Old Dick Cheney
is sly and smart,
and now at last
he has a heart.

The Bard of Sherman Avenue

Your hours will bring joy,
your days will bring gladness;
how welcome you are,
you month of March Madness.

The Bard of Sherman Avenue (AP file illustration)

He’s mostly just a pile of wrinkles,
this canine heap of folds and crinkles;
a Size M skin would fit him well,
instead he’s wearing X-X-L.

The Bard of Sherman Avenue (Wikipedia photo)

You claim to be a dog? Oh, please.
You’re pointless as a Pekinese.
Your bark is but the high-pitched squeak
that might come from a robin’s beak.

Your wee small body’s thin and frail
and weighs less than a real dog’s tail.
Your tiny teeth won’t bruise a mouse,
so how would you protect a house?
No Sunday paper could you fetch
nor any flying Frisbee catch,
and if perchance a cat you chase
you’ll disappear without a trace.

No canine do you seem to me —

Did He who made the Lab make thee?

The Bard of Sherman Avenue

The Little Angel On Our Tree

Each Christmas more wrinkled
and faded is she,
and slightly more timeworn –
a good bit like me.

What do you put on top your Christmas tree?

Left hook like thunder
and brave beyond measure,
the final bell rings
for Smokin’ Joe Frazier.

The Bard of Sherman Avenue

Some ghouls and zombies,
you will note,
ask not for candy,
but your vote.

The Bard of Sherman Avenue

To have you Pac-12
is a treat –
the Cougs need more teams
they can beat.

The Bard of Sherman Avenue

A whole lotta peein’s goin’ on in downtown Coeur d’Alene after hours. And, judging from the latest Downtown Bar Report, not all of that urine is finding its way into proper receptacles. In a recent 12-day period, CPD Blues arrested eight drunks for public urination, including a 26-year-old man we’ll call I.P. Freely. Seems I.P. suffers from a small bladder or a fundamental lack of modesty. Case in point: I.P. was caught watering the sidewalk after exiting the Rendezvous bar en route to Las Palmitas. When the cops asked I.P. why he didn’t pee at the Rendezvous, the drunk said the restrooms were full. Then he admitted he’d gotten a citation in June for public peeing. He’d just paid off the $190 for that fine two days earlier. One of many stories in our Urine-Part-Of-Town/DFO, Huckleberries, SR. More here.

Other SR columns:

• America's got questions for poor performer Jones/Doug Clark
• Smart Bombs: Dog days of journalism/Gary Crooks
• Scouts smiling about Spokane Indians catcher/John Blanchette
• Expedition Idaho will push competitors to edge/Rich Landers

Question: Have you ever accidentally witnessed someone urinating in public? Want to share your reaction?

Where the snow never falls
and sun can’t be found,
remember your children
who toil underground.

The Bard of Sherman Avenue

Snow in the night
rain in the day;
tired of April
ready for May.

The Bard of Sherman Avenue

He stood on the fringes
with a drink big and tall,
a very late bloomer
who may not bloom at all.

The Bard of Sherman Avenue

Question: When did you bloom?

They appear in the springtime
like flowers in the vale;
they appear in the springtime
and they all say, “For Sale.”

The Bard of Sherman Avenue

Kelly Bowen of Gonzaga takes control of a defensive rebound as the Zags beat Iowa.

Sound the trumpets
and fly the flags:
Sweet Sixteen, meet
the Lady Zags!

Are you following the lady Zags?

Be careful out there.
Slick, you know.
We got this last year.
It’s called snow.

The Bard of Sherman Avenue

They pay us good wages
to feel up your granny
in case she’s got A bombs
concealed in her fanny.

The Bard of Sherman Avenue

Those clouds you see
aren’t here to stay.
They’ll leave again
sometime in May.

The Bard of Sherman Avenue

This month turkeys
are selected;
some get stuffed and
some elected.

The Bard of Sherman Avenue

The trees are aflame
with a fire that’s soon gone
and leaves all the ashes
piled up on your lawn.

The Bard of Sherman Avenue

• CdA leaf pickup program starts Nov. 8
  

(Alternate version of Robert Frost poem for Rep. Phil Hart)

Whose woods these are I think I know,
their office is in Boise though;
they will not see me stopping here
to cut trees for my bungalow.

My followers won’t think it queer
to take some logs while no one’s near
off property I do not own -
they re-elect me every year.

They give their tin foil hats a shake
to indicate there’s no mistake;
the only other sound’s the sweep
that drooling on the ground will make.

The woods are lovely, dark and deep,
but I have court dates I must keep;
and logs to take before I sleep,
and logs to take before I sleep.

The Bard of Sherman Avenue