The August Poets for the month of August
Jean Wearn Wllace
As the crow sat on my tongue
I rubbed it with oats, which
It tolerated, while answering the ‘phone.
The burbling balloon laid an egg
While it was sitting to attention;
It was going to go for a bus ride
But it had to nip to the loo instead.
The axe was hungry, but it didn’t want
Spaghetti, or porridge, nor bread and cheese;
It wanted peas stuffed with caviar.
I’m going to pretend it wasn’t mine
It was the Ning Nang Nong’s – so
I am going back to bed and sleep.
DOWN THE PLUG
Where do you go when you are dead?
Surely you go down some form of plughole
And get washed down some sort of sink,
Through the faucet,
Round the bowl,
Down the pipes,
All the way to the sewage works.
Where you end up as a termite.
(Don’t take this literally or seriously-
It is just a fanciful fantasy)
Into an ant-heap full of other bugs and stuff-
That’s what might happen when you die,
Don’t ask for the reason why or how.
We’ll all go through some manner of metaphorical plug-hole,
And the so-called Karmic Overlords
Will persuade us that whatever fate is deemed right,
Is so by some kind of cosmic poetic justice
If we do suffer it is because we made others suffer just as badly.
Swoosh! Down the ‘plug-hole’ of the bathroom…
Into a totally different dimension,
Where the laws of physics no longer apply
And through the gates of the sky on high,
The annonited and appointed queue in line ;
The purgatorial ‘plughole’ knows of no distinctions.
We must all needs must descend into it
And meet those overlords so-called
Who always manage to make the ostensible punishment if any
Seem merited, just and self-chosen,
But we all fear that so-called ‘plug’
As it swishes,swells and swoops through
To a nether world in an a never world.
Full of untold, unsuspected joys, thrills and delights
Place of Cool Happiness
Place of Cool Happiness
The Sunrise and the Moon light
On the dirty waters of Thames
Made a place of cool happiness
By the incredible art of Turner
The smile on the faces of flowers,
The silence of the unopened buds,
The fleeting chirping of a passing bird
All make the dawning morning momentous
The clean blueness and a lonesome cloud
The tall trees, steeples, rising architectures
From bright to the dim all shades of lights
Make the sky-space a painterly landscape art
The walk in the morning in the nature’s sight
Washes out the worries of the previous night