Category Archives: Poetry

The Unicorn: A Poem

The Unicorn

A teachers guide to to teaching children to read from Amazon.


John Taylor Jones

Joe Unicorn
Gazed in the pool,
Said, “That’s not me —
I’m no fool.”

But Greeny Frog said
From his lily pad,
“If that were not you,
It would be sad.
But it is you, all right,
Which makes me glad.”

Joe Unicorn looked
At Frog on the pad,
Gave a snort,
And this he said:
“From such a silly frog as you,
Who still believes in Santa Claus,
Am I to listen to your silly chatter
On things to me that do not matter?”

“Tis true,” said Squirrel
From the sycamore tree,
“Unicorns do exist
As you can see
From your tracks in the mud,
So don’t be such a fuddy dud.”

Said Joe Unicorn,“Nobody ever said that
Squirrels have brains.
They missed theirs
When God made trains.
Why don’t you scat,
You brainless rat?”

Wise Old Owl
Looked down from the tree,
Seeing only two
But not three.
“What is it that you believe?” he hooted.

Said Frog, “It’s that unicorns live
Just like Squirrel and me.”

Said Squirrel,“Yes me and Frog
Know what we see.”

Hooted the owl, “And where is this unicorn,
Him I don’t see.”

“Why, he’s right there in front of us
Under this tree,” said Greeny Frog.

“Yes,” said Squirrel, “Right next
To that log.
He says he doesn’t exist
In the most persistent way.”

“I see no unicorn,” hooted Owl,
“There is nothing there.
I say, take his word
And be on your way.


“Here comes a Yeti!”

And the owl flew away.

Hooted softly
The owl
From a more quiet perch,
“Some believe in
What isn’t there.
But those who don’t
Believe in themselves
Are caught in a snare
Which stops their progress,

So of self-doubt,


The End


Now if this critter turned just right, you would have a unicorn.

Now if this critter turned just right, you would have a unicorn.

John T. Jones, Ph.D.

Buhl, ID

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Roses: A Poem

RosesImage result for free pics yellow roses


John Taylor Jones

Georgia, my wife’s caregiver,
Sent me for flowers yesterday.
So I drove to the Mennonite Nursery
Out west of town’s to make my play.

Georgia had already planted some flowers,
A farmer’s wife who knows the way
Of flowers and many other things,
Of spading, hoeing, raking
To get the weeds out of the way.

Georgia had no need for roses.
For roses I was not sent.
But the roses had other ideas,
They grabbed me with their scent.

And the yellow ones enticed me
With the power of their hue.
The red ones yelled, “Buy Me!”
I came home with bushes, two.

The Mennonite girl
Took me to the perennial shed
Where gorgeous flowers grow.
Orange and blue and lavender,
And flowers of white and gold.

When I got home
With too many flowers
My roses were not welcome.
“There is no more room for roses” George said,
“We have enough roses in this bed,
“And planting roses is what I dread.”
I’m very old, my hair is gray.
I no longer work nor do I play.
But I was not born yesterday
And wisdom comes with age they say.
I told her to take the roses home,
To plant the perennials in
The black loam,
And went in the house to let her stew,
To see what she would finally do.

The roses are gorgeous
In my front yard,
Shining beacons to those who pass by.
The bees already love them.
The nectar so sweet.
And Georgia will brag about them
To all she meets.

The End
Here is a video on how to plant roses. John

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