Monthly Archives: September 2018

My Vegan Haiku

My Vegan Haiku

My Vegan Haiku

does not contain nasty bits,

and is safe for all.

The Tree That Fell Off Of A Branch.

The Tree that Fell off of a Branch

He never left us, we left him. Not the usual order of things, that’s for sure; but, sometimes, these occurrences just… well, just happen.

This is a story that may, or may not, be about trees or branches. Metaphors and similes, allegories and illusion, all are tools that can be used to add pure grist to the mill of the tale-creator.

–//–

PS / NB …and maybe this story will be continued.

Momenti Mori (At St. Ive Church, South East Cornwall).

Momenti Mori

The world passes by

as here I do lie

in contemplation of my days.

With others like me,

in perpetuity,

watching the Sun rise and set.

And, yet,

lest, one day, we are forgotten,

a record of our names

inside the church does lay.

What does it say?

So little of us,

apart from names and dates…

… the details of a few close relatives.

How were our lives?

What lead us to our fates?

“Good day!”

“Good day!”

The Sun to my left,

the Moon is opposite her;

they nod a ‘Good-day!”

One is going up,

the other is going down –

hope they never meet.

A Fiolin or a Viddle?

A Fiolin or a Viddle?

In England it’s a violin,

in Ireland a fiddle;

they do not have a name for it

when you journey in the middle;

sailing up the Irish Sea

with Eire on your left

and England on your right,

a name becomes bereft;

or travelling down

when they’re the other way round,

unless you could choose

to choose between

a Fiolin and a Viddle?

Upon Entering Recept3

Upon Entering Recept3 (work in progress)

Blaize Robertson had never seen the Moon before. Well, she had, but not from this viewpoint. She had never stood upon its surface and really looked closely at it – paid attention to it, as it were.

The journey had been long haul; but no worse than some flights had been around the old Earth back when that sort of thing was commonplace.

Since ED (Evac Day) had been announced and the names of participants revealed, Blaize had been anticipating the new life before her.

First out of the hat. Well, not an actual hat; but, being first, her name was foremost when the news was breaking.

Four-hundred souls between sixteen and thirty were thought to be the best number and age group with which to begin the continuation of Mankind’s existence. The Moon’s ability to sustain life being virtually none, the Moon Home was completed in less than two years from its conception.

The new arrivals would be invaluable in the task ahead of transferring more of Earth’s population as soon as could be achieved.

Nobody knew exactly when the Earth would stop functioning; but, when it did at least some of the 15 Billion souls would have the opportunity of a future.

Blaize passed through InPoint3 with no bother and headed for Recept3, her mind full of the racing thoughts that you get when entering a new home.

The day I nukerawaved my coffee.

The day I nukerawaved my coffee.

I nukerawaved the coffee

that I had from yesterdee,

then let it go cold

before I drank it down.

It really hit the spot,

no matter it wasn’t hot;

for, like as like not,

I wore the effects upon my face

just like a crown.

I know that makes little

or no sense

it is some coffee nonsense;

the type that gets me kicked right out of town.

And scanning this poem isn’t,

though it’s rhymes are rather pleasant,

like when you’ve missed a wandering pheasant,

a loitering in the road.

Which is not to say it’s worthy,

too long, and far to earthy (soft ‘th’ there as in ‘there’)

but, it’s all I have to offer

and to share.