“Shall we go Parranda, Miranda?”
asked Prospero, with a wry smile.
“Father, you are all a lather,
if you think we can spend a while
in doing so. The answer, it is, ‘No!’ “
Posted in Poetry
Tagged #Miranda, #poetry. #poem, #Prospero, #TheTempest, @Shakespeare
It’s Thursday today;
but, it’s much more than just that:
it’s Happy Earth Day.
This is not a Haiku.
Why?
Because I don’t write those;
they are far too fiddly,
what with their syllable count
and line length;
I’ll stick to Free Verse,
where I can just roam
like a butterfly in Spring
visiting flowers.
Lawnmower at the ready:
stood down;
shears and trimming tools:
returned to their racks;
plans to clear a path:
put on hold.
“We’re keeping the weeds
to feed the bees.”
“Pob-bob-Bob!” said the gull.
“Yes.” I replied, but it should be ‘Pob-bob-bob-bob!’ as I have ‘two’ dogs.
“Pob-bob-bob-bob!” said the gull, correcting its earlier error.
“Precisely!” I said, ‘“You’ll get it right next time.”
“Pobbbbbb!” said the gull, which really wasn’t a very nice thing to say at all.
When Friday is done
it is time for the weekend:
so let fun commence.
I checked all pockets; fluff (or lint – I’m not sure of the difference); two sweets (still wrapped, possibly edible); some string; a few coins; a bus-ticket; a receipt; various other items of little use; but nothing that I could use to confirm who, or indeed ‘what’, I was.
They refused to allow my entrance. I foresaw my exit – and was soon unceremoniously ejected into the street.
Much later (some several years) I realised that all along I had had my library ticket tucked inside the cuff of my jacket.
Never mind, I shall remember it being there next time. If there is a next time. For whatever it was that I needed my ID for.
Edward lived every day
as if it was his first,
or his last;
green of experience in his youth
he learnt all that could
until he became a wizened old fellow.
One day,
whilst wearing a coat of brown, trimmed with a motley yellow,
he fell to the ground,
and just lay there.
As I wendelled my weary way,
I was wary that, one day,
I might be steeply inclined
to walk up a hill;
but, still, I thought to myself,
that’s probably
not
going to happen today.
Two hours later, looking back
(and looking down)
I realised
how
it might feel
to be a clown,
or (more likely)
a cloud.
Wandering about wondering
it really shouldn’t be allowed.
From the Black Sea?
Or just a black seagull?
Who knows?
I know that I don’t.
But, mine is to ask the questions
that others have no interest in answering.
It’s what I do.
A seagull in time saves nine,
so they say;
but, who ‘they’ are, is never mentioned.
and what are the ‘nine’ that are to be saved?
Ladies dancing?
I think not.
