Geezer Times News: Poetry for those who hate poems

Crop of Moles

By George W. Clever-----1 March 2017

Scratch my skin

Underneath you will find a farmer

Still growing crops in my 80^th year

What kind of crops you ask?

I’m growing moles

No, not the kind of critters burrowing in the ground

These are bumps on skin turned black red or brown

To my surprise moles appear in different sizes 

A new one seems to show up each day

Went to a doctor to learn the cause

Just excess pigment I was told

Had’em since you were young

Showing up now you are old

Doc checked my face back and thighs

Look for cancerous ones he did advise

They can be removed I was informed

Harvest my crop

I’ll see if they can be sold

My grandfather’s face was covered with moles

Goodbye kisses were a challenge

Found his clear face place as a kid

Guess he passed moles on to me

Will give them all to my children’s grandchildren for free 

Bright Colored Beads

Trade for pumpkin corn or beans?

You want Boroughs of Bronx and Queens

No trade for plain white beads

Need a place for your woven chairs?

Trade fur from deer fox and bears?

No trade for plain white beads

Took seats apart made a loop from chairs

Men in iron hats say all land theirs

No trade for plain white beads

We cannot trade what is not ours

Not land nor sky nor stars

No trade for plain white beads

What shines and sparkles in your chest

Power cloth beads of red we guessed

Yes! trade for isle of Mahattes now best

Was it a trade to own or lease to use?  NAs check the fine print.