The field of daisies,
brightening up the view of the palace,
pushed up by generations.
Tag: humour
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Ode to Spring
Forming a watercolour from a sketch –
new blooms and leaves are springing up on trees.
At five o’clock the pigeons squall and kvetch –
one wants to grab them by the neck and squeeze.
Deciduous adults drop woolly socks,
teenagers sprout knees and belly-buttons,
their clothes bloom into heterodox;
the streets are full of lambs that dress as muttons.
The warming sun incites the happy shirkers
as winds are loosing their winter punch.
The lawns fill with blooming office workers
and rubbish left from their picnic lunch.
The fuel-poor stop heating and start eating,
with fuller stomachs hearts begin to sing.
As life begins anew, the sheep are bleating.
The spring has come. Hooray for blooming spring. -
Spring Nonsense
The life on Mars
is rather sparse.
It’s very hot
and dry on Mars.
They grow mushrooms
in the dark
and walk their ogies
in the park.
They walk, so couth,
with gravitas,
for gravity
is big on Mars.
There is a festival
of spring
to bounce wildly,
scream and sing.
They light the lanterns
by the stream
and eat their mushroom-root
ice cream.
The ogies frolic
off the lead,
they quack and squeak
and pay no heed.
The spring is full
of mirth and girth,
it’s worth on Mars
its worth on Earth. -
Let’s Talk About Love…
And once again – let’s talk about love.
The spring had sent our hearts and lips aflutter.
Wild pigeons coo, cats scream, girls preen, men mutter,
while cupids in the clouds up above
adjust their nappies and pick up their bows,
with whoops of joy they go hell-for-leather.
It’s their season as all heaven knows:
they hunt in summer, they are dressed for weather.
The cupids bet who’ll bag the biggest number,
intent on their prey they push and shove.
They rush to live before their winter slumber.
But I digress… Let’s talk about love.
Let’s talk about sharing what’s dear
and feeling awkward when the other’s gone.
The dread of loss replacing loss of fear
and sense of joy replacing fleeting fun.
About warmth amidst the deepest cold,
being a distance runner, not a sprinter,
your stamina replaces speed of old.
You know joy in spring and love – in winter. -
SWALK
I don’t believe in fate
and yet my fate is sealed.
Before I knew myself
you sealed it with a kiss.
I fought my self and yours,
but open wounds re-healed
until the flames of pain
extinguished with a hiss.
Alas, secure fate
went quickly off the rail:
you sealed it with a kiss
and dropped it in the mail. -
Travel etiquette
Standing squashed on the train,
through persistent migraine
going down the drain
with the dregs,
look around and up,
squeeze your gaze in the gap
‘twixt the arms and the crap
in the bags.
Think of people inside
this elaborate hide
made to coddle and hide
their fears:
some are dressed to impress,
some are dressed to possess,
some are dressed to undress,
it appears.
As they hang off handrails,
in the hamster-wheel race,
do your best to embrace
their sorrow.
Don’t be sad, don’t be mad.
Smile and nod, look ahead.
They or you could be dead
by tomorrow.
