Da bins damn full of dem rats;
Dey filled it all up wid der shats.
Gone ruined da grain,
From hunger we ’ere slain,
Me should’ve procured dem damn cats
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RATastrophe
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Tag Archives: #writing
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The Waiting
The tick of the clock
slams like a hammer
against Arianne’s eardrum.
Her eyes growing heavy
as the itinerant sun slips
towards the western horizon.
Endless reds, oranges and yellows
spill from the heavens,
onto the blue canvas sky
Great billowing cloud herds
transiting the azure ocean are
set ablaze against the fiery sunset.
Arianne sits by the open window,
hypnotised by the meadow sages
bending in the evening breeze.
Luminecent fireflies dance
leaving fading trails of ghost strings
amongst the old grey stones.
Whilst wisps of fairy dust swirl
in the magical air, like lacy strands
gilding her already flaxen hair.
She knows not who the traveller is,
only that the journey ends
at the old weathered gate.
How much longer must
she wait before her
limit hath been reached.
For as long as she has a heartbeat
she has sworn to help
her weary guest reach the finish.
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The Lament of an Older Parent
Having kids when you are young is a very difficult task; I mean, most days you struggle to care for yourself. Christ, you’re barely an adult, still trying to reconcile the memories of your parent’s handy work with your naive idea of parenting. Everything is a crisis, usually warranting a trip to the family practitioner or the emergency room. Nothing is more embarrassing than waiting six hours to watch a doctor slap a band-aid on a scraped knee and send you home.
A distance from your own upbringing and the knowledge gathered through life provides you with a sagacious foresight that translates into a more confident parenting experience. The problem for older parents is how tired they are at the end of every day; why do those little rug rats need to be so damned rambunctious!
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For Our Children
From the Latin word for “patchwork,” the cento (or collage poem) is a poetic form composed entirely of lines from poems by other poets. Definition of the poetry form taken from poets.org
Suddenly there came a tapping,1
Out of the night that covers me.2
Who are these coming to the sacrifice,3
With throats unslaked, with black lips?4
We wear the mask that grins and lies,5
Hath really neither joy, nor love, nor light.6
Though it be darkness there,7
Some say the world will end in fire.8
No man is an island,9
And all the men and women merely players.10
We passed the school where children played,11
And that has made all the difference.12
Footnotes:
1) The Raven – Edgar Allen Poe / 2) Invictus – William Ernest Henley / 3) Ode to a Grecian Urn – John Keats / 4) The Rime of the Ancient Mariner – Samuel Taylor Coleridge / 5) We Wear the Mask – Paul Laurence Dunbar / 6) Dover Beach – Matthew Arnold / 7) There is another sky – Emily Dickenson / 8) Fire and Ice – Robert Frost / 9) No Man is an Island – John Donne / 10) All the World’s a Stage – William Shakespeare / 11) Because I could not stop for Death – Emily Dickenson / 12) The Road Not Taken – Robert Frost
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A Pantload
I really can’t hold it, oh, what should I do,
A dreadful concoction brewing within,
In a matter of moments the air will be blue,
Clenched and contorted, I squeeze it back in.
A dreadful concoction brewing within,
While my boss keeps talking, won’t let me go,
Clenched and contorted, I squeeze it back in,
He won’t know what hit him, no reprieve when I blow.
My boss just keeps talking, won’t let me go,
Even calling me back when I try to depart,
He won’t know what hit him, no reprieve when I blow,
Thank the Lord, it’s just a wet fart.
Calling me back when I try to depart,
In a matter of moments the air will be blue,
There is no Lord, it’s not a wet fart,
I really can’t… oh crap, I’ve got a pantload of poo.
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Better Off
“She’s so capricious! Who in hell is she to tell me to ‘accept the ramifications’ of my actions?” an angry Romeo bellowed. “I’m better off without her!
“What now, Julian? I can’t just go on without her?” Romeo queried through melancholy.
“Hey Jules, what say we check out the cougars prowling Blue Suede Sue’s tonight.”
Blue Suede Sue’s was a successful fifties / sixties style nightclub in Mississauga, Ontario. The best I can tell was claimed as a victim of COVID-19 restrictions. It was the place to go from the mid-nineties onwards if you enjoyed dancing, drinking, and having a good time.
…and yes it did have it share of ‘cougars’ out on the prowl, especially on Friday and Saturday nights.
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Not Me
My heart races as the world closes in. Periphery blurring to gray as my jaw tightens. The room seemingly devoid of air. Fingertips numb and tingling, I clutch at the pain in my chest…
Embarrassed and disoriented, I wake to the voices of the paramedics. As I recover I downplay the significance but inside I’m freaking out. Could I have had a heart attack at 27?
After several hours in the ER, the doctor shares his diagnosis, “Your heart looks good, I suspect it was an anxiety attack.”
“Me, panic?” I reply. “Not a chance. You better check again.”
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Before I die…
At 29, I wrote a list of the things I wanted to do before I die…
It was long and varied and even as I crossed items off, it continued to grow. At 74 years and 3 months, and just diagnosed with terminal cancer, I may never complete that list. We may be reticent to admit it but no one has the time to do everything they want, and I will not mourn for things left undone. I choose to celebrate that which I have been fortunate to experience and the friends and colleagues whose paths crossed mine along the way; they are the treasures I will take with me from this world.
Until the day I seek redemption before my maker, I will continue to live and maybe, just maybe, I’ll find the time to cross a couple more items from my list before the clock winds down to its final tick.
Disclaimer: For the record, I am not 74+ years old yet and I do not have cancer. These six fictitious sentences were inspired by Sadje’s What Do You See? image prompt. It started me thinking about how someone just diagnosed with a terminal illness may view their bucket list when faced with the inevitable. If and when I get there I hope I handle it like the 74 year old in my narrative above.
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Celesta and the Insilai
It had cornered her in a back alley in one of the rougher areas of Antares City. The backwater center of Antares Prime, a mining colony along the outer rim of the asteroid belt beyond the settlement worlds of Caleb and Karon. The mineral rich rocky band provides the resources that power the tech hungry settlements and keeps the portal to Mother Earth open. The new frontier and the promise of wealth brings all kinds of fortune seekers through the wormhole, the galactic 49ers of the asteroid belt.
Celesta, a bounty hunter by trade knew the creature would bring her a small fortune. The aliens normally avoided the colony, preferring to remain on the more remote rocks of the belt. Only showing themselves when seeking shots of Synth, the highly addictive narcotic preferred by miners hoping to find respite from the hell of this place. The drug had been introduced to the locals in the early years when relations between our species were less strained.
Continue readingBittersweet
Amy’s emotional outburst was visceral in the moment.
To see him, the man that had abused her trust and controlled her every move flummoxed, weak, almost helpless was both sweet and bitter.
It was over, but for her, could never end.
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