My Place

There’s a cicada in my kitchen
And it’s driving me insane
The incessant and shrill buzzing
Like a twist drill in my brain

I know he’s only trying
To call a mate to heel
But I’m slowly going batty
And he’s not the only deal

A gecko seems to like it
Behind my toilet door
He watches when I’m indisposed
You want to hear some more?

The green frogs sing a chorus
When rain begins to fall
All happy now they have the wet
Then shit all down my wall!

I have a bloody peahen
Who calls my house a home
She came along from God-knows-where
And no longer wants to roam

Two cats take up position
On bed or floor or chair
I think they have an inkling
If it’s in the way, they’re there.

And great humungous spiders
That make me jump in fright
They scuttle far too rapidly
And I’m too scared to fight!

And then there’s flies, the bastards
They piss me off right there
And mosquitoes love to bite me
It’s almost too much to bear

But when I sit and listen
To the songs that nature sings
And marvel at the creatures
With legs or fur or wings

Or feel the cool wind blowing
The scent of air so clear
It’s pretty much forgiven
I really like it here


Yep, a different style and a bit of fun.
I was writing something a bit deeper but there was a bloody cicada somewhere in my kitchen and it kind of ruined my train of thought!
That one will have to wait for another time!
♥
(now I know how to do it!)

An Ode

It hardly seems,
Five weeks since I met you.
I had heard of you,
From others.
You had quite the reputation.
Some accused you,
Of being too gregarious,
Of never being happy,
Unless you were,
The central character.
But as soon as I met you,
I knew it didn’t matter.
You were unlike anything,
I had experienced before.
As soon as you touched my lips,
I knew I was yours.
I needed to you,
More than I ever,
Thought I would.
You were so cool,
Some would say icy.
Messing with their heads,
And causing them pain.
But you never were to me.
I took every chance to have you,
Even going out of my way,
Just to see you.
But I knew it had to end.
One last tryst,
The morning I had to go.
And I was left,
Bereft.
Ten short days,
Were all we had.
But I wouldn’t trade them,
For the world.
I know you’ll never come to my town,
It’s too small to pique your interest.
I tried others,
But none of them were you.
I long for the day,
I can join you again,
I know you’ll still be there.
So this is for you,
My Starbucks Frappaccino,
My love.

Titanic

Her bow, once proud,
Now stands, decaying slowly,
In the frigid Atlantic Ocean.
Upright as if waiting to surge forward,
In the darkness.
Decks once strolled upon,
By ladies and gents,
Taking the sea air,
Before dining,
Now are strolled,
By creatures of the deep.
Woodwork and gilded statues,
Have no human eyes to admire them,
They stand in silent testimony,
To the craftsmen of the age.
The glass dome,
Above Her grand staircase,
Is twisted and broken,
The pressure too much for its,
Fragile beauty.
Portholes are dull,
Lit no more,
By the lamps,
Of rich and poor alike.
Cabins and meeting places,
Emptied but for ghosts.
Dining rooms and cafés,
Once crowded with patrons,
Awaiting meals,
Have menus that are memories,.
Their glassware and crockery,
Cracked and discarded,
Never again to serve.
The staff who waited tables,
And prepared repasts remain,
But for a handful.
The crowsnest ,
Where the lookout stood,
That fateful night,
The wheelhouse,
It’s windows smashed by the water’s force,
The funnels flattened,
The boilers scattered,
The great screws stilled,
The proud hull,
Torn in two.
Lifeboat davits,
That held the hopes,
Of so many,
But the deliverance,
Of so few,
Are empty,
Hanging over the void.
It is all seen now,
Through electronic eyes.
She once again,
Creates a magnificent vision,
Though never the one,
Her makers wished for Her.
She was the most celebrated.
Greater than her sisters,
The Brittanic, the Olympic.
All now lie still.
A combination of inferior alloys,
And human pride,
The desire for victory,
Saw her fail.
Lost before Her chance to shine.
Fifteen hundred,
Remain with Her.
Forever voyaging,
On the most beautiful,
Of the White Star Line.


A personal addition to this piece:
For some reason I have a very profound and deeply emotional response to vision of the Titanic and other shipwrecks below the ocean. I find myself mortally afraid of the idea of being out on the ocean in any type of large ship. Though swimming, fishing or sailing in smaller craft doesn't concern me in the least. And equally discomforted by the idea of being down at depth. My romantic notions lead me to believe that if there are such things as past lives, I must have perished in a sinking. I don't of course know how true this could be, but it always fascinates me that I feel this way.

The End

I feel
Hands
Around me
Clutching
And compressing

I smell
Breath
Above me
Alcoholic
And lusting

I hear
Voices
That are me
Crying
And pleading

I taste
Fear
Within me
Rising
And paralysing

I see
Shadows
Surrounding me
Darkening
And engulfing

I see
Sparks
Inside me
Blinking
And fading

I taste
Blood
Escaping me
Warm
And coppery

I hear
Sounds
About me
Retreating
And fading

I smell
Dust
Within me
Drifting
And settling

I feel …
…
…
…
…nothing.

Questions

What if the hokey pokey really is what it's all about?



Just a thought.
If anyone else has interesting questions such as this please feel free to add them in a comment.
I'll be adding any as I think of them