She was Gravelines, pondering an embattled mishap;
They didn’t need an abacus to work out the odds,
Of a child like this, come from the gods;
A pigeon it was, born from their habits,
And a miracle indeed,
‘Cos they were two rabbits
LET RIP
To let rip is certainly an enthusiasm,
From hobby, to work, to orgasm;
We can take it too far as we dart,
And we end up ripped apart;
Sometimes it can fill us with wrath,
Especially when ripped off;
It can often mean fantasy we sprinkle,
On our lives, like Rip Van Winkle;
Go too far and danger becomes rife,
Threatening to take our life;
And then it all will cease,
As we lie below the sign:
R.est I.n P.eace
A DREAM?
I woke up from the dream
A crow landed on an umbrella and said:
‘Why are you being held by a post?’
The post said:
‘Don’t be stupid. Umbrellas can’t speak.’
The crow noticed the post wore a dress, so said:
‘So why are you holding an umbrella?’
The post looked at the crow as if it was mad -
‘So the dress won’t get wet,’ said the post.
I went back to my dream
Reality was too much
THOUSAND
A thousand, as a number, means nothing at all,
You need more to make it big or small;
Earn a thousand a year and it’s usually low,
Yet earn it in a day and people say hello;
Take a thousand breaths and it’s life goes on,
Take a thousand for sex, they think you’re having them on;
One thousand years is an eternity,
One thousand seconds is enough for tea;
So the message of this poem, I do say,
Is a thousand is nothing to display,
Yet should this post gets a thousand hits,
It would be bliss, ‘cos
You’ll have made my day
I WANT IT
I want it, I need it, I must have it now!
To my desires, I must bow;
To crave, to demand, can seem so horrid,
Descending to naught but the torrid;
But times do come when you must give in,
Even though it may be a sin;
To have such passion makes my heart ache,
But finally I grasp out
And snatch
That damn cream cake!
JUST ONE MORE
Just one more, they say, as I’m sat at the bar,
After all, you don’t have to go too far;
Just one more, I accept with glee,
Knowing if I stand, I’ll buckle at the knee;
Just one more, I think, when that is drunk,
And another after that is certainly sunk;
Just one more, one more, for the road,
Before heading off for my abode;
Jus one more, after, after, aft .. er that,
As I reach u .. u .. up for my hat;
Jus …on … ore, I shay on ore …
I can take … another … for shure,
Jus … on … ore, I say, on … ore …
As gravity hits, and I fall to
The floor
CAN
I can, you can, he can too,
They can, we can, easily do;
Can we, should we, will we be,
The ones who can do, to a tee?
But what is this ‘can’ we can do,
Pray can, please can, I ask of you?
But if I can just need to ask,
Can I be up to the task?
I can, you can, he can tell,
What can it be on which we dwell;
Can you, should you, please tell me,
Can I, can you, hear my plea?
Ahh, I can, I’m full of glee,
I can read this po-et-ry!
DID YOU SEE IT?
Did you see it?
Did I see what?
Did you see just what I’ve got?
Did you see it?
I think I did.
Was it in the skies amid?
Did you see it?
There’s nothing there.
Oh, you really make me despair.
Did you see it?
I think you’re mad.
That is so, so very sad.
Did you see it?
It doesn’t exist!
Not to you, but it’s on my list,
Of things I wish just COULD exist.
Did YOU see it?
NO POEM
A poem, a poem, I need one now,
But at this time, the muse takes a bow;
Come back, come back, oh muse so good,
Without a poem they’ll be after my blood;
But no, a poem just won’t come out,
My talent I’m now beginning to doubt;
A poem, a poem, I’m ringing the bell,
Come back now, I’ve a tale to tell;
But muse just says, ‘go to hell!’
Oh well
CHANGED
Milk white skin, it is no more,
Peppered by zits, so full of gore;
Pure of mind, I used to be,
Happy to play by climbing a tree;
Invasion of a different kind,
Not wanting to leave life behind;
Hairs do sprout upon my jowl,
All night long I seem to howl;
Hormones are pumping throughout my veins,
Hey! I’m a teenager, with growing pains!
FRIDGE SPACE
Cheese I love, it goes just there,
Bacon is fine for a breakfast fare;
Butter comes next on which to be fed,
Spread all over that lovely bread;
Eggs have their place, stacked up neat,
But I’m not happy, I can’t compete;
I’m just a fridge, and cannot eat
GREEN
Mother Earth ... Hurricane ... Report Of the Intergalactic Committee Meeting On Earthly Viruses ... Save Me, Please ... The Planet Speaks ... The Weather
MOTHER EARTH
Mother Earth, she knows best,
Suckling life through ample breast;
Taking this barren Earthly orb,
Shrouded in air to absorb,
Heat from our life giving star,
So diversity can go so very far;
Her influence is clear to see,
Yet now we need a simple plea;
Why has man ignored her so,
Producing waste that he does throw,
Away with no concern for where,
Giving us all an environmental scare?
Once we were in nature’s womb,
Part and parcel of its tune,
Then we discovered technology,
And advanced, all full of awesome glee;
But then we broke the umbilical cord,
Of Mother Earth, and we did lord,
Over all of nature as our own,
Forgetting it was just a loan,
Until the day, we will atone
HURRICANE
The weather comes, it blows, it roars,
It batters your home without a pause;
A wind that comes ferociously,
Whirling round you and me;
It’s the third, this time around,
Much more frequently, they come to pound,
And always that manic thought resounds,
Forever there, it does rebound,
That this is pay back for our insanity,
Battering nature so we can see,
A better life materially,
But ignoring nature’s beauty,
Balance,
And harmony
REPORT OF THE INTERGALACTIC COMMI
TTEE MEETING ON EARTHLY VIRUSES
The delegates chose on imminent actions,
For them there would be no distractions;
As one voice they were all foresworn,
No splinter would there, here, be born;
The ecology of Earth they knew could molder,
Unless the decisions made were bolder;
The future for them, it was votive,
Determined to wipe out that Earth-bound motive;
Throughout its life, a nature hate,
Did arise to punctuate,
The beautiful nature of Earth’s plan;
With their desires, they sealed their fate,
For the total
Unconditional
Eradication
Of man
SAVE ME, PLEASE
Save me please, I’ve got a disease,
I think it’s called Man;
I am an animal, and we all have to scramble,
From our habitat so you can have Spam;
You destroy our calm, so you can farm,
And your denials are all flim flam;
You come and poach, and hunters you coach,
And with your rifle you go ‘bang!’
You really should stop, for nature will top
Your efforts when it goes ‘wham’;
And then we’ll have fun, ‘cos we’ll have won,
And you won’t have time to say ‘damn’!
THE PLANET SPEAKS
I am! I exist! There was light and all,
And then there was life, bold and tall;
Maybe it was God, or a primeval stew,
That placed the heavenly breath in you
No matter how I really exist,
I’m here to thrive, and always persist;
You think I’m a mother, caring and true,
But I’m also an avenger, it’s true
I thrive because of diversity,
For every which way, life will be,
From oceans to land, and air you are,
Creatures and plants, with nothing to mar
The beauty of this jewel in an otherwise dark space,
An expression of life as a delicate lace;
Always in balance, as it should be,
Expressed as being in harmony
Until those damn humans began to build,
Technology; and to run it, for oil you drilled;
Then came pollution and CO2,
Turning the air into a putrid glue
Sunlight trapped, warming the sky,
And slowly the life I love begins to fry;
Your industries spew their heinous brew,
Weakening life! Oh! do I hate you!
My diversity you attack. No restrain,
Everything wanting to be the same;
From society, to religion, and nature, too,
Nothing can be different, or good, or true
But there may be a simple shock in store,
For sameness and pollution, I abhor;
I get even! I survive, I always do,
In the end you’re only harming you
Of that there is absolutely no doubt,
Slowly, slowly, you WILL die out;
I might even start to degrade your sperm,
After all,
That’s the best way,
To treat a germ
THE WEATHER
We love our weather, it’s no joke,
Without it we’d most likely choke;
There’d be no air without the weather,
Best to keep it, for our endeavour
In many places, it’s taken for granted,
Usually where the same climate’s planted;
But in my Britain, it goes from sunny to bleak,
That’s why about it, we often speak
The atmosphere is the key to it all,
Earth has gravity so it don’t fall;
It orbits the sun, our friendly star,
Not too near, and not too far
If closer the air would burn away,
Animals and plants wouldn’t be able to stay;
Further away, and the air would freeze,
That would be chilly, if you please
Forecasters tell about the weather each day,
Although at times I think they pray;
We’re often suspicious of what they’re selling,
It’s no better than fortune telling
Climate can affect our mood,
When electro-magnetic waves intrude;
They affect our mind, can make us morose,
It’s no coincidence in storms we see ghosts
The weather gets worse as the planet warms,
Bringing those evil, vicious storms;
Cars and factories spew carbon out,
Of climate change, there’s little doubt
Apocalypse can be our eventual fate,
Beware of this before it’s too late,
Comets and bombs, those nasty things,
Nuclear winter comes on angel’s wings
So know the weather, it’s our friend,
Unless we abuse it, for it can lend,
A different world we can’t defend;
We’d have to call it, then,
The end
About the Author
1955 (Yorkshire, England) – I am born (Damn! Already been done). ‘Twas the best of times … (Oh well).
I was actually born to a family of newsagents. At 18 I did a Dick Whittington and went off to London, only to return to pretend to be Charlie and work in a chocolate factory.
When I was ten I was asked what I wanted to be. I said soldier, writer and Dad. I never thought of it for years – having too much fun, such as a time as lead guitarist in a local rock band – but I served nine years in the RAF, got married and had seven kids. I realized my words had been precognitive when, at age 27, I came down with M.E. – a condition I’ve suffered ever since – and turned my attention to writing.
My essays are based on Patternology, or P-ology, a thought process I devised to work as a bedfellow to specialisation. Holistic, it seeks out patterns the specialist may have missed. The subject is not about truth, but ideas, and covers everything from politics to the paranormal.
I also specialise in Flash Fiction in all genres, most under 600 words, but also Mini Novels - 1500 word tales so full they think they're bigger.
Connect with Anthony
Smashwords Author page: https://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/anthonynorth
Anthony's Website: https://anthonynorth.com/
Anthony's Blog (inc current affairs): https://anthonynorth.com/blog/blog
Twitter: https://twitter.com/anthonynorth
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/anthony.north.330
Verse Fest - I, Poet Series, Vol 4 Page 3
