Ode Not to a Nightingale

O

the voluptuous girth

of you

yr full mouth

yr

tiny tiny waist

I love

to twirl

between forefinger and thumb

yr long tapering body

rich aromas

the blush

of yr beauty

the swill

of yr full-bodied flavours

down

my

gullet

Improbable Ponderings

Does an apple have core values?

Are pistachios ‘nut cases’?

What happens if the door of opportunity jams?

If Q and U really are the conjoined twins of the English alphabet, isn’t it about time they were separated?

Do Grandfather Clocks have too much time on their hands?

Who keeps putting the writing on the wall?

And is anyone ever going to get around to fixing those disabled toilets?

 

Can you add to this fun list? can you suggest answers to any of these questions?

 

And the Way He Glares at Me

I don’t want to face him again today. Each morning it’s the same. He’s hung over, strung out, bleary-eyed, unshaven and his hair —- it looks like something slept in it overnight. He could make an effort. Spruce himself up a bit but no, the same old, same old. Mr, Ragamuffin. And the way he glares at me first thing in the morning. Is that really necessary, moaned the mirror ?

What Happened Out There, Out in the Garden?

Stephanie was out in the garden, chasing chooks out of the vegetable patch. She was some way from us, out on the back porch, so I was surprised that she responded to something I said.

“Yes. I remember when …” and then her voice seemed to get swallowed up.

”What’s that?” I said.

But she stood there helplessly waving her hands as if signalling to us to disregard what she had to say and to carry on our conversation. We did and when my friend left, Stephanie came over and sat beside me.

“What happened out there?” I asked. “Out in the garden?”

“What I was about to say got swallowed up,” she said.

“Like in a sinkhole?” I said. They had been in the news lately.

“Like in a sinkhole.”

“It’s all right,” I said. “Tell me when you remember.”

Not a Black Cat

It was not a black cat

But a red rooster

That crossed my path this morning

On my way to gym.

I waited

As it waddled past the car

Oblivious to the honour

I had accorded it.

 

Why the rooster crossed the road

I do not know

Though it waddled

With intent.

It had the whole day

In front of it

Provided it did not cross

Too many roads.