Public Pit-Sniffing

I was midday-monkeying-about with colleagues, at lunch, in our upper floor, in a public building. Through the window, we espied down below, a frowsy female raising her arms to sniff her pits, distastefully thrice, the moment she came out of the public toilets. As if that was not entertainment enough, she savoured a whiff of her probably-unwashed fingers, nauseating us to numbness, as she walked to join her group.

Diligence & Negligence

Due diligence
at Work
=
Undue negligence
of Blog

I am sorry!

Sense-less Sunday

Today,
I saw ...
Nobody!

The only allowed ...
Sounds
Were ...

The humming fridge,

The buzzing fan,

The dripping tap,

The swishing scrubbing brush,

The droning night mozzy.

The only permitted ...
Space ...
The void of your absence

Today,
I was ...
Nobody!

Heartbeat for ?????

?????, be mine, be mine!
If you feel the sparks fly too
And you sleep on thorny nights
Be mine, please be mine!
Wars and history have their place
And I showed an ugly face
When I had your first love, first grace
Turn time around and be mine!
Give me the crystals in your eyes
Let me own your heart once more
In the attic of your soul
Remember our stars in the sky
Be completely mine!
?????, ?????, my ?????
Your heart and soul are warm for me
And your secret smile says so
And how lovely you keep for me
Denies the murmurs in your mind
You feel it, say you’re mine!
I could say I love you
And waste a perfect thing with words
You own me, take me, take me!
My first, last and always
My pain, my smile, my warmth
????? … ????? … ?????
Be mine, mine, forever!

Fallen Angels

They woke up
They held out their wings
Stilled their hearts
And gave off a pure glow

They cast their eyes about
They found free fault
Told of the better life
And promised to help

Then they spread their wings
And they became men
They felt a new thrill
And wanted to know

They heard the screams
They felt the chains shatter
Let loose in lightning bolts
And made the rain come down

They found the silence sweet
They drifted through the deeps
Lost their wings, found their legs
And the Angels had fallen.

The Pastry War

Daddy, Daddy
Why is my name so small
When that should not be
Seeing I’m not so tall?

With such a little name
No matter what I do
I will not see the fame
The Incas brought Peru

And with my frame so slight
Whatever could I build
And are my chances bright
That the neighbours would be thrilled?

And though I’m all of four
I’ve never had a girl
And when the men went to war
I was my mother’s furl

I cannot buy a beer
Or drive our old car
For the police would be here
To take me away from Ma

Well, well my little man
In truth your name is small
But being the best you can
Is quite a different ball

As for your little name
Many with a longer one
Heightened their country’s shame
Even in the Andes sun

You sure are rather frail
But show me a neighbour’s son
Who would not, hopefully, pale
On seeing your medals won

I know you’re only four
Girls come at ten-and-eight
As for the pastry war
You conquered many a plate

Some things you cannot do
There soon will come an age
When nothing will stop you
But you must go through each stage.

The Indignity of a Well-Ironed Shirt

Just press out the spider creases, no fancy stuff. I do not want my shirt to be fed fat with carbohydrate, and then braised, before I wear it. I would rather die than let people see me in the hard-crust, self-standing, chopping-board charade. Plus, the custard-smooth facade, the prime-meridian sleeve lines and the collar counting-down-to-lift-off would only make me out to be a dandified fraud.