Old Man At The Diner
 

He slaughters his hamburger steak
with a fork and a butter knife,
massacres ringlets of onions
again and again
 
thumps catsup all over
the bloody commingling,
then ever so slowly
peppers and salts
 
and reminds me of Hrebic,
whose wife, back
on the block of my youth,
sat all summer out on her stoop,
 
knees awry, one eye black,
the other turning gray,
sunning the great white hydrants
of her phlebitic legs.
 
 
Donal Mahoney...

Read More