Posts tagged ‘pome’

what’s up owlet?

        — in which we insult many birds

pigeons are evil, they killed my plant

— it was only a sprouted onion —

but forget it i sha’n’t.

o owlet i spotted,

o small owl so dotted,

what’s up?

kites are scary, they attacked my dog

— it was barking quite loudly —

eyes gleaming in the smog!

o owlet composed,

o bright yellow nose,

what’s up?

 

the paradise flycatcher was a flash of white,

the bulbuls were cheerful but dim-witted,

the crow pheasant’s full of spite.

o owlet so wise

o terrifier of mice

what, i say, what’s up?

November 20, 2011 at 10:11 am 1 comment

the girl with a boot in her ear

there was a girl

with a boot in her ear

and hair that swooped on end.

she carried some mice

some feet, some ice,

and galloped round the bend.

o girl o girl,

o boot, o ear,

the other other mice squeaked and carrolled,

do not leave us

all alone,

                     with your cousin harold.

September 19, 2011 at 9:31 am 3 comments

terribly hairy fly

she was a terribly hairy fly,

a fly of pomp and fibre

a fly of stench and food. take care

never to offend her.

dear terribly hairy fly! dear fly,

don’t scruple to ignore me.

i have no social status, i

but have a nose most sneezy.

 

the terribly hairy fly – no fly

was ever quite so furry –

took my words with but a smile,

and flithered away bravely.

 

i haven’t seen her since, oh woe!

i haven’t sniffed her stink.

but when my nose with sneezes flows,

somewhere she’s sniggering.

December 18, 2010 at 11:43 am 2 comments

tapir day

a purple day in jutland, a purple day in france

a purple day for dustpans, a purple day askance –

a day of days for tapirs,

is a day of deep sunshine.

for tapirs are so full of fluff

they speak in sparkling wine.

September 23, 2010 at 4:57 pm 5 comments

birdie

o bird so rare in feet and form,

o bird that shimmers off the ground.

o birdie fair! o birdie wise!

o birdie birdie, name your price.

May 25, 2010 at 9:48 am 3 comments

the boy in a can

oh who will remember the boy in a can?

his teeth are december, his nose a meringue.

his shoulders are slumped in the ease of defeat;

when you speak to him he huddles, trembly as a beet.

March 12, 2010 at 10:18 am 3 comments

one hos town; hampi

i’m sorry, but it’s true.

i know because i stayed in hospet for an entire week.

well five days, anyway.

and commuted faithfully to hampi every morning.

not that i have anything against hosses,

singular or plural. and i am fond even of macaques.

and langurs. and rock pigeons and hoopoes.

they are fine upstanding people – especially the langurs.

(how one manages to meet a langur and not find

that it is eerily similar to all one’s relatives

i do not know.)

hampi is where myth and history meet.

they smoke together.

noisily. redly.

they brawl and they collapse

and out of their nostrils flows such stuff as religions are made on.

rocks, rivers, and gods gods gods

rolling madly in the dust.

February 23, 2010 at 9:47 am 9 comments

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Red Tape

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