No. 208 “The Cabinet Makers” 30/7/16

They are in a dark abominable place,
Where no grass is growing,
They’re cutting down dead trees and taking them there,
They are the cabinet makers.

They carry steel buckets,
Within them is their lunch,
They never eat anything but gravy sandwiches,
They are the cabinet makers.

If you find your way down that dark alley,
Crowd in through the rushing door,
You’ll see them sanding wood,
For they are the cabinet makers.

The process never ends, no,
For the world loves hand made cabinets,
So they’ll make them till they die, ho!
They are the cabinet makers.

-zu

How did I manage to make such a weird poem about cabinet makers of all things? 😂 Don’t ask me, I’m just a poet!

Follow my daily poem project! Yesterday’s poem: No. 207 (I think) “Friends with Pigeons” 28/7/16

No. 207 (I think) “Friends with Pigeons” 28/7/16

There is a girl I know,
She wears grey skirts and dark tights,
Maroon lipstick.
Hiding behind panels and
Window frames,
She talks to clothes horses
And whistles to the wind.
I have never seen her dance,
She has a heavy tread,
But the swirling of her skirt,
Defies translation
Into dance.
You’d never forget her figure,
But you can’t recall her eyes,
Hidden under strong
Black glasses,
And behind strong cups of coffee,
They are grey.
And very sombre.
I watched her once,
Standing at the traffic lights,
Waving to the pigeons,
And I think they understood,
That she was lonely.
I suppose she has a flat,
Perhaps a cat.
I have seen her buying bacon
At the store,
I thought she might have a cat to share it with.
Once her lunch was missing from the lunch room,
So I gave her half a sausage and some
Fried rice.
She ate it and said thank you.
That’s all I know of her.
But I’d swear she never robbed a bank,
If asked to swear in court.
Of course if she did,
I’m sure she’d do it well.
And the pigeons would probably help her.

-zu

No idea how this poem happened 😂 yesterday my co-worker was talking to herself while sorting the filing cabinet and I said to her it would make a good subject for a poem, the girl who talks to filing cabinets, the next thing I came home and wrote this poem! 

“Sometimes.” (written before my daily poem project started, so no number! 😊) 28/7/16

Sometimes I feel like a breeze, here and there I go,
Sometimes I feel like a whisper, whispering secrets slow.
Occasionally I feel like a lion, brave and strong and true,
Sometimes I feel like a wall, standing against any wind that blew.

Sometimes I look at the world, and people and how they live,
Sometimes I feel as if I’ve been pulled, straight through a very thin sieve.
Sometimes I wait on the corner, sometimes I wait on the road,
Sometimes I stop and lean on a tree, and slowly ease off my load.

Sometimes I walk for days, defying snow, wind and sleet,
Sometimes I am triumphant, and sometimes I am beat.
Occasionally I climb the tallest tree, just to look around,
Sometimes I lie and look at the stars, and feel the cold of the ground.

-zu

Ok, and now the word sometimes has ceased to look like a word to me 😂 hope you enjoyed this poem! I’m currently doing a daily poem project, yesterday’s poem was: No. 207 – 27/7/16

“Sometimes.” (written before my daily poem project started, so no number! 😊)

Sometimes I feel like a breeze, here and there I go,
Sometimes I feel like a whisper, whispering secrets slow.
Occasionally I feel like a lion, brave and strong and true,
Sometimes I feel like a wall, standing against any wind that blew.

Sometimes I look at the world, and people and how they live,
Sometimes I feel as if I’ve been pulled, straight through a very thin sieve.
Sometimes I wait on the corner, sometimes I wait on the road,
Sometimes I stop and lean on a tree, and slowly ease off my load.

Sometimes I walk for days, defying snow, wind and sleet,
Sometimes I am triumphant, and sometimes I am beat.
Occasionally I climb the tallest tree, just to look around,
Sometimes I lie and look at the stars, and feel the cold of the ground.

-zu

Ok, and now the word sometimes has ceased to look like a word to me 😂 hope you enjoyed this poem! I’m currently doing a daily poem project, yesterday’s poem was: No. 207 – 27/7/16

Writing in books – Snippets of the world.

Ok, so I know some people HATE any sort of vandalism or writing in books. Their eyes start to twitch when they see dog-eared pages, they clench their fists when someone take a biro to a book. I realise that these things really annoy some people, but I am not one of those people. If you are, you might not like this new series that I am going to start.

I think that finding some little note or drawing in a book is like finding a little piece of someone else’s life that they’ve carelessly left there. I love my books to have history!

And today I found a little note in a book in a bookshop, I didn’t buy the book, (I already own it; seven little Australians) but I had to take a picture of it to share with you!

I agree! But also a very lovable book. 😊

I’ll be on the lookout for more snippets to share, but in the meantime, do you prefer your books to be in pristine condition or do you like a bit of history?

Promptly poetry!

One of the most important questions has always been; did he come in the front door or the back door?

One person strongly suspected it was the front door, and everyone else wasn’t really sure.

Create a story, poem or explanation for which way you believe he came in, and why it’s so important. 

No. 207 – 27/7/16

What is darkness, but blacker light,

What is sun if I lose my sight?

What is a happy summers day,

And how does the summer find its way?

I have seen a dying queen,

As summer fades and starts to lean,

Can the ice that crunches like shattered glass,

Ever freeze the lake forever, will it last?

The golden light of winter beams,

But it’s not as warm as summer dreams.

-zu