October 18, 2014

 

 

I knew the wasp was dying;

it twitched as if in a haze.

It’s feelers slowly turning,

it’s body, a wobbly craze.

 

I wondered if I should remove it,

but decided to leave it on the bridge,

and let nature take it’s course,

as watching over it, was a midge.

 

 

 

September 16, 2014

 

 

No evidence seen

of teeth marked gnaws;

(ice cannot be entered

until it thaws.)

 

So this being life

with all it’s flaws;

no pheasants present,

they caught jackdaws.

 

Then went about

their daily chores,

knowing the cauldron’s

contents held sinister claws.

 

And in the cauldron

of lost cause,

simmered withered hopes,

through metal gauze,

 

now riddled with rust;

too long the pause,

when stop/start action

gained little applause.

 

And though the cauldron

broke no laws;

old as time excuses

from open jaws.

 

 

 

September 6, 2014

 

 

He was normal as nine pence,

wi’ a full tuppence change.

Tho’ the tanner in his hand,

he would have to exchange,

 

or press button B

like a fruit machine hit,

to collect a few coppers,

and a thre’penny bit.

 

He was rich wi’ a florin,

and king wi’ ‘alf a crown.

but the farthings were heavy,

and weighed his pant’s down.

 

 

August 28, 2014

 

 

He was intent

my thought process

to invade;

to cut short the muse

within my mind.

 

But I content,

no acknowledgment

made,

and did flatly refuse,

without being unkind.

 

But still intent,

persistence he

did keep;

his fingers waving

as if at will.

 

So I did invent

a most dishonest

sleep,

until his fingers dropped,

and lay quite still.

 

 

 

 

 

Oh moonsong

lamenting at my window;

what wants you now of me?

 

Oh moonsong

chanting by my window;

in peace leave me to be.

 

Oh moonsong

fading from my window,

behind the citrus tree.

 

Oh moonsong

return again next morrow,

so alive, I know, I be.

 

 

 

 

 

…and like potatoes

that are boiled,

but not enough;

the meal now spoiled.

 

A few more minutes

on the job,

won’t hurt the palate

or the hob.

 

 

August 11, 2014

 

 

It seems that birds

throughout the land,

had been touched by

Percoughalees’s guiding hand.

 

Each one willing

and of their own volition,

had all bought into,

his secret mission.

 

His stay never long,

for with the rising sun,

he felt the need,

to then move on.

 

And all the birds

called out his name;

‘Oh Percoughalees’,

they did proclaim,

 

in echoing tweets

of contrasting notes.

It seems each one,

he had their vote.

 

They knew him well;

he’d travelled far.

Many lives he’d lived,

under many a star.

 

But always, at the

back of his mind,

was his one true love,

he’d left behind.

 

And though still grieving,

from the loss,

he felt someday again

their paths would cross.

 

The unrequited love

that he still yearned,

for dear Mendotta,

in his soul now burned.

 

And all the birds

that had acquiesced,

and flown into

his temporary nest,

 

to give him solace

in times of need,

were just a quick fix

to stem the bleed.

 

And with lack of sleep

through restless nights,

Mendotta was clearly

back in his sights.

 

And with the new sun

high in the sky,

he knew his love for her

would never die.

 

Now the time was right

to continue his search,

leaving high and dry,

other birds on their perch.

 

Those casual callers

and fly-by-nights,

who said they wouldn’t,

but he knew they might,

 

didn’t mean a thing

at the break of day,

for it was towards Mendotta,

that his heart did sway.

 

And with this in mind

on his morning stroll,

his heart skipped a beat;

he was on a roll.

 

He now knew for certain

where his priorities lay.

He would search every cove

and each sandy bay,

 

in a last ditch attempt

to realise his dream,

and make Mendotta

his Queen supreme.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Our naughty Nance

just loved to prance

amongst the London elite.

 

But not a chance

had our naughty Nance,

of landing a titled seat.

 

For our naughty Nance

was unable to dance,

because of her two left feet.

 

So she fled to France,

did our naughty Nance,

hoping a Count to meet!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

August 5, 2014

 

 

Percoughalees found himself

on Rodney Bay,

where he met a dog

who was a stray.

 

They strolled together

for a while;

maybe perhaps as far,

as half a mile.

 

Until he met a girl,

who was an easy lay,

and the dog, disgusted,

went on his way.

 

 

 

 

And in the heat of

such a storm,

words spat out

in bitter form.

 

Not meant, nor true

and just like speed,

gather momentum

as hot air free’d.

 

And then the calm

that surely follows,

when swifts arrive

and dance with swallows,

 

to lighten the moment

and distract the mind,

making nonsense of the past

now left well behind.

 

And as the streets

dry out from the rain,

gone is the anguish

one can’t explain,

 

that in the heat,

of such a storm,

built up and bubbled

in grotesque form.

 

 

 

 

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