My upcoming collection, The Snowman Three Doors Down, also includes a few tales in verse. I should add that I write in strict verse forms simply because I like formal constraints. Here’s the beginning of “Pan and Kettle,” originally written for a nonsense issue of The Black Scat Review.

PAN AND KETTLE

Beneath an oak two figures sat,
Renowned in myth and fable.
The forest was their habitat,
Their odor like a stable.

They couldn’t help it that they stank,
And that the smell was numbing.
They lived without a water tank,
Bereft of basic plumbing.

These creatures were the Great God Pan
And his assistant Kettle.
They bore those names since time began,
Though they were flesh, not metal.

The Great God Pan was tall and hale,
A mix of goat and human,
But Kettle was anemic, frail,
And looked like Harry Truman.

When Kettle went to gather grubs,
As was his master’s order,
Pan settled back against the shrubs
To practice his recorder.