The Three Little Flies

Ping, Pong and Poo were three little flies.

But only Poo was wise.

They were siblings, full of cheer,

Always buzzing, far and near.

One bright day with eyes ashine,

They followed a boat, so gentle and fine.

Bobbing along on waters murky and dark,

To see what adventures, they could surely embark.

First was Ping, wild and free,

Always full of endless glee.

Buzzing so fast, going mad,

Didn’t see the frog on a lily pad.

Next was Pong, quick and snappy,

Flitting along, aways so happy.

Into a spider’s web, did dive,

The spider was waiting… but will he survive?

Lastly there’s Poo, small and wise,

Evading traps, that’s no surprise.

She waited and watched with patience aglow,

Then found her time and off she did go.

Poor little Poo, full of wisdom and grace,

Now all alone in this big empty space,

When her mind was free to think and ponder,

Her uplifting thoughts where they used to wander.

Oh, Ping and Pong, she did miss them so,

But remember in every tale,

Knowledge is a wind that sets the sail.

So just like Poo, be wise in your stride,

For life is a lesson, and a vibrant ride.

A stroke of luck

I’m not complaining just explaining….
How things are now with me
On the morning of the 29th
I had a stroke you see.

I’m not complaining just explaining….
My memory just a blur
Then hands of reassurance
My strength, my wife was there.

I’m not complaining just explaining….
How I felt that day
Inert in terror, lacking strength
Please let me live, I pray.

I’m not complaining just explaining….
Why my writing ended
I needed all my energy
‘Till head and body mended.

I came through to tell my story
One that I survived
And now I wake each morning
To give thanks that I’m alive.

The Damselfly

In a blue whisp of a whisper, pirouetting free,

Wings all a flutter, she settles next to me,

Carefree with delight bedecked in turquoise blue,

Dainty and graceful, sparkling in the dew.

With beauty, full of life, flitting to and fro,

Carousing in the sunlight, she puts herself on show,

Once she was an ugly bug, living in a pond,

A nymph that cast her skin, rising from beyond.

With filmy gossamer wings aflutter,

I watch her flying by,

And marvel at the turquoise jewel,

The ballerina of the sky.

Then as if answering an unspoken plea,

She weaves her magic over me,

A beauty of nature, a gift beyond compare,

But I had no thoughts to find her there.

Like a hiccup out of the blue,

The beautiful damsel comes into view,

With wings of delicate filigree,

She leaves an ineffable tracery.

With her agile body, putting on a dance,

She finds true love to begin a romance,

Then flies in tandem, full of grace,

To share a world in a different place.

Then six weeks’ on as she wanders her ways,

It’s time to close the story of her fleeting days.

Cuthbert the Crow

Cuthbert’s black and shiny from bristled beak to toe,

He knows my route of travel, wherever I may go.

When I hear his cawing, growing louder, coming near,

He always measures my distance, whenever I appear.

For in despair that he evokes his ordeal in the past,

He thinks that you’re the farmer about to take a blast.

So don’t stop to say hello and think he’s shy, he’s not,

He’s Cuthbert the wily crow, and he’s not about to be shot.

So please don’t glaze yourself and really think you know,

With his quick acute perception, he’ll take his distance so.

With his rakish eye and the hoarseness of his throat,

His prudent mind won’t understand the coercion you provoke.

When the world is too much with him and he’s feeling rather low,

Chattering, pluming his feathers as I gaze up from below.

He’s not a portent of evil, there’s no need to take a fright,

With eyes shining brightly that betokens sheer delight,  

But it would be remiss of me if I did not share with you,

A noble vision of shimmering feathers of purple, green and blue.