That old man

Alone upon the mountainside
Our hero hid and cowered
Born of Dickensian yuletide
He persona was rather dour.
His sandy hair was stiff as straw
His hat feeble and frail
His feet cemented to the floor
cold on his mountainside jail.
Glaring down into the valley
He chided his creators
Captivated infinitely
Upon a sea of haters.
Alone upon the mountainside
Our hero watched and wondered
Weathered, beaten, and cockeyed
What life had he plundered?

Advertisements

NaPoWriMo 2017 8/30 – Tea Cup

There’s a teacup under my bed.

I bought it on a damp high street,
when the days smiled
and our light repelled
oncoming clouds.

You said I was weird.

So when summer ribbons
were moth-eaten
and flowers faded away,
that little teacup stayed.

It watched from the basket,
when lovely red sandles
were discarded,
onto your thick head.

And the purple pen you gave me,
the ink had run
dead.

I love that little teacup,
that sleeps under my bed.

NaPoWriMo 2017 7/30

Thirteen Reasons why Today didn’t suck.

One
Autumn night, well played
A fresh to start the day.
Two
Waking up to the big blue,
is an Aussie’s Paradise.
Three
Ding Ding, the café bell
Madam Rosa knows me well.
Four
Coffee beans and toasted bacon,
Taste buds have awoken.
Five
City heels find their strut
music on, iPhone plugged.
Six
Happy chaos on the street,
nods to those we meet.
Seven
Chocolate Orange Mocha
meant good vibrations at the lockers.
Eight
Smiles and conversations,
we found our destination.
Nine
“Here’s your boost juice, babe”
My favourite mint and kale.
Ten
A Southern Cross hottie,
smiles and winks at me.
Eleven
My phone constantly glows,
with plans for April tomorrows.
Twelve
Office sing a long,
we know our working song.
Thirteen
Home to a branded Charlie
inspiring another story.