Pumpkin Paparazzi

Occasionally, I write something poem-like and on rare occassions they get finished.

Your Fibonacci Sequence (Published in South)

First a lie,
then another lie,
then a lie as big as the last two,
I watch you spiralling away from me
like a lost planet,
unhinged from the grasp of gravity.

A Pirate's Progress (Published in the Caterpillar)

I am a fearsome pirate —
I am at home upon the sea —
and 'though they try to string me up,
they're never catching me.

I fight for the love of gold
and I am always after more.
I plunder every ship I find,
while I sail from shore to shore.

I've let my beard grow long —
my hair looks desperate too.
What a bunch of drunken rogues —
me and my merry crew.

We're loyal to no country —
we make our own rules here.
We have no fear of good or bad —
we're the bravest buccaneers

But what has happened here,
for we have run aground?
The ship is keeling over and…
I think she's going down.

I best jump overboard,
into the briny sea,
I should have taught myself to swim —
oh dear, oh silly me.

The sharks are swirling round —
they'll soon be eating me.
I wish I'd lived an honest life
and never gone to sea.

A Poem is for Life (Published in the Caterpillar)

Can you give a poem a home?
A little space to call its own?
Too often verse is shut away,
and never sees the light of day.

Poems require no drinks or feeding,
they only need infrequent reading.
They thrive with just this simple care,
and when they're needed, they'll be there.

For when in grief you mope alone,
you'll find beside you sits a poem
that with a friendly nudge or two
will nuzzle up and comfort you.

A poem can walk with you away
from troubles that upset your day
to mountains, streams, or sandy beach —
there's not a place a poem can't reach.