two poems written ages ago
SC (title)
Snowflakes melt upon the ceiling fan
Steam trickles from within the electric chord
God looks down from a messed up plan
And mutters, ‘lord, lord, lord.’
Termites chew on a slab of wood
The wind rattles the shutters
A motor sits idling beneath a dented hood
As silently a downy feather flutters
The box of chocolate is an empty tray
And the ants have gone to pasture green
For they have not been fed this day
And what has been has been
The snowflakes are no more
And they have inflamed the chord to heated anger
Killing the termites and stilling the shutters roar
And the car tears off down the dead end street to meet its maker
The ants leave the chocolate box far behind
Which has been scattered by a hurrying car
Headed down a street that’s blind
And still the stealthy feather flutters
A tiger sit with rampant glare
As headlights are all a glaze
The feather hits God’s left hand
All you hear are a bunch of mutters
The feather turns to ashes
They turn to passenger pigeons and are sent on their way
The mind it stumbles as the red light flashes
The car on its roof it lays like a child’s discarded toy from play
Like a torn ripped up note never to be read again
Henri (title)
Henri Sprite was my goldfish
he was named after his brother
who was born first.
His brother as Ted.
Henri was his name
Henri with an I
not a y but an I.
He was a funny goldfish
Henri swam around his dish
all day and night
which by rules and regulations
was his right.
Henri was a funny goldfish,
because he was not gold but blue.
So he was a bluefish, true,
but he was happy as well.
Henri was very bright
as blue or gold fish go.
He could hypnotise you on sight
and yet no one would know.
He hypnotised the mailman
and the milkman too.
He hypnotised his brother
and convinced him he was a flea.
Now Henri’s brother Ted
got it into his head
that he could jump really high.
Just as a flea could and should.
Well, Ted did jump high.
Straight into my custard pie,
of which I ate
and didn’t notice
until too late.
Henri thought it was a laugh
and the came the trial.
We all just stood and stared.
Henri blew bubbles
as if he couldn’t have cared.
This did not go down well.
For the judge banished him to hell
via the electric chair.
The judge thought this was fair.
Henri Sprite was his name.
The first blue goldfish
to fry in the electric chair.
That was his claim to fame,
but he didn’t do it I said,
long after Henri Sprite was dead.
I appealed and appealed
to every court in the land,
until at last I took the stand.
I told them Ted was blue,
not in colour but mood.
He wouldn’t eat any food.
Henri was worried sick.
But one day when Henri’s back was turned
Ted leapt with such speed
to his death.
Ted had lost his love.
An angel fish,
from the flat above.
Now I have lost Henri
as well as Ted.
no blue or gold goldfish
that swim around
all through the night
and all through the day.
So the judge
with a tear in his eye
said that it was unjust for Henri to have fried
so I had a settlement
of 500,000,000 pounds.
Sounds a lot,
but it’s not much to me.
For Henri was a hypnotist,
as anyone could see.
He even hypnotised the judges,
but could not hypnotise me.
I now live in Barbados,
with Henri of course.
He made me a multi millionaire
and Henri married a sea horse.
Ted did die that is true
but he didn’t die because he was blue.
He went to his grave,
very brave.
I fed him to the cat,
the cat from next door.
I have got myself a cat,
just in case Henri thinks one more.
I like my blue goldfish,
but I like my money even more.