There’s an opening… near my bed
It’s an air vent…to my head
There are flies buzzing around it
And ants crawling along it
I think something should be said
Well, I went to a doc
They gave me honey drops
Smear it round your head crack
Put it in your bed sack
All in all, the advice seemed tip-top
But now I’m dealing with wasps as well
And that’s really less than swell
A sting would mean personal death
And terminate my faltering breath
These are anxious times, can’t you tell?
So, I wiped away the nectar
And constructed a deflector
Those insects don’t stand a chance
Denying their existence I did a joyful dance
This is a singular psychological sector
I still like honey though
And in drinks.
Sometimes, when I take a pause for thought, I will notice the outside world.
For example, there is a tree located in one of the backyards of the buildings two or three doors down from me. Through my window door I can see that tree. And in that tree there is a blue plastic bag.
Blue Bag has been there ever since I moved back in – over a year ago now.
Blue Bag seems to be firmly stuck; it has survived thunderstorms, hailstorms and rainstorms comfortably and easily. It has braved occasional attacks from pigeons and gulls with smile firmly fixed.
Blue Bag does not ask questions.
Blue Bag just sways in the breeze, hanging on to the branches, surveying the scenery.
I wonder where Blue Bag will be another year from now.
Still in the tree, or down on the ground?
10 years ago I was looking for a flat.
10 years ago I stayed at home
10 years ago a process had begun
10 years ago the world came rushing in
Some days go slowly
Some decades go quick
10 years ago panic gatecrashed
I stayed at home, perfectly sick
News from the ether:
All of our tracks are now perfectly free to download… give us a listen, download and share, share, share away…
A journey through poe-try and experimental pop awaits…
We all get ’em.
And it could be so much worse.
Mustn’t grumble, cry out loud,
Or begin to start a curse.
There’s a line to draw,
And I’ll do it here and there –
The main predicament
Is finding a peg
To fit the square.
It’s a shifting colour
And a tangential wave.
Is only for the brave.
Amidst a call
To block the colour out
There’s a plea
Requesting for the shout,
That might get heard…
That might get heard
Here and everywhere,
A universal bargaining chip
With a sauce,
Of non-negotiable credit .
Eyes on the prize
Of mushy if’s and when’s,
The battered content,
Is half-unique until the end…
(Inspired by a crap visit to the hospital. Er, plus the news that Clip Art is gone)