Francesca Bossert's Blog, page 32

MORNING HEADLINES

Racing jigsaw clouds,

A bird skydives for a nut.

The squirrel giggles.

#haiku

COLOSSAL COLITIS

Microscopic, yes.

But with colossal effects.

Do not poo-poo this!

THE TWIT

He’d just got bored, Bert told her, guilt dripping down his weak chin like a cheap vanilla topping.

But he missed her, he insisted, and wanted her to know that these past few months hadn’t been easy for him, either.

 Surely the intensity of his inner struggle was obvious to her by the way he wrung his pudgy little hands.

 Tatum rolled her cornflower blue eyes, raised an elegant eyebrow and shut the front door in his face.

 Despondent and misunderstood, Bert waddled towards his bright blue sports car, gasping at the sharp twinge in his knees as he collapsed into the bucket seat he’d recently installed. Wait; had he put on weight since he ordered it?

 He sorted out his beer belly beneath the steering wheel and sped back to the dodgy area of the outskirts of Boone-Ville where Harriet, his new girlfriend, was waiting in her Pepto-Bismol pink Wyncinette nightie. Harriet had chilled a bottle of the shop on the corner’s finest Don Simon and opened the tin of recently expired olives she’d found lurking in the depths of a kitchen cabinet. That should comfort her elderly, misery-sodden man!

 Bert pulled up outside his new digs and took a deep breath.

 The world was his oyster. If only shellfish weren’t among the many things he was allergic to. 🦞

 

 

WOUNDED

 

Strong and resilient,

Her kind heart remains wounded.

 

Save your guilt, you spineless goon!

#haiku (an angry one!)

THE SIGNAL

Secret smoke signals

Rise from the gilded mountain.

Southbound birds murmur.

#Haiku

HAIKU STRIKE

Don’t mind my fingers,

They are counting syllables.

Haikus strike at night!

(Haikus are great for sleepless nights! 5/7/5)

LIMONCELLO: Beyond Lemonade

When it pours lemons

Forget making lemonade,

Swig limoncello

#haiku

THE BIRDS

We have a pair of magpie guards

On worm patrol in our back yard.

Snazzy-sharp in black and white,

They gourmet-gobble squiggling delights.

 

Their friend the woodpecker joins the crew,

He’s good at scarifying, too!

He’s rather stiff, a jerky dude

Who Charlie-Chaplins for his food.

 

The sparrows can be rather rude,

And wait for me to serve their food.

They hang out on the garden fence,

Demanding my subservience.

 

Then there’s snooty Mr Hawk,

Who glides above squawking Ted Talks.

He gets rodents in a right flap,

His tailspin drops even scare the cat!

 

Bluetits, those mad acrobats?

Well, they just want their bacon back!

They love those greasy bags of seed

I’ll soon hang up bushes, trees.

We have an owl, a real hoot, he!

He sings when all the others sleep.

I love to hear his calming sound,

Tucked snug beneath my eiderdown.

WAR

This is not a light-hearted, fun poem. I’ve had nightmares these past two nights, probably because I’ve made the mistake of watching and reading too much news, and everything is abominable. So, despite my fun bedtime audible book (The Five Star Weekend, by Elin Hilderbrand), my dreams have not taken me anywhere light and fluffy. I woke up this morning and immediately had to get this out of my system.  

I’ll try to come back a little lighter later (ooh, alliteration!)

xx Cesca

 

War

 

I dreamt of war, of chaos, blood,

Of screams and scrambles, of hell-bombs and confusion.

 

I wept, agony-churned.

Fear soaked,

I fired guns that missed their mark, screamed for bullets, whirling, reloading,

I killed men.

Dissolving into monstrous panic,

I hunch-ran, dragging screams and flesh.

 

I goodbye-kissed my lover, dressed in red,

Smelled

Blood and acrid sweat.

 

 

Faced with real war

I’d rather be dead.

 

Stop this aberration.

Rise with kindness,

 

Amen.

THE NIGGLE

 

The niggle squiggles,

Hmm, I think,

My ears prick,

Well, almost.

Is it a niggle niggle,

Or a real niggle?

 

The niggle gurgles,

Shit, I think.

 

The gurgle growls.

I sigh.

 

 

And we’re off…