Email Poem

Your IP Address: 3.140.192.22

Your Email Address:

To Email Address:

Subject

Personal Note:

Poem Title:

Poem

Monkey business


“I say how about
breakfast at The New Farmer’s”


Our day of picking and consuming done
no hunger induced nightmares, we rest dusk to dawn
check on the young ones. Are we all here?
tomorrow we return for another early breakfast
at The New Farmers'

it's sugar cane on the menu
well done, defoliated by fire
sweet smell of wild honey 
a hive of flavours of molasses 
wash down milky white green corn

we're going on tortoise-paced on fast food
centipedes, scorpions rocking our pillows
going green for the season, shedding the load off
Triangle's aged sugar mills

we have suffered enough, chums
in the hands of the farmer, old and new alike
globalising of our territories, present day terrorism

landmines all over
Were they seeding sweet potatoes?
Long rooted explosives have been going off
in the crossfire of war ghosts

sounds of corn popped in shovels
by rustic labourers for lunch 
tearing our species limb from limb
we dare not bore deep into the woods for sustenance
Reap where they have sown!

Yeah!

They will see red, develop high BP
when we up our tails, march with a swag
Ho-me! Ho-me! Ho-me! Ho-me!
cobs, canes in snouts and armpits
Their sentinel will go round anthills like the looney canine
of the long-playing "His Master's Voice," ever so poised
for a jump, off the vinyl scratches, stuck in the groove
giving Chacma a bad name;

	“Command field, roger
	reporting marauding baboons
	destroyed plots alpha to romeo
	zeroing into zulu, roger
	send delta oscar gulf sierra

	over and out."

CAPTCHA Preview

Type the characters you see in the picture

Required