then yawns and marches
to the back door.
To do her ‘business’
out in the world
of toads and frost.
Ears shaking
new found energy,
high speed into the warmth
and back to feather covers,
on birchwood frame.
Just right for a small child.
Resuming that familiar snore,
until, much later,
when the routine of daylight
takes away the boredom.
When darkness falls
she volunteers
and snoozes soundly
until six-eleven, precisely.
I kid you not.
when I woke but it wasjust a cupful of awes.So I asked my dear friendfor the Indian Blendbut it tasted like peeif you really asked me.But you chose to believethat all men are naive.So to hell and beyondI shall never respond.
by bold observers peeking, beyond closed lidsnor from the inside of those bible-bashing friends.Yet they are present and fulfil a noble purpose,fully respected by a man’s seedy companions,it makes a mockery of all the earnest words,as fear of God can punish not all moneychangers,and pleasant words will never soothe our wounds.And only the reflection has…
The only time it gets to restis when it’s working, which is odd.So many things attack the heart,from poisons to a lack of care.It takes some knowledge to be smartand give it always its fair share.The nutrients that drive your systemare not an option to ignore.Believe me, those who often miss themlive to their fifties,…
heels clicking,unhurried, rather strolling.Two hours late,I, like a girl,a whimpy one at that,I had stood there,pretending very wellto like the neighbourhood.But not quite blending in.‘Well, piss off, inner man,your lonely finger ofsuch righteous indignation,it just fell off, things happen!Buses break down,parents mingle,handbags lost,stolen carkeys,bridges flooded,blizzards roaming,stalkers, male,and those much softer,obnoxious cops,what counts is onlyshe is…
My sister married, once again.They said it was a joke,of all the Fatherland’s keen menwho would not mind the yokeshe picked a cousin, hers and minewhose wife had bought the farmthis cousin is quite fond of wine,the family viewed with alarmthe budding love unfold so fast,nothing could slow this trainwho knows how long this trip…
perhaps they’ve left now?A Sunday ev’ningin peace and company ofsome real poets.Oh God, please chase themfrom here to fields of hatredthat’s what they cherish.
