Undercover – HOUR EIGHT – Just a bit of fun!

Undercover

(Inspired by my painting UNDERCOVER)

 

Psst, Mr Field Mouse, what’s your story

why are you there undercover?

Do you have plans for a quick grab and run

of seed from a storehouse, to feed your young?

 

Are you fearful of predators

lying await in the barn?

Those glassy-eyed felines

guarding what’s thine?

 

To fill your wee belly takes mere trifles.

Those cats should ignore you,

let you take what you need

and find something else on which to feed.

 

Hurry up, Micey, make a mad dash,

the fat, cat-guards are fast asleep

You’ll be safe in and out

like a stealthy, seasoned scout.

 

With your mouth full a plenty, now head for home,

your mission successful; you left unharmed.

The life that you live is filled so with stress

I’m thankful my life has so much less

Sneeze in a Pan

There once was a villain

Who remained a villain despite being called the hero of the story.

A vampire whose craving for blood was always in check.

He fell for a bartender;

His teeth fell upon the bartender.

He’s always struggled with his demons;

That is the true war he must emerge victorious.

Upgraded Normal…

Normal, as just as a word,

Stands too relative and not absurd…

The word, thou always gets, read the same,

It’s altogether a dependency, on the various situational games…

Care free attitude, at a time was so very dear,

All of a sudden, fear just took everything all over…

A time got fixed for all the movements and transits,

Prior which was left on the individual’s exhibits…

Distance between places, always remained tame,

But now it was people, between whom the spaces were not the same…

Masks and shield took such a place over face,

As putting the clothes, on the body, to increase grace…

Houses, that limited the faces in the days,

Were now being full, with corporate to education having stopped interface…

Dependency for varied skills did reduce,

A sense of preventive, took rebirth, putting independence to optimal use…

With all changing as fast as the wink of an eye,

The word normal too evolved, bidding the older version good bye…

Balloons-Love is in the air -Poem Eight

Balloons-Love is in the air -Poem Eight

 

Struck love for each other

Besotted to be together

 

A woman struck by the love of another

A woman who took her life for her lover

 

A man from Verona in love with a woman

Ended his life not to live without her

 

Dagger in the heart another in haste

Sorrow to grief the loss of his taste

 

A decision of sleeping  potion after a dream

Suicide her life with the dagger in her dream

 

 

@SabinahAdewole 26/06/2021

 

Ghazal poem originated in Arabic  while dealing with loss and Romance

5 stanzas each stanza two lines  each couplet  to stand alone every line the same length.

 

4pm Every Romantic Comedy

Romantic Comedies

mid-summer, mid-afternoon,
mid-life, mildly middling
a pause, a breath, a realization

turns in the road bring the unexpected
frothy foam to the latte of life.
Belly-laughing happy endings
before we turn off the telly and head for our solo bed.

Alone–Hour 8

Alone was once a thing I used to fear
It was a thing I hated
Alone
was a place I’d rather not
Be
Now I savor those moments
Those days when I am
Alone
Days where I am free to think
Free from the crowding of
Others
Others’ energy, others’ demands, others’ thoughts
I find solace when I’m
Alone
A space where I’m allowed to just
Be

Lazy Day

Everyone in the house
Is having a lazy day

The house sitter
At the end of three awful weeks
That had moments of good
Still not sure if they are done

The dog
Missing her pack
She knows the sitter well
And seeks her out for pets and takes naps nearby

The tortoiseshell cat
Alternately seeking out the sitter
Sitting by themselves in the house
And instigating the dog and the tuxedo cat

And the tuxedo cat
Preferring the outside
Follows the sun around the house
And takes solace in the quiet

Saint Norma Lee

Prompts Hour Seven

Saint Norma Lee

Norma Lee’s a square lady, a carpenter’s saint.

She’s never untrue, all things wrong in restraint.

 

If you’re wanting an icon of what’s rightful and true.

Pray Saint Norma will guide you in all that you do.

 

She’ll not accept angles or angels of a differing degree

greater or smaller than what right should be.

 

For conventional people, she’ll always be there.

To keep things in line and everything square.

 

But, if you, in a round world, you find yourself slip.

Don’t pray for Saint Norma, she’ll abandon your ship.

 

You might need to take courage in making new rules,

You’ll need— pray obtusely to less linear fools.

 

And you’ll find you’re all right with things lesser than straight.

You’ll learn that your world won’t always seem great.

 

You’ll be less inclined to seek Norma that often

Yes, right angles are “perfect,” but it’s round things that soften.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 (Entry 1 of 2)

Malachi

mal-

combining form

Definition of mal- (Entry 2 of 2)

1a: badmalpractice

b: badlymalodorous

2a

Posted on June 26, 2021 3:00pm EDT by The Poetry Marathon

prompt #8: real

Real

They all said they were real.
I had – and have – no idea
what that means.
Is it hunger? Thirst? Feeling
the wind catching in your throat?
How do you know real
when (if?) you find it?
What do you do to attain it?
Do I want to?
Is it (as a horse once told me)
about love? About suffering?
Is it about giving? Knowing
who exactly you are?
I know no more now
than then, when I first heard
its siren call: real real real
I am older      worn and torn.
I have danced with death
ridden bareback on loss
held love in widespread fingers
and watched it sift between.
Real? As a horse in a meadow
a soldier in a war      a wren
carved by hand from ancient wood.
Real.

prompt 8 paper lies

paper lies

in the beginning there was love and land and all those relations held together by wants and longing to be better in places closer to all the truths humans thought they knew until they didn’t hear the voice of Love

until they killed it

over and over so the lap of creation burned the love out of the secrets shared from the centre of the universe by whispers from angels who lost faith in us when we lost faith in each other, twisting stories into truths or poke out the eyes of those who claim to live the word instead of just singing it.

lately i don’t believe any of them unless they lead with love once more.

(c) r. l. elke