Shark, the cat, is sitting catty-wampus today. He is a contortionist. His head is to the north,
His tail to the west, paws to the east, crossed in a southwesterly way, except for one which is
Somehow sticking up in the air like a lone feather. He is licking his Neverland region, as I step
Over him. At first when I noticed him on the porch, with all these extensions, I thought he was a
Fat, giant spider. Shark is an older cat, there is no way he should have this kind of agility, but
He does, and I am in awe.
#EPANALEPSIS POEM#
Sitting down, on a moor top tor, resting.
Meditating, as the moon waves the sun goodbye.
I stare into the abyss, of space, meditating.
Clouds rush in, black as night, storm clouds.
Wind, now howls, breaking the spell, noisy wind!
Nature talks, gives me warning, thanks, nature.
Southwesterly wind, not cold, but driving.
At my back, lightening step, thanks, southwesterly.
Home, I have reached my cave, my sweet home.
Sleep beckons, sand fills my eyes,
the Sandman’s parting gift, sleep has me.
#MY INVENTION
A howling gale is roaring through,
Southwesterly, she grew and grew.
From balmy airs and clear blue skies,
She gathered herself for our demise.
Overnight she gathered her tremendous force,
and channelled herself on her headlong course.
There's no escape from her raging whine,
as she howls and screams up our coastline.
Ships heave - to in the lee of the land,
while birds hide deep in the timberland.
They know there's little they can do,
until she blows herself out and passes through.
Meanwhile trees crack with horrendous noise,
the torn off limbs are brutalised.
They fill the streets and cause distress,
hampering motorists in their progress.
Tomorrow she'll be gone, like another bad dream,
leaving heads to shake, as folk start to clean.
Reflecting how it could be worse,
their optimism not quite dispersed.