|
First - a poem about a jellyfish: The Jellyfish
Undulating blob of gunk
Wobbling in the salty breeze.
Veiny and translucent in your beauty.
Once you were a mighty foe.
A gliding grace
Through the dark and murky ocean.
Stinging those who dared to touch.
Now you lie discarded.
Naked.
Laid bare upon the sand.
A small child raises heavy arms
And drops a stone.
You spatter grudgingly upon the rock. Second, a short one about giraffes: The Giraffe
The giraffe is one of my favourites.
I love the way they walk.
Graceful yet gangly.
Elegant oddballs.
Obsidian eyes filled with knowledge. A slightly longer one about trying to go for a drink last night despite all the odds: One Step
It's been raining
Though it's not removed the snow.
A foot of icy sludge
I battle through
In my quest for a drink.
One step.
After another.
One foot.
At a time. It's getting dark
Though the street lamps light the way.
Blackened scum of snow and cars
I battle through
For my lovely glass of wine.
One step.
Closer now.
One foot.
Slips but holds. It's not far
Though it feels it in this weather.
Cold and foggy, heavy - icy breath.
I battle through
The bar is now in sight.
One step.
The lights are off.
One foot.
Turns around and heads for home. And finally, a poem about taking bets on the first rude phrase our child will utter when he turns thirteen. All Bets Are On.
The book is open.
What'll it be?
The odds on favourite?
Let me see...
At the top it's the Bottle - 2 to 1.
"Leave me alone".
Close behind - a Carpet - 3 to 1.
"You don't understand me".
And 4 to 1 is "It's not fair".
A couple of outside chances
Double Carpet
33 to 1 with "Please may I".
And another runner
Making a mark it's
Burlington Bertie
100 to 30
on "Excuse me please". And they're off.
The child is born.
The child is born.
It learn to talk
It learn to walk
The phrases fly
But which'll it be
As 13 years pass by
It's neck-a-neck
For "You don't understand me"
and "Please may I".
"Please may I" is taking the lead.
I can't believe it.
"Please may I" is breaking away.
Through the 12 year stretch
Will she take it?
But what's this?
Coming from behind
At the last minute
"I hate you" from the back of the pack.
And "I hate you" wins by a nose. Anyone who wishes to place a bet on the favourite phrase of our child when he or she turns 13, is of course, more than welcome.
|