Tag: Whimsy
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No Holiday Miracle
I was hoping they’d last for much longer, than I really knew that they would, but time has marched onward determined, to be counted the way that it should. So I’m starting to quietly panic, because no miracle has occurred, the days have not ceased to diminish, and work can now not be ignored. And…
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Christmas in Tasmania
This poem was prompted by the poem Hugh wrote that I read this morning, got me thinking what signals Christmas to me. Raspberries and Strawberries, picked fresh from the bush, the smell of fresh cut hay, on a summers evening hush. A thunderstorm with lightning, flashing in the dark, the mouth-watering aroma , wafting from…
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Diasappearing Days
I’m supposed to be on holidays to have a little rest, but the weather is atrocious and all I feel is stressed. There’s so much I should be doing to fix this place of mine, but no matter my intentions I just can’t seem to find the time. The grass is growing rapidly, there’s gravel…
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Question 33: How do they do it?
I’m asking how they do it, and where it is it goes? What happens to their body when they become unseen? I’d really like the answer, it would help an awful lot, on days when I can’t remember how to fit into my jeans!
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Question 32: How to speak dishes
I do not understand it, not one little bit, I clean them every evening, and on the sink they sit, yet next time when I notice the sink is piled high with dirty cups and mugs and such, stacked up to the sky. I’m not sure who is using all my cutlery each day or…
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Words are not like Dogs
Words are not like dogs coming when called faithful companions and loyal friends. Words are like cats elusive and aloof appearing only when they choose demanding your attention then leaving mid-thought. If you do not seek their company they will be there chiding you for ignoring them clamouring to be admired. Words are not like…
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Question 31: Chickens and road and the crossing thereof
A sad fact of life is road kill the sight of it makes me feel ill but the thought that makes me worry – even though I feel so sorry – is how do you know if the chicken crossed the road before it was flattened by a heavy load?
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The Fuel of the World
I see them marching off to work, encouragement clutched in hand, their symbol of endurance grasped, like a runner with the Olympic torch. No dawdling gait, but at a brisk walk, drones scurrying off to drudgery, from plastic, cardboard, or thermos cup sip quickly now – no time for talk. A staple of the working…
Ceenoa 
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