when the seven-ten
row's worth a throw of the
rice then the spice may be
loaded with sauce from some
bones rolling slowly up-
hill to a pinhead too
nice not to topple
RENOIR
paris
people
LOWRY
pinhead
people
MACKE
faceless
folk
TWINKU a double word distich with integral title
On January 2025 Pinhead will be proud to welcome so many of his fellow citizens to hell and god bless!!
If doc. know-it-all, slaps you with incurable
ask for his credentials
even if you think they're legit
ask yourself for a second opinion
then just go on living
burn time down to embers.
Pack the remainder of your life onto a pinhead.
Just like you should have from the beginning.
I love the night,
wandering in wide tranquil countryside,
in the dim light of the pinhead stars,
with their intricate constellations,
a nocturnal symphony that helps give directions
to wayward hitchhikers that roam in off course pathways.
I love the night,
imbibing the perfumes of the ambrosial countryside.
The newly cut hay, the wayside fragrant flowers,
all covered with a fine dew
spreading delicate exquisite odors in country meadows.
I love the night.
In the open vistas,
where all daily cares just fade away,
like wispy steam from a far off train.
A soft music can be heard behind thick hedges,
but be aware, think not of the ugly resonance
that go bump in the night.
I love the night.
The winking owls hoot in lament,
grasshoppers sing in close-mouthed consent,
soggy frogs give an occasional harsh croak,
but birds sleep happily on lofty trees.
Isn't it a wonderful place to be?
Thank you, God for providing me the night.
I love the night,
wandering in wide tranquil countryside,
in the dim light of the pinhead stars,
with their intricate constellations,
a nocturnal symphony that helps give directions
to wayward hitch hikers that roam in off course pathways.
I love the night,
imbibing the perfumes of the ambrosial countryside.
The newly cut hay, the wayside fragrant flowers,
all covered with a fine dew
spreading delicate exquisite odors in country meadows.
I love the night.
In the open vistas,
where all daily cares just fade away,
like wispy steam from a far off train.
A piece of soft music can be heard behind thick hedges,
but be aware, think not of the ugly resonance
that go bump in the night.
I love the night.
The winking owls hoot in lament,
grasshoppers sing in close-mouthed consent,
soggy frogs give an occasional harsh croak,
but birds sleep happily on lofty trees.
Isn't it a wonderful place to be?
Thank you God for providing me the night.
I never have enough apples.
Apple pie, which I will only eat
alamode.
Apples, to keep the dentist at bay;
apples, to keep a nagging teacher away.
Apples, cored and filled with peanut butter
and raisins,
finds balance somewhere between a raindrop
and the symmetry of snowflakes,
where balance cannot be found.
Like old age and youth
the man in the mirror always wins.
No matter how long it takes
to see him, he's always there.
Old ladies lose muscular tone
and daily search to balance sag and arrest,
another dirty smudge where balance
cannot be found.
I take pride in the old woman's knobby fingers,
I 've earned every lump you see.
It brings me joy to look at them...
I have my grandmother's hands..
and that balances everything.
FLYING MIRACLES
colourful wings gentle
flight en route to
far off migratory
lands thousands of
miles away to arrive
at…
the same tree its
parents did a
generation ago
guided by brains
the size of a
pinhead
majestic monarchs
masterpieces of
the natural world
visual enjoyment
of God’s perfect
creation
mere caterpillar
metamorphosis
rightly regarded
as faultless
miracles
from distant
galaxies
to beautiful
butterflies
creations design
points to the
Master
Designer
© Kim van Breda—3 July 2015
Pinhead sized raindrops fall in numbers, attempting to imitate fog
Green needled giants with red bark stand at attention and point at the sky
The odd deciduous turns yellow as though in fear of the impending cold
They are dwarfed by valley walls which are sealed above by oppressive clouds
Mighty Columbia drops an ice cold tongue, coloured from the cleanest blue to the dirtiest grey, to lick the valley floor
It drools crystal clear water and spits moraine
POP!
The wood makes the same sound being split by fire or by axe
We face each other on a bench by the stove
We alternate sides attempting to maintain a balance between the side feeling the heat of the stove and the other being chilled by the mountain breeze
Our hot side like the heat of summer and our cold side like the chill of winter
The seasons change in us as they do outside
Each season returning to itself in the course of time
White streaks through dark night-sky-hair to slowly become the meteor shower that awaits us
In a dark, dark room light cannot be found
When demons overtake, anxieties unbound
Black cat's silhouette far long upon the wall
Stairs creak, loud and clear, further down the hall
In a dark, dark room light cannot be found
Reactive spirit, all alone, feeling every sound
Winds moan throaty, heavy through fractured eaves
Sinister pumpkins shimmering light, sit among the leaves
In a dark, dark room light cannot be found
Unsettled thoughts, on the bend go 'round and 'round
Werewolves, Frankenstein, Dracula how they make us shudder
Hearts skip many beats escalating to a flutter
In a dark, dark room light cannot be found
Anticipation, deep and dark, envelops and surrounds
Pinhead, Jason, Freddy - fill our mind with fright
Needless fodder for a nervous mind on Halloween night
It matters not how we flourish in this valley of the universe, grazing in our meadow of celestial existence.
Life blossoms, life perishes on this pinhead of eternity but we strive to see the seasons through and escape the lurking perils, whether nature's or man's will.
In trepidation we anticipate the seasons predictable course. Springtime comes bringing beauty and warmth, igniting life, our petals unfolding in full glory.
For all mankind, there's a time, one season will not appear. Predictable as timely segments but not in content, we love the treasures that they bring but know they're mere signals to the finish line.
Life should be cherished, we should grow to be our absolute best but deep inside us we're aware that life is but a smudge on the handkerchief of Creation.
Our Earthly minds can not comprehend the endless possibilities beyond the stars and while space expands we continue to rape and pillage our own gift of a planet.
But to the juggernaut called Creation it matters not how we flourish in this valley of the universe.
(I got the idea for this poem after seeing a mean commercial that R.I.F. made.)
What you're doing is nasty and cruel.
You're insulting my friend because he dropped out of school.
You called him a moron, an idiot, and a pinhead too.
You'd better apologize or I'll beat the hell out of you.
Tears come to his eyes when he hears the words that you use.
He's a human being and doesn't deserve to be abused.
Dropping out of school was a mistake.
But you cruely insult him and that's something he shouldn't have to take.
If you insult him one more time, I'll make you pay the price.
If you're considering insulting any other people who dropped out of school, you'd
better think twice.
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