Path of Beast Resistance


Path of Beast Resistance --A Limericked Shun on Taking a Run


My friend and I, we log our miles,

Treading trails with smirks or smiles.

We run or walk

And often talk,

But sometimes we face terror trials.


The kinder people lend us space;

They grin and move along apace.

Yes, some will nod,

As on they plod,

But others echo dark disgrace.


For this, we seldom run alone.

Although our fears be overblown.

It just takes one

To come undone,

When faced with fiendish goon or crone.


Who knows what lurks within the wood,

For evil or perhaps for good.

Each step we take,

For Heaven’s sake,

We might be safer in the ‘hood.

c2021 by Linda Ann Nickerson

Image: Still from Sealskins, 1932


You Schmooze, You Lose - Pandemic Blues


The world’s gone bonkers; there’s no doubt.

We’re closeted by those with clout.

We simply can’t come out to play.

The virus has to go away

Because we cannot schmooze.


My muscles sag. My nerves, they knot.

My language, it has gone to pot.

I don’t hold back a darn or heck.

The house is clean, but I’m a wreck

Because we cannot schmooze.


It’s growing harder to assess

My errant need to underdress.

In leggings, PJs, sneaks and sweats,

I cruise the town with no regrets

Because we cannot schmooze.


We stare at screens to catch a glance

Of folks who can’t see we’ve no pants.

We splurge on foods to snack in beds.

We’re bleary eyed with pounding heads.

Because we cannot schmooze.


We want to wear our fancy clothes

And breathe fresh air with unmasked nose.

We want to push and shove and hug,

And yet we can’t without a drug.

Because we cannot schmooze.


Get lost, Corona. Hit the bricks.

We’re sick of science, politics.

We’ve had enough, and we don’t care

Just get out of our uncut hair.

Because we cannot schmooze.


Pandemic life has no panache.

But will it come out in the wash?

c2021 by Linda Ann Nickerson