One for sorrow, two for joy...
Black spots in waves over
Snow crusted
Fields and the jagged
Dark teeth of pine
Beyond.

Girl, boy, silver, gold.* I
I only know her well enough
To trace the place on my face
Where it last
Touched hers, with a
Pensive finger as

I gaze out at the
Winterness floating by.
Yes, I guess that feels like a
Smile. Eight for a wish, nine
For a kiss.
Something secret wonders if

It ever will want to be told,
And I hold the part of myself
That would rather soar than
Join feathers with another,
Tightly. I never seem to get my
Crows in a row.

We're squeezed in a topsy-turvy
*****-ball world;
What's upside is down,
What's inside is out;
Your smile's a frown,
Your whisper's a shout,
And the flim-flam man
Just pitched a curve.
We're headed to second
After rounding third,
And first is stolen;
This game's absurd.
So, I gather up my bat and ball,
I've read the writing on the wall,
I've turned, running for home.
We've been tagged on bad calls.
We were safe, but now we're out,
Exiled, banished, conflicted, confused,
There's nothing good on the news.
The umps and refs have all been turned,
We've been benched,
We've been spurned.
Behind me,
Someone calls out,
     *Play Ball;

so effulgent*
the daffodils of brightest shade
so effulgent
bold trumpets e'er magnificent
they grew along the esplanade
showing a splendid tonal grade
*so effulgent

.
(Children's poem)
.
I'd like to sit
still and serenely
But I can't
I'm the Queen Bee.

A Queens work
is never through
there is always
something to do.

I'm laying eggs
and filling cells
and letting out
my secret smells.

I make sure
the hive is clean
and not littered
with perils unseen.

I caught Veroa
the other week
glucoside syrup
fixed me a treat.

But all of this
has its cost,
Oh! How I wish
I was born a wasp.

© Pagan Paul (16/06/16)