Treasure
Trove
I
sent the parcel, would you believe,
it
should arrive Monday, if you please,
the
postie called, he knocked on my door,
ironing
can wait, I'm coming I called,
the
parcel was large, not quite a barge,
thanked
the postie, then slammed the door,
raced
up the steps, muscles resist,
steady
up, please give me a break,
I
reached the top, a decision. What do I do?
Finish
the ironing. Take a peak what's inside,
work
had to be done, the surprise could wait,
Later
I opened the package, my eyes opened wide,
opened
the envelope, there stood my dream man,
ripped
off the paper, I found a bag of immense proportions,
red
was the color, not much more to be said,
unzipped
the bag, more presents I did find,
Italian
words did meet the eye, heaven greeted me,
nougat
with nuts, I nearly died,
I
searched some more, red greeted my eyes,
a
laptop bag, just what I wanted,
at
the bottom, I found a box,
red
slippers, just what I needed,
thanks
for the presents, they were great,
my
birthday, Easter, Mother's day,
will
never be the same, I thank you once again.
At
Rest
This
is a story about a young man called Fred
who
should have been home safe in bed,
but
he was out driving his flashy new car,
he
decided to stop at the bar,
on
closing time he staggered out the door,
he
started the car, put his foot to the floor,
burning
rubber fouled the air
shot
forward like a two bob lair,
the
car took the corner with squeal of tyres,
sheer
bliss shone from his tired eyes,
on
coming car lights did blind him
smashing
of metal caused such a din,
sparks
like fireworks lit up the dark
as
the car rolled and rolled toward the park,
luckily
there were no children at play
the
homeless guy on the bench won't see another day,
parents
wait at home for son who did roam,
screams
split the nigh when told Fred won't be home,
tears
did flow as wide as the river
Fred
was lost to them forever,
here
lays Fred who thought he was clever
his
life cut short for his endeavour,
he
didn't handle the speed under the bonnet
people
will remember him when hearing this sonnet,
will
remember families who still grieve
when
their children aim to deceive,
Saint
Peter waits by the Heavenly gate
for
Fred to arrive with his note on a silver plate.
“Where
am I? How did I come to be here?”
“Heaven.
Speed can kill, did you hear?”
“I
thought I could control the car.”
“Your
first mistake was to walk into the bar,
then
to get behind the wheel. Think you were God.”
“Are
you going to let me pass, you rotten sod?”
“I'm
sorry but you'll have to wait in line
because
you arrived here well ahead of your time,”
Fred
banged his fists on the gate. He wanted to go home.
He
pleaded. Begged. But he was soon left alone,
tears
fell like rain that day
because
he didn't have his own way,
now
there is a headstone with his name,
for a
lad who played a deadly game.
Far
Off Dreams
Lonely
but safe, my soul mate
has
departed for new horizons,
children
is all I have
to
keep me afloat,
I
will not go under
I
will survive to go on,
another
lesson learned,
I
stand at the door
listen
to many languages,
smell
fried bananas
float
on the evening breeze,
oriental
spices, curries,
fish,
burning meat,
I
wonder how we'll eat,
the
pantry is nearly bare,
money
short, bills arrive,
children
play, make new friends,
the
world is their oyster
they
do not feel the strain,
they
adjust, life goes on,
I
watch ships at anchor,
boats
skip across the water,
I
dream of far away places
where
there'll be no pain,
of
streets paved with happiness,
a
knight in shining armour
rides
to our rescue,
carries
us toward the
setting
sun, to a land
of
luxury away from the smells
leaving
behind the salty sea air,
noisy
birds, yelling children, fog horns,
to a
place of rolling hills
green
grassy slopes,
a
castle filled with servants,
I
return with a thud
to
the house we occupy,
“Where's
dinner, Mum?
We're
hungry,” dream fades,
tears
blur my vision.
Fear
Stand
up. Be counted,
Time
for women to rule,
don't
fall by the wayside,
show
men we stand proud,
we
will not take their abuse,
Men
who abuse women
must
pay for their crime
be it
mental, or physical,
left
to raise the children
seeded
in the heat of the moment.
We
have been slaves to love,
a
passion which burns inside,
hands
that strike fear,
tears
families asunder
leaving
broken family behind.
Sink
or swim. Run for life,
Don't
look back to what might
one
day change, or die,
look
to save your family
from
love turned bitter.
Danger
A
mushroom cloud of dust
rose
high above the city,
people
ran for their lives
in
fear of exploding bombs,
screams
rent the nightmare
while
searching loved ones.
How
many had reached freedom
before
the pillars crumbled,
loud
noised herald the danger,
the
cracking of the pillars,
holding
up the roof, now dust,
rubble
spread far, wide.
Was
it an earth quake?
A
bomb. Time would tell,
once
the dust settled
survivors
searched furiously
for
loved ones, friends,
time
was of the essence.
Blind
Justice
Justice
was seen to be served
this
cold winter's morn,
the
sheriff had made his quota,
the
magistrate hoodwinked by lies,
the
monk taken another soul,
a
victim stood ready to swing
with
the noose around his neck
he
sang a song of love to his wife,
heavy
with child she cast a curse,
she
pushed through the crowd
with
a sack in her hand,
knelt
before her husband's accusers
to
grab a cock from the sack
then
slit the throat with a dagger,
tossed
the cock at the men
who
stood, eyes fixed on the headless bird
while
it rolled in the snow,
with
everyone occupied
she
crept silently away
to
become a hunted outlaw.
Art
Display
Art
is art.
Bring
any old thing.
A
kitchen sink,
broken
rings,
shine
up a piston,
a
bath or two.
Batter
saucepans,
an
old loo,
bottles
dipped in wax,
bobby
pins joined together,
a
paddle pop house,
some
old leather.
A
rooster made of tin,
maybe
you could use lead,
someone's
wooden leg,
or
the head of a broken bed,
A
ripped shirt covered in dirt,
a
covered in bird poo.
Working
with paints
is a
messy game,
the
artist is being creative.
What
a laugh.
There
are better patterns
on a
spotted giraffe.
Paint
can be a mystery,
take
you on a long journey
way
back into the past,
give
me beautiful scenery,
a
lion, a tiger, a wolf,
they're
not as scary as splats.
Uncle
George
The
glory of god rains down on you
angels
come to take you on a long journey
through
the land of dreams,
where
there is peace, no pain,
to
join your family
in
the house of the lord.
Tears
will flow, wash away pain,
memories
will linger in their life,
family
will remember sadness, joy,
of a
man who fought to the end
to be
there for his family
through
hard times, good times.
This
year, you finally have it right,
we
won't see you this Christmas,
in
person, only in our memories,
memories
of a man with a big heart,
an
infectious smile, a helping hand,
suffering
pain, now a distant memory,
We
wish you well,
may
you climb many mountains,
swim
calm waters,
rest
in your rocking chair,
watch
beautiful sunrises, sunsets,
while
you watch over all you have left behind.
Fairies.
Fairies.
Fairies. Fairies everywhere.
Tall
ones. Small ones.
Pink,
green, purple
with
tiaras, wands,
bumble
bees, witches too,
they
danced in the aisles,
shout,
sing along
with
the grown fairies
performing
on the stage,
the
show was over
all
too soon, didn't do an encore,
which
was a fizz
for
the young fairies
who
came to watch the show,
mothers
grabbed hands,
escaped
the milieu
to be
front in line
for
photos with Bumble Bee,
Harmony,
Rhapsody, Wizard,
mums
became poorer,
merchandise
walked out the door,
truck
waited, stock loaded,
rushed
off to disappoint once more.
The rugs are what I crocheted in my spare time to be given to charity. Meaning the rugs are given to those in need. With Winter moving in a lot of the flood victims need a little sparkle in their life to give them comfort, and warmth.
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