901

A man worked for the Post Office and his job was to process any mail bearing an inaccurate or illegible address.

One day, a letter came, written in shaky handwriting to God, but with no actual address. He opened it to see what it was all about.

The letter read:

Dear God,

I am an 81 year old widow, living on a very small income. Yesterday someone stole my purse. It contained $100, which, which was all the money I had until my next payment arrives on pension day.

This coming Sunday I had arranged to invite my two closest friends over for dinner. Without this money, I've nothing to buy food with. I haven't any family to turn to, and you're my only hope. Can you please help me?

Yours sincerely,

Agnes Jackson

The postal worker was touched. He showed the letter to all his colleagues and each one dug into their pocket or purse and came up with a few dollars. By the time he made the rounds, he'd collected $91, which he quickly put into an envelope and sent to Agnes.

The rest of the day, all the workers felt a warm, inner glow thinking of Agnes Jackson and the dinner she'd be able to serve her friends.

Sunday came and went.

Some days later, another letter arrived from Agnes Jackson to God. All the workers gathered round while the letter was opened.

It read:

Dear God,

I just cannot thank you enough for what you did. Because of your gift of love, I was able to arrange a glorious dinner for my friends. We had a really nice day and I told all my friends about your miraculous gesture.

Bless you Lord,

Agnes Jackson.

PS: Incidentally, there was $9 missing, but I think it may have been those thieving bastards at the post office!

Nancy Reagan's Letter of Forgiveness to John Hinckley:

People could all learn so much from this elegant and gracious 90+ year-old lady.

You might recall that John Hinckley was the seriously deluded and deranged young man who shot President Reagan in 1981.

Hinckley was absolutely obsessed with the movie star Jodie Foster and, inside his twisted head, he loved her so much that, to make himself well thought of by her, he decided to assassinate President Reagan. But his mission was destined to fail - the President was badly wounded but he survived the attempt on his life.

There is now some speculation that Hinckley might soon be released, having been considered rehabilitated. Consequently, you will all appreciate the following letter from Nancy Reagan, addressed to Hinckley:

To: John Hinckley

From: Ms Reagan

10th May

My family and I wanted to drop you a short note to let you know how pleased we are with the great strides you are making towards your recovery.

In accordance with our country's spirit of understanding and forgiveness, we wanted you to know that we bear no grudge against you for shooting President Reagan.

We are fully aware that extreme mental distress and pain could well have driven you to commit this act of desperation.

We are confident that you will soon make a full recovery and return to your family to rejoin the world as a healthy and productive man.

Best wishes,

Nancy Reagan and Family

P.S. While you have been incarcerated, President Barack Obama has been banging Jodie Foster like a screen door in a tornado. You might want to look into that.

902

There was a young man from Saint Johns
Who wanted to bugger some swans.
"You can't," said the porter,
"Instead take my daughter;
The swans are reserved for the dons."

In the top Games, my hero named Bruce
Whose overrated wad was of no use.
This wastage got Jenner
To turn so transgender
That my shady Kardashians won't refuse.

903

[The title of the anagram verse alludes to the last lines in the original.]

Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?

Thou art more lovely and more temperate:
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
And summer's lease hath all too short a date:
Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,
And often is his gold complexion dimmed,
And every fair from fair sometime declines,
By chance, or nature's changing course untrimmed:
But thy eternal summer shall not fade,
Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow'st,
Nor shall death brag thou wander'st in his shade,
When in eternal lines to time thou grow'st,
So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see,
So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.

AS EVER, A SONNET

This month is May, the fifth one of the year;
Hath days, I'd note, that sum as thirty-one.
In bird-filled skies, sweet melodies you hear;
Spring blossoms are abloom in golden sun.
Made rather more elated as it shone,
Our hearts are full of peace and hopefulness.
New births are given this green handsome stone:
The emerald, an emblem of success.
High youth hurrah, sure glad that school soon ends;
Indeed, when next, vacations are in store.
Some time we all devote as each commends
Memorials to soldiers lost through war.
And mind the most important thing of all:
You can't forget to give your mom a call!

904

[Vincent Bell a.k.a. Steve's "He's 25" A poem for Freddie Gray is anagrammed into another 22-liner "April 25" A poem for Nepal with the acrostic constraint Médecins Sans Frontières, the Nobel Peace Prize laureate that's currently assisting in the ongoing Nepal rescue operations. Subject poem can be found here]

"He's 25" A poem for Freddie Gray*
by Vincent Bell a.k.a Steve

He's 25 running and he is scared,
he's 25 running because the officer STARED!

Not knowing what will happen when he's caught,
wishing to be somewhere else could be his thought.

Lying in agony and pain while on the ground,
pleading for help officers ignore his sound.

Force to stand as his legs limp,
witnesses close by here his wimp.

Rushed and shackled into a van,
barely enough room for an 8 year old to stand.

Handcuffed behind his back you think you seen it all,
driver make abrupt turns he can't break his fall.

As this happens over and over again,
Freddie Gray's time is coming to an end.

In a coma for only a few days,
he's 25 his young life can't be saved.

Surprisingly this was video taped,
this is one time Baltimore police won't escape.

All six officers charged in this unfortunate death,
let's hope and pray history won't repeat itself.

To all in ear shot of this poem,
let's protest in peace and keep our hearts warm.

"April 25" A poem for Nepal

Mount Everest shook, the earth did crack;
epicenter was the Gorkha district, his village of Barpak.

doctors Without Borders and the Red Cross'
emergency measures can not soften our loss.

centuries-old buildings in the Kathmandu Valley,
including Kasthamandap and the temple Panchtale;

neighboring China is India and Bangladesh;
sniff the foul odor of decaying flesh.

Silently finishing the hushed songs we sang,
avalanches intensify the morbidity in Langtang.

never obey April 25's whispered ill;
shows off snapped photos of grey nil.

Feel why the wretched flee;
ripped our sobbing family.

operation Sankat Mochan wasn't enough;
now we witness babies disappear in a puff.

those aftershocks within 25 minute intervals
i hear of more casualties in higher locales.

experiencing April 25, yet his deadliest day;
rescue us if you're on the way.

every person has heard over 8 thousand gone;
someone has to bury the bodies at dawn.

907

Just like a football I am kicked aroun'
I refuse to let such things get me down
I shall e'er keep in sight
And strive with all my might
To press toward the goal to claim my crown.*

The egoistic FIFA man called Blatter;
His economic world would gloomily shatter.
Got a team with punks --
Its higher level skunks!
His timely departure was no joking matter!