Let us give our thanks to the universe for hosting us, Even if it doesn’t even know that’s what it does. And even if it does, it wouldn’t care that it had made us When it’s only accidental that its stellar constants aid us; And anyway, we’re here today – I guess we can’t evade us, Even though we’re only just-because. But anyhow, we’re here now, and that’s what really matters: Neither choked nor gasping, and neither froze nor burned. But anthro-cosmologic-thought just fills the void and flatters, For if we ever never were, we wouldn’t know we weren’t. So thank-you, universe, (not that you care) – Thank-you just for simply being there.
The leaves all grow each spring And the leaves all fall each autumn, But there’s some leaves firmly cling While the rest – the ground has caught ’em. I think the final leaves outstanding Wait till last, to clinch a nice soft landing.
If this were a day just to celebrate peace, And the end of the stupidity – If thenceforth we’d learned and if henceforth we cease All nationalist hostility – Then maybe I could be a little less blue, And not blame the soldiers so much For orders they only were following through For empire, oil, and such. And yes, I am fully aware that a war Is complex, and that leaders are deep – But still they are all politicians at core, With pollsters and headlines to reap. So soldiers get orders and carry them out, And sometimes civilians die – But that’s total war, and it’s too late to shout – We knowingly grabbed for the lie. They don’t want me carping, but fighting there too, But I know this war isn’t cricket. When his country comes calling, the patriot true Tells his hypocrite homeland to stick it.
It’s Halloween night, and I’m still right here – Death, you coward, you failed to appear ! Did you send forth your goblins and demons and wights ? Cos I’ve still got my wits and I’ve still got my lights. So where were the werewolves, the hairy-scare werewolves ? And where were the zombies and spectres and sprites ? Is it really too much to want to believe in Some un-hallows odd on All-Hallow’s Even ?
It’s Halloween night, and I’m still in the clear Death, you blackguard, you just ain’t sincere ! Plague and Pollution, Famine and War Now those are damn scary, and worthy of awe. Cancer and cold snaps and car wrecks are killers, Not witches or vampires – they don’t come near ! Vengeance and greed are the stuff of good thrillers, But I ain’t heard a peep from a banshee all year.
It’s Halloween night, and I’ve nothing to fear – Death, you pussy, you’ve lost all your sneer ! And a rubber spider or pumpkin grin Will scarcely scare me out of my skin. My heart’s barely strumming, So Death, if you’re coming, You’d best get a-frighting to stand any chance – So unleash your devils And skeletal revels – Quit tuning your fiddle, and strike up a dance.
Halloween, when the dead don’t walk, The wraiths don’t keen and the sprites don’t stalk, The shades don’t slink, nor devils prowl, The vamps don’t drink, nor werewolves howl.
Halloween, when the dead stay dead, The walls aren’t green and the sheets aren’t red, And physics’ laws still reign supreme – We’ve got no cause, yet still we scream.
Halloween, when the ghoul-less roam, Or sleep serene in their haunt-less homes – We walk this night with carefree airs, And won’t take fright, nor whisper prayers.
Halloween, when the kids raise Hell – It’s always been within their spell. They may look gaunt, but fake their gore – They only haunt from door-to-door.
Halloween, when the pumpkins smile, And folks convene in a gothic style – With tongue-filled cheeks and boozy breath, They dress as freaks and laugh at Death.
Halloween, when the graves aren’t stirred, The ghosts aren’t seen nor the banshees heard. Yet still we fret by thinking dumb When we forget how far we’ve come.
Halloween, when the mind plays tricks, And the silver screen gives us frights for kicks. For this one night, let’s dig suspense – Just don’t lose sight of our common sense.
Little Miss Schneiders has always loved spiders: From miniscule monies to long-leggèd striders, From purse-webs to orb-webs, to nursery sheet-webs, From cobbled-up cobwebs to fussily-neat webs. With eight legs and eight eyes (unless they have six eyes) And just the right size to pose no sort of threat. She loves all the spiders, does Little Miss Schneiders, And thinks that tarantulas make a fine pet – Who needs a red setter when eight legs are better ? (Her parent won’t let her, but she’s hopeful yet.)
Little Miss Schneiders is smitten with spiders, From burrowing wolves to ballooners and gliders. But best of all, surely, is knowing how Britain’s Are pussies – as cute and as gentle as kittens. Imagine Australia ! What lurks inside her ? There’s trapdoor and funnelweb, huntsman and redback ! But not for Miss Schneiders, who’s safe to love spiders – For all of her widows are false, and not black.
Ev’ry September sees Little Miss Schneiders Go searching the skirting and combing the coving – For this is the season when spiders go roving, The scent-spinning ladies and amorous lads, All looking to hook-up as mammas and dads. From bath-tub and cellar to guinea-pig hutch, And under the pelmets there’s eggs by the clutch. They dance on the walls and they sprint ’cross the rugs For eight gorgeous eyes and for eight-leggèd hugs.
Little Miss Schneiders has always loved spiders – They’re bigger than beetles and faster than slugs !
Acorns crunch beneath my boots – There’s far too many for the looting squirrels, howe’er keen. Are these too green ? Are these too brown ? A breeze shakes down a hail of fruits – I pick a fresh one up, and pop it from its birthing cup, And wonder if an acorn dreams Of pleated barks and soaring beams – And what if ev’ry one of these took root ? This lane would be athwart with trees ! Just think of how a trunk might shoot From ev’ry acorn, where they lay: At most an inch or two apart, I’d say – How long before their saplings start To touch, and merge, from verge to verge, Until a hedge of oak will choke This ancient right of way ? But if I take one home with me, Perhaps that wall will bare a gap Where flows no sap and grows no tree – But as I turn to leave, I see Another drizzle fill the lane, And when I try to find my spot I cannot – all is acorns once again.
Birds are flocking, Doors are locking, Autumn’s knocking once again. Seeds are podding, Berries nodding, Workers plodding from the train. Skies are frowning, Leaves are browning, Hats are crowning, coats are on. Days are cooling, Rains are pooling, Kids are schooling – Summer’s gone.
Rhyming Couplets 