Poem - Washing Day

Near noon the good ship Laundry Belle

Set sail from Washing Harbour.

A southwester blowing affably like butcher's banter,

Tufts of bread, white clods for the sea birds,

Rolling and bobbing on the green waves.

"All hands on deck!

Hoist the main sail!"

And up it goes, floral polyester applauding the wind,

Slapping the mast with a wet passion.

The captain stands defiant by the rigging,

Peg-shaped cutlass clamped tight between zealous teeth,

Hearing the ocean crash into the beech trees

Like the rushing of leaves in a spring gale.

"Ah ye landlubbers, ye Marks and Spencer's size 10 ladies briefs,

Yen te jump ship, ye scurvy mongrels?

Aye an' al string yer up by yer gusset

On the jib".

Delinquents secured to the heaving rope,

Onward she ploughs through an afternoon of sunshine,

This bold, bright suburban galleon.

And come four o’clock, the duvet cover’s dry.

Wrote this after pretending to be among the sails on a galleon while pegging out the family laundry on a windy day. No, I haven't grown up yet :)

2015 Copyright Mir Fleur

Poem - Goldfish

Poor Hero and Leander,
They meander

In a world not their creation.

As they wallow in the water,

So they ought to

Find some other recreation.

Our Hero slips beside him,

And on her whim

They resume communication.

Leander blinks his eyes,

How we despise

Their blatant lack of inspiration.

But as Leander darts away,

He seems to say

There must be more than procreation.

One trip around his world

Has unfurled

The truth about his destination.

Is it better, they debate,

Accept your fate

Or pine away for explanation?

The universe beyond the glass,

(How can they pass?)

Is just a plane of new vibration.

Though lives may seem a bore,

Sometimes a chore,

Each second is a celebration,

Of the life that makes them breathe –

We must believe,

New days will bring new invitations.

Copyright 2013-2015 Mir Fleur

This poem really is about my two goldfish of the time, Hero and Leander, and their life in their round glass bowl, oblivious to the universe beyond. 

All the best, Mir xxx

Millenium

Decided that if I feel the burning desire to inflict poetry on you, it would be better to do it here than in The Somewhat Peculiar Story.

I have a vast collection of poems. Most of it is soppy nonsense, but some I am still quite proud of.

'Millenium' is obviously quite dated now, since I wrote it about the change to year 2000, but the sentiment still carries to every new year that comes around. (I realise that I should probably post this at New Year instead, but <shrug> I happened to come across it today, so here it is).

I hope you like it :)

Millenium

For all the newness promised

By the cleanness of a nought,

And for all the final prophecies

In every culture taught,

And for all the vows to wipe the slate,

Forget the battles fought –

We’ll be the same at five past twelve

As we were the day before.

For all the champagne popping

With its sudden proclamation,

As the date line sweeps unerring

Over every earthly nation,

And we wonder whether mankind’s

Path has any limitation –

We’ll be the same at five past twelve

As we were the day before.

Someone somewhere still will starve

Through drought for lack of rain,

Someone else will swallow pills

To nullify the pain,

In one dark corner someone’s child

Will never breathe again –

It will be the same at five past twelve

As it was the day before.

But if each certain step we take

Brings love a little nearer,

And if each time we close our eyes

Our vision becomes clearer

And if the words we speak are true

Our heart’s a bit sincerer –

We’ll be less to blame at five past twelve

Than we were the day before.

(copyright 2000-2015 Mir Fleur)

All the best, Mir xxx