© W.H. Kennedy
Winner of the Humorous Written Section of the Silver Quill WA

By now it is no secret — when we shared one microphone.
A “sock” for every speaker, used for when they spoke alone.
They’d roll it on, then roll it off, each time they would recite.
But some just couldn’t get the knack — or maybe it was tight?

This led to a va/ri/et/y — in colour and in size.
And maybe sparked some mem/or/ries of bold and daring tries.
So des/pe/rate/ly they fumbled, the sock to swiftly don,
For they all were told; “Without one, that nothing would go on!”

They wouldn’t miss their moment! — they believed it was their right!
Each donned a flamin’ mike sock, just to stand there and recite.
Some looked like tiny booties, some were homely, soft and worn,
Some bright and bold, some black and old— some clearly sock-reborn!

The most nervous stood and fumbled, the sock once put in place.
Began their proud performances, joy lit each speaker’s face.
You could hear their deep emotions. Great poetry took wing.
They spoke into those odd-shaped mics, adorned with darn-ed bling!

Some chose to speak without a sock — their voices filled the room.
While others boasted proudly, with their mic and covered boom.
“It’s all for public safety,” they insisted when they spoke.
But I could sense a deeper thought that no one yet had spoke.

Youthful memories came rushing back — a thoughtful…Pregnant….pause.
Now older, wiser, more aware — they understood the cause.
They spoke aloud those treasured lines, each word a joyful stage,
With twinkling eyes and clever wit, the crowd could quickly gauge.

And when their final lines were done, with timbre rich and rhyme,
They wandered off without their sock — again, time after time!
The crowd cried out in playful shock, recoiling with a grin,
“You’ve left behind your flamin sock — go fetch it back agin!”

© W.H. Kennedy

Winner of the Humorous Written Section of the Silver Quill WA

By now it is no secret — when we shared one microphone.
A “sock” for every speaker, used for when they spoke alone.
They’d roll it on, then roll it off, each time they would recite.
But some just couldn’t get the knack — or maybe it was tight?

This led to a va/ri/et/y — in colour and in size.
And maybe sparked some mem/or/ries of bold and daring tries.
So des/pe/rate/ly they fumbled, the sock to swiftly don,
For they all were told; “Without one, that nothing would go on!”

They wouldn’t miss their moment! — they believed it was their right!
Each donned a flamin’ mike sock, just to stand there and recite.
Some looked like tiny booties, some were homely, soft and worn,
Some bright and bold, some black and old— some clearly sock-reborn!

The most nervous stood and fumbled, the sock once put in place.
Began their proud performances, joy lit each speaker’s face.
You could hear their deep emotions. Great poetry took wing.
They spoke into those odd-shaped mics, adorned with darn-ed bling!

Some chose to speak without a sock — their voices filled the room.
While others boasted proudly, with their mic and covered boom.
“It’s all for public safety,” they insisted when they spoke.
But I could sense a deeper thought that no one yet had spoke.

Youthful memories came rushing back — a thoughtful…Pregnant….pause.
Now older, wiser, more aware — they understood the cause.
They spoke aloud those treasured lines, each word a joyful stage,
With twinkling eyes and clever wit, the crowd could quickly gauge.

And when their final lines were done, with timbre rich and rhyme,
They wandered off without their sock — again, time after time!
The crowd cried out in playful shock, recoiling with a grin,
“You’ve left behind your flamin sock — go fetch it back agin!”