Wasps I don't like

Despite the rain

I couldn't take the train

the man; softly-spoken

wouldn't take my token

so was walking from Dorking

though I might have be seen

on those miles in between 

for then; that sound

made me look around

but I carried along 

under the bird-song

then a buzzing commotion 

me; out with no lotion!

What will I do

if this nightmare came true

monitoring the sky

something caught my eye

once more the sound

so tumbled to the ground 

hiding by the track

feering an attack 

a wasp and his mate

there laying in-wait

I rose began screaming 

the sky began teaming

this advanced crew

knew exactly what to do

'must have ordered back-up

time to pack-up

with my arms up; screaming 

thought I was day-dreaming

my old legs a blur

away from this whir

like helicopter blades

nightmare in the everglades

I tripped and fell

this was complete hell

those biting little things

with noisy little wings

wasps are my foe

wherever I go

I don't mind a bee

or a fly following me

a worm in my hand

or a crab on the sand

A car or a train

a bus or a plane

I don't mind a bike

...but wasps I don't like!

(Haiku)

Old fat and wrinkly,

grey slow and thick skinned; but we 

still love our husbands

Forgotten Souls

We drop their bones and ashes into the ground

'neath the lush green grass.

Time passes imperseptibly.

Quietly

tired gravestones lean

some support each other

some relent and just tumble

as if the gravestones that once remembered those now departed - have themselves forgotten

like the lettering once etched across their faces,

now forgotten too

slowly being wiped clean by the hand of the unforgiving wind and rain,

forgetting - like human memories tend to.

Who brings the flowers

trims grass and wipes the slate headstones clean,

and who simply comes no more?

For who could forget a loved one,

one who once walked with them

one who once belonged?

...sleep well you forgotten souls 

Is this the beginning...

People ask; "Is this the beginning of the end - or end of the begining?"

But of what?

Maybe this beginning has just begun

or maybe it is just about to end!

If this is the beginning of the begining,

what was going on before it had begun?

Who set it all going - and why?

Maybe it's nearly the end of the end

but...

how long did the begining go on for?

What is so special about the beginning anyway?

I feel this poem is now a long way passed its beginning 

which means it's about to end

but I haven't answered my question yet.

Can you?

When I'm Hungry Later

I shouldn't wear black clothing 

it shows up all the crumbs

from the snacks I ate; bits from my lunch,

I'm simply all fingers and thumbs!

 

Saying that; I shouldn't wear blue

or white

or red

or green

there's always a mess whatever I wear

in every colour I'm seen...

But there's always a plus side

for I am my own waiter

and can pick bits off

when I'm hungry later!

The transmogrification remains

A miscalculation 

causes deep frustration 

the subsequent cancellation 

lead to many an accusation,

thoughtful speculation
and much discombobulation.

An observation

after more frustration

and agitation 

uncovered new information 

brought on by much contemplation,

a little speculation, 

and a planned abliteration.

The lack of cooperation

and responsibility abdication 

brought accusation

of misappropriation,

condemnation,

a rising conflagration 

and an enforced disembarkation 

but despite no coagulation 

the transmogrification; remains