'Untitled', written on 15 May 2013
I get it now
when I was a kid
my Mum used to spoil me
- still does!
I’m “her baby”
the youngest of four
but it wasn’t
she would spoil me
There was a man, he had a hat,
The hat was white, well fancy that!
It wasn’t the sugar sweet
Words of love
From your mouth
Please don't hate me
although I'm secretly a man who loves to be hated.
please don't call me a yellow nigger
unless you really mean it.
I can't hate you either,
I'm thinking of employing Damn, Blast and Sodit because I need to swear!
An unconventional and often silly poem about death and dying.
Road construction ahead. Another pending relationship. Potentially harmless. A fly stuck to the windshield. Its smashed body meaning as much as the life it once had.
A display of warmth and blush would once make its way down the tree.
Gracefully it left, like a final bow at the end of a play; so frail, yet, quite tender to the eyes of the admiring audience.
If I could, I would sleep all day and wake in the brilliant night
Day expects too much
Day expects grass to be green; the sky to be blue
Did the moon kiss your shaking phalanges?
To end the light,
To end the day and start the night.
When I almost physically can't breathe any more
When the wretched emotion of hate fills me just waiting to pour
I think of a cat with a furball and want to retch it all up
Mice or Mouses?
Teaching my mice English is not so bad,
When the lesson is finished my mice are glad.
I put my heavy book away on the shelf.
Sometimes I have been known to talk to myself.
We are traditionalists
In our village