• The Cannon Free Library Writers’ Group meets every month on the second Wednesday, at 1pm.
    New members are welcome to attend, or to come to a meeting just to learn more.

  • It’s a very eclectic, very friendly group of writers who dole out their critiques–should one want a critique–with a dose of kindness.

Fog Bank

by Ed Nichols

This fog bank assigned purpose for today

As it forcefully keeps in touch with the ground

Is to move along its assigned pathway

Silently as it goes, making nary a sound

Trying to draw nourishment so as it grows bigger

Like a baby being fed from its mother’s breast

Its gentle movements show very little vigor

At first it is content to stop often and rest

This fog bank has developed near our mountain range

From its present location it may soon want to move

Like a grazing Hereford its position continually needs to change

Its opportunities for growth it wants to improve

Looking so soft white and fluffy

With no density of body at all

Why not call the cloud bank puffy

It is nice to identify with a name to call

It will follow its often-altered plan to mature

Accepting the way things are for the duration

It may be too late for a life-changing detour

Its maturing was left optional at the time of creation

The fog bank is migrating along the mountainside

It seems to be unsatisfied with where it is now

Forever change its shape, it continues to glide

Going as fast as the earthly terrain will allow

It continues moving up closer to the mountaintop

It will soon reach the point of no return

Any hope it can come back, we now drop

What is next for our fog bank we will soon learn

Severing its earthly contact with delight

Cutting its umbilical cord as it had vowed

It has left on its preordained celestial flight

My friends, we have just witnessed the birth

Of a cloud

What’s in the Newspaper?

by Jo-Ann DeWitt

Some days the news leaves you blue

And in an uncomfortable stew,

But count on Peanuts to give you a laugh;

He’s good to keep on staff.

Do you want to buy, sell or trade;

Many a deal waiting to be made.

Are you planning an event according to weather?

Beware, mother nature may surprise you with Hurricane Heather.

Do you need advice from Abby or Annie?

Should you boot or marry Danny?

Don’t put stock in your horoscope: it would be much safer to confide in the pope.

Yearning to create a new yummy dish?

This Emeril, Rachel or Martha can help you accomplish.

Stretch your brain with the crossword:

What’s another word for a cross-eyed bird?

News News News

Is it real, inspirational or fake?

Give or take;

Without news, we would live in a vacuum:

And even be left without zoom.

Nobody Better/Self Entertained                

by Ed Nichols

The distancing they are asking us to endure

That should keep us all so well protected,

It may be detrimental, to our psyche.

Almost for sure, we’re going to feel rejected.

But I have the answer to this manmade plight.

It’s a conversation of substance that we should master.

Just talk to the one that you know the best.

Make it all flowery with a touch of luster.

Start out with a topic that is not too deep.

Pick something that is enjoyable to talk about.

Don’t make it about dieting, you may eat too much.

You could realize too late that the other one is stout.

Both of your knowledge pools should be close to the same,

Or you may need some interpretations, by an intelligent elf.

Choosing your other talker, it is very important

There is nobody better to talk to, just choose yourself.

Being alone twenty-four hours a day

There is not a big chance you will be overheard

So say what you like even if it seems dumb.

Nobody will taunt you with “That sounds absurd.”

A good conversationalist I was turning out to be.

Things were going just fine, while enjoying my plight.

I could discuss what I wanted, any old time.

I concentrated on fantasy, that caused me no fright.

And then our pastor, with a mask on, stopped to offer a prayer.

And I soon started blabbing to her, more than I should.

Guess I said some things that let my cat out of the bag.

She then texted somebody just as soon as she could.

It wasn’t too long and there was a knock on my door.

With their long white coats on, they entered the hall.

I wasn’t comfortable with the scene, but I resisted not.

No good could come of it, there was no advantage to stall.

The thoughts I was thinking had a comical twist.

As youngsters, we kids would chide an erring one,

“the white coats are coming, the white coats are coming.”

Back then it was just our way of having some fun.

But the white coats were here to take me away.

You would think I was crazy or some such thing.

Serious they were, about getting my life in order.

How backward things are, dong ding, dong ding.

With their professionalism I was toying.

It just made me feel good.

They were totally lacking in humor,

I was having my fun, just because I could.

They took me through some doors

That had more than a double lock.

They said this would be my new home

And I would grow to like it, but that was a crock.

There should be somebody sane to gab with in here,

For I am just visiting in this unsterile place.

I was afraid that I, “we,” would be overheard,

So I quit talking to myself, at least to my face.

I’ve got to make some changes,

And it better be pretty darn soon.

Even I’m starting to believe

That I need this padded room.

I think a little fake news

Could help me quite a bit.

I will suggest that number nineteen

Push a lot of our people into the pit.

It could influence even those not infected

To contemplate things in different ways.

Reality would then be altered for sure.

They would remain noticeably queer for uncounted days.

The shrinks counseled together way too long.

When they finally decided that I could be right,

Nineteen had disproportionately influenced even them.

So immediately, they released me, from this, my plight.

It had been an eye-opening experience

That I really wish I could forget.

I’ll forever be hesitant to confide in my pastor,

But my conversations with myself, I do not regret.

Six Word Biographies for Year 2020

“The year that we stayed home.” –Vanessa Schermerhorn

“Things not clicking, jiving, instead: surviving.” –Ken Schermerhorn