I’ve lost so many mugs over the years, Until they died – Smashed, of course, or handles breaking-off, Or suicide, Where they don’t survive the dishwasher, Or chipped around the rim – But still with years ahead of life To fill them to the brim.
I’ve lost so many mugs to carelessness, To always getting killed – Debited their only role, of holding drinks, By which they are fulfilled. And yes, I have a dozen others, but I have no other mug That looked and felt like this one, To be tossed with just a shrug.
Day 25 – Fracture – #inktober #inktoberpoem #inktoberpoetry
I love carbs, That’s the trouble. I love their flaky pastry, Waxy crumb, With sourdough That traps each bubble, Licking sponge cake Off my thumb. I know they’re bad for me, Like tons of fat, (Which they contain as well) But tell my taste buds that, They won’t agree. They think all carbs are swell. Now cabbage, there’s a food I’d gladly never touch again, Where each forkful that I’ve chewed Has brought a soupçonette of pain. I have no say on how my mouth confides to cruelly please me, By its watering to tease me With a punnet’s-worth of chips. I have no way to know how it decides What’s heaven on my lips, Like crackerbread in dips That slides down easy, Like the flooding tides That swell my hips, so nonchalant, For ev’ry croissant, as it grips, And makes my doughnuts rise. So I love carbs, That’s the trouble – Love their toasted barbs and hash brown frown, That double-up as roast potatoes, Bringing equal joys and woes, Like pizza on the morning after, Still worth scarfing-down. And what else can we use on which to spread The duck pâté ? Oh, need I say ? It’s carbs, I said ! The greatest thing since seeded bread.
Day 24 – Bake – #inktober #inktoberpoem #inktoberpoetry
I like to imagine the German herders Driving the buffalos (European buffalos) Through the Mainthal slopes to Frankenfurter, Or Burgenburg, or one of those, On horseback, down the country lanes, Avoiding the dorfs of the upper reaches, As they camp each night on the lonely plain, In red-check smocks and indigo breeches, Through torrents of rain and insane heat, Till at last they meet the mighty Rhine At Fort Mainz, down the dusty Main Street, With two hundred head of two-ton kine. Of course, they’d need to emigrate first, To the bauer-ranches of the brave Old West, Through the ödland odd-lands, with a rye-schnapps thirst, In Sankt-Franz City, or New Budapest.
Day 23 – Dapper – #inktober #inktoberpoem #inktoberpoetry
If one fire burns atop the hill, It means that ships are seen afar – It means that those who wish us ill Have maybe raised a windward spar. A single fire ten miles away, But faster than a horse can say.
If two lights flare upon the crest, It means their ships are bearing-down – So send the message from the West To warn the King in London Town. As two-by-two, along the chain, Not stopped by fog or wind or rain.
If three pyres blaze-out from the heights, It means their armies have made land – So muster troops and ships and knights, And march to where the flames were fanned. Three bright brothers in the dark To shout for help to save the spark.
Day 22 – Hero – #inktober #inktoberpoem #inktoberpoetry
These days, there are too many shrews, And most aren’t even shrews at all – They’re tree-shrews, or they’re otter shrews, Or distant strangers who confuse, And some are even elephants, but small.
But only OG shrews are true shrews – None of these opossums out to steal That early-mammal look that many lose, But which, with dedication, a few choose To keep pursuing, like the shrews for real.
These days, there are too many shrews, And only one of them are fit for Kate – They’re far more noble, paying dues For meek imposters in their shoes, Who we are all-too-ready to conflate.
Day 21 – Hero – #inktober #inktoberpoem #inktoberpoetry
The many lives of the living room, Where days and years are passed in chat, In the sun of the afternoon. Once, when this was a drawing room, And the wing-back chairs were stiffly sat, Then the withdrawn would commune. Or maybe it was a parlour, Kept strictly locked and saved ‘for best’, Or playing simple games, Or pianoforte Mahler, Or later on, the TV, while we’d rest, And watch the dancing flames. The more relaxed, the more we’d scrounge The furniture – a cosier eclectic, Upon which our tabbies purr. So these days it’s the lounge, And despite its name, it’s ev’ry bit as hectic As it’s many forebears were.
Day 20 – Lounge – #inktober #inktoberpoem #inktoberpoetry
My mental spark has blown a fuse, My neural net is down – My binary just cannot choose, My thoughts have all left town, I just can’t cotton-on my loom – Now…why did I come in this room…?
My lights are on, at half-a-watt, But no-one’s in my head – My memory is quite forgot, My reckoning is dead. My vanity is all in vain – Now…what was I about again…?
My staying power’s called it quits, My flow is far too dense – My balanced humours lost their wits, My common makes no sense My confidence is all a con – Now…where’s have all my marbles gone…?
Day 19 – Confused – #inktober #inktoberpoem #inktoberpoetry
Tinamous are walking birds, And less a flock and more a herd – For they are nested in the clade Of ratites, who are flightless-made. They stalk the woods and grassy prairie Like the unflown cassowary, And we find great kinship here With emu cousins, and the rhea. And yet, the timorous still fly – Although in truth they rarely try, And much prefer to run away That take to clumsy flight, they say. So do they ever look around At ratites, stranded on the ground, To see how each evolved this trait Quite independently of late ?, And wonder if their future lies In never taking to the skies…? Or do they fear a coming trend Where they grow fat and can’t ascend ? It’s evolution pulls the strings And robs the kiwi of its wings, But also builds the ostrich tall – Will tinamous yet hear the call ?
Day 18 – Flightless – #inktober #inktoberpoem #inktoberpoetry
A dingus is an oddity, A thingamy commodity, A doodad is a doohickey With gubbins from a Buick, see ? Now, whats-ma-jigs and thing-ma-bobs Are diff’rent tools for diff’rent jobs, While gadgets are a gizmo-gimmick That the widget-jiggers mimic. All are just appliances To gussy-up contrivances, And driving users to distractions – Putting traps into contraptions.
Day 17 – Contraption – #inktober #inktoberpoem #inktoberpoetry
Photo by Santiago Sauceda Gonzu00e1lez on Pexels.com
Basketball Bandits
Beware the hoodlums of the hoops, The hard-men of the hardwood court – The nasty north-of-six-foot troops, The skinny, spindly, spivs of sport. Beware the squad of Mr Big, Their suits are pints, their arms are quarts – But best not call these tallboys ‘twigs’, Cos brass-nux make it hard to snort. Beware the squeaky-footed joints, Where shooters and their crews cavort – They’ll use your head to score three-points, And dunk your carcass in the port. Beware the grizzly Gangly Gang, Whose reach is long, whose limbs distort – The Longshanks Lads they couldn’t hang (Because the gallows are too short).
Day 16 – Gangly – #inktober #inktoberpoem #inktoberpoetry
