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