"mossies" poems
Why did Noah take nits?
Let's pull this ark to bits,
God let Noah take two nits,
Plus two mosquitoes, each proboscis,
Gave humans encephalitis,
What is worse than this?
Why they bring malaria, blip!
What is worse than this?
As well as Noah's two nits,
God let Noah take two rats,
With two fleas on board, that's that,
So Noah brought bubonic plague,
While lovely unicorns floated away,
Then on all those wooden decks,
Noah took two woodpeckers, by heck,
So that was the end of Noah's Ark,
Lucky he wasn't eaten by sharks,
So, why God, did you plan all this, mate?
I know Noah was human to make mistakes,
Taking rats, fleas, mossies, and nits, great!
Was taking two nits more than fate?
Sep 2, 2016
Sep 2, 2016 at 9:53 PM UTC
Digeridoos are back in stock
Said the notice in the bric-a-brac shop
Are the West of Scotland Numpties
On their own Dreamtime quest?
Are they contemplating their navels
Through the holes in their stringvest?
Could they realize their chip-papers
Hold the answer to their havers
And the Buckfast in the Hand gripped
Tight is causing calluses in the brain.
Corks dangling from their hats
Swinging like disorientated bats
In ryhthm to the dance of delirious tremor
The adrenaline is pumping.
Mossies no, but midgies, aye,
A stark contrast to the Kappa motifs;
Are the natives going walkabout,
In the local run-down mall?
Calling everyone mate,
In an accent you love to hate
Walkabout, lost in the wilderness
Wandering through the bush.
Outback here there ain’t no
Crocodiles, only quilted, padded cells.
Hand to wall a red imprint,
Not paint, my boy, but blood.
This lot would embarrass any Aborigine
Because they havnae got
An original thought.
Jun 14, 2016
Jun 14, 2016 at 5:56 AM UTC
The leaf-nosed bats are in a hurry
All’s set for the nightly party
Today the feast starts at six thirty
Come as you are, no need for jewelry
Fresh mossies for dinner are ready
Sprinkles of midges, aren’t they yummy?
With swings and swoops, feeding in frenzy.
Bigger bats and flying foxes are also busy
As nectar and fruits are not quite many
Were it not for figs they’ll sure go hungry
For they can’t gate crash for the mushi sushi
In their upside down world, there is mutuality
Respect for each niche and common territory
Services are coincident, not obligatory.
The lives of bats are quite simple but happy
Much maligned, as humans look only
At whitish images, icons of perceived angelicity
But if we learn to look at the larger picture, we’ll see
A great range of diversity, earth’s own art gallery
And regardless of biased values, there is beauty
For Nature selects and I tell you, no bats, no glory.
May 21, 2019
May 21, 2019 at 7:00 PM UTC
Finding poetry in a disease
is like looking for a nugget
of gold in one Smokey Mountain
of revolting, rotting *******
A poem is precious.
It breathes us life.
Even one about death
brings hope of imagined
heavens and dreads of
eternal incomplete combustion,
but dengue ***** dry
its hapless victims.
Baby mossies
are cheering,
wriggling,
today, detritus feeding . . .
Tomorrow, the girls among them turning
into little vampires blood feeding;
and the boys will have for drinking
plant juices like wines brewing.
Rightly or not, the winged being
receives much of the blame, poor thing!
The greater pain, the bigger burden,
felt greatly by the downtrodden,
however, lies not so much in the bitten
nor the biter - always the villain.
When those whose tasks are meant to serve,
serve not the ones who need, but only themselves
When solicitors utter Hippocratic mantras
Like gurus descended from Oriental Olympuses
but in truth are Proud Marys burning with empty heads . . .
And when the multitudes blind and blinded,
in Plato’s Cave chained, demented
faithfully follow the falsehoods preached
by the High Priests and Priestesses:
I recall the scenarios of old tales told
of Pied Pipers leading kids out of Hamelin’s fold
to a treacherous realm of eternal repose.
And a nation’s bound to decompose.
Feb 10, 2019
Feb 10, 2019 at 6:00 AM UTC