A few blizzard-inspired lines

Sound - Birdsong FM

Cantata of summer, nature and life
Of flauting finch and whistling wren
Tunefully tooting to the tops of the trees
They would pierce were it not for the lungs of the rest.
Like a wood pigeon's rippling clarinet tongue
Drowned out by crowing Wagnerian brass
And driven by the piping cuckoo organ
Layered by strings of a distant vehicle.


Ode to Cricket

What parallel sound could enter thy ear
Than the names of Tilakaratne and Jayasuria
Spoken by voices softer than the grasses
On which thou playeth a'front o' the masses.

No dreamier image can I create
Than sunshine warming thy fatherly face
Lighting yon cover drive, yon delightful leg-glance
Executed deftly by thine delicate dance.

Imagery - Home Is...

Home is not a town, a city or state
You've scaled the planet in search of that place
Yet home is behind every route of escape
It lies in the mind you can never vacate.

Rhyme - ing

Each line of my poem will end in ing
Borrowing the wisdom of The TingTings
It's nothing serious, it's only a fling
What else could you need in the season of spring?
But I'm in the winter, that's just the thing
I'm too tired for music I'm too old for bling
I glance at my bow and its dangling string
No more will it make your violin sing
It will scratch it will scrape it will positively sting
But to your memory it will eternally cling.

Non-fiction

Serious and caring what else could you be
In the lofty position of Labour MP?
So serious and caring your position demands
You be seen eating greedily from celebrity hands
The fare that they serve - a culinary treat
Of falsity, vanity and cynical conceit
So serious and caring that face that you pull
Whilst we wait in line to be ruthlessly culled.

Perspective - Moley mole

How rich your depths
Of worm and soil
I'd endlessly bury
My nose in your soul
Inhaling the freshness
Of your crumbly mud
But what the hell is that?
A needle.
Filled with blood.