zany zippy zambo
rarely watches Rambo
preferring cartoons
watching Saturn’s moons
persnickety ways
does not waste his days
doing what he wants and only that
brought home five dogs and one straggly cat
zany zippy zambo is the king
of doing only his own thing
he had a wife who ran away
every day for him is full of play
NO TO THE SHOW
You’re lying he said and shook his head
I know there is no witch in the wardrobe
And if she were there, I would be aware
Then he smiled and pulled on his earlobe
Then with a grunt, he turned to the front
With piercing gaze, spoke directly at me
I’ve heard that a lot, but it’s all just rot
All these stories are not real, but fantasy
Then just to be sure, he opened the door
So that we all could then examine inside
She was crouching there with straggly hair
Staring out, with her eyes now open wide
His daughter in that outfit he’d bought her
And he then shouted at her, very annoyed
Don’t be a , by dressing up as a witch
As my planned magic trick’s now destroyed
Just how green is my valley
Below those dark satanic hills?
How many familial bones
Lay there molding to greyish dust?
Do the words of my forefathers
Echo on beyond my ancient head...
So that future ears clearly hear
What wisdom they actually said?
I long to see the rain fall
On those grey slag built mountains,
Where trees are straggly specimens -
Sometimes misted by the clouds
So low that their moist kiss remains
On my upward stretching hands.
It's where the belly trembles
And my heartache truly resounds.
But how much better would it be
Were this a sun drenched paradise,
Where everything was plentiful;
Where everyone was fulfilled
And could afford their daily bread,
Where cries of pain became instead
Joyful smiles with ease instilled?
© Allen Ansell 2025
If I should get punctured, laying leaking Crimson Tide,
call me Deacon Blues as I slowly start to die.
If they miss me, take it easy.
All is as it should be.
It's best to cut losses, cut ties, change your name, skip town, and grow a beard.. Like To-day, act now before patience sells out in turn I act out of character, and when I leave this is all that you'll talk about.
Our natural satellite departs slow.
Binds of the parasitic plant; first love ties.
The pulse on your neck is chattering, It's slurring its words.
Downtrodden, ragged, in rags soaking drenched and sitting comfortable in combustible liquid stenches.
Oblivious even in the question, oddly aggressively asking,
a straggly demand, expectant to be handed the light to smoke himself a real 'Death Sentence' cigarette.
The late moon is stunning, floating, acting like you're here and really you're staying, we all know that you're leaving.
What are we even thinking?
The only finger on the pulse plays to the beat of a night that reminds me of older days.
Guarded adversaries; imagine that.
The Heart Elapse.
Collapse.
Old and Grey or Rob the cradle to the grave.
I share a tree with a story to tell:
We were out for a walk round Dufton Pike
when this straggly hawthorn conveyed its spell,
holding my gaze on our afternoon hike.
A closer study showed not one but two
thorns twisted, contorted in a struggle,
their limbs, their joints entwined and tangled through
a wrestling of arms that writhe and tussle.
Or might this be some sibling rivalry
played out for decades to all those who pass
this way? A contest to show how vitally
rivals arise competing to outclass.
Best not to draw too close lest I get caught
in this thicket of thorns without support.
Sorry I can't post the photo.(/em>
Blackened. Charred.
Are the blossoms of autumn's acclaimed abundance
No longer dance they in vivid wonderance,
Singed by the frigid frost,
Stand they forlorn and lost.
Barren. Desolate.
Stand the trees.
Marooned in an island of dry leaves.
Wracked by glacial winds
As deep winter imprints.
A few brave bougainvillea
Struggle in straggly strands
To defy winter's hands.
Up they climb into yellowing leaves
Cobbling colour into the sheaves.
Unfazed. Undeterred.
By mutinous nature
Munificent flames the trailblazer...
Widespread flames in riotous red
Red riotous flames widespread.
An everlasting Christmas
Bedecks the shrub in richness
Bouquets of ruby crowned in gold
Amidst emerald and jade leaves untold
It is the flaming Glorybower.
Not for it the wheel of seasons
An evergreen...it blooms in legions
Symbolising life everlasting
Even in winter's fog and freezing...
Bringing red flaming glory to many a bower
For it is the flaming Glorybower.
She was yer postcard type of witch
Long black cloak and red striped hose
Pointy hat and straggly raggly hair
Even wart of requisite size on nose
Miaowly cat of evil demeanour
Balanced there on her broom
With a certain air of sang froid
As she steered around the room
But eye of toad and tongue of newt
Plus any spell known just couldn’t right
That she couldn’t fly by the moon
Cos she was so afeared of heights
She never made the witches ball
Never danced the Evil Tango
If one just can’t ride one’s broomstick
There’s no way known that one can go
So she sits at home in misery
Frantically searching for a spell
A charm a potion or incantation
To solve her perfectly dreadful hell
Oh she can curse with the best of ‘em
Cure warts and other various ills
But how can a witch be credible
When she’s always having spills
How can a witch have pride
When she can’t leave her room
To attend her monthly local coven
Cos she keeps falling off her broom
There is a lone field before me
With sweet flowers that draws the eyes
Round the blooms, roams many a bee
There is a lone field before me
A nice sight all would love to see
Straggly clouds sail along the skies
There is a lone field before me
With sweet flowers that draws the eyes
August.23.2022
~ Placed First~
Triolet – Old or New Poetry Contest
Syllables checked with HMS
Sponsor- Joseph May
We strolled along deserted lanes
lined by straggly rubble walls,
adorned by yellow cowslips,
perfumed with early wild narcissus,
and music, a fine harmony,
performed by finches of all colours
Whilst blue **** and sparrow fly from tree to tree.
I lingered there, hoping I could get away
from the fathomless worries of the weary world,
or perhaps find rest in an eternal quietude.
We walked hand in hand, listening to the rill
Its clear waters zigzagging downwards.
She stared at the rivulet with wonderment.
I admired her composure, her interest
In all around her, a stoic tranquillity.
I invited her to sit besides me on a wooden bench.
Enjoy the vast silent panorama of the countryside.
No other human could be seen in the vicinity
Except far off, a farmer tilled his field.
She put her head against my shoulder.
We uttered not one word. It was pure bliss.
I realized love can be silent,
For utter silence is true love.
DONE DOWN
Reaching for the curtain sides with bony grasping fingers,
I allow passage to the pressing of daylight,
which billows through the glass hurriedly,
into the spark-less long cold boiler room.
Outside in the early street,
laced in reflective white powder deep,
and glowing orange under the wasted lamps,
Part people are carrying the heavy remains of their memories.
Which included good! And ok!
It Surrounded them in a halo of wellness.
Remnants of their jigsaw lives being straggly,
dragged towards the iron gates of hope.
Their fortune lines on blistered hands fading,
erased by the scythe of greed unloaded onto
each of their minds by the voted for few,
they sitly comfort in their cabinets,
Their walls built from flimsy promises,
the weight increasing in their deepening pockets of self,
Impressed into the colding snow footprints they follow like children in tow
but all in the one-way street, their footprints separated forever
from their bodies, by pain and a basic need.
In an hour a thousand pass
Doctors, lawyers, truck drivers
Small and fat,
A straggly cat.
Six ladies in elegant furs
Two little boys chasing curs
A tottery, old man with a cane
The same scraggly cat again.
The local newsboy laden down
Big and small,
A runaway ball,
The corner cop awaiting the strike
Five o'clock, the rush hour jam
Wondering who I am
What I'm doing--
Here's the news with anchor, Horseju Rode Inon
Man claims to have been visited by a scary apparition
With weird scary hair
All straggly down to there
It touched his dangly bits without permission
My hair tries to define me
I laugh in her straggly non- curls
Hoping to shame me, she taunts me
About being messy and unkempt
Together we could be a social disgrace
except only she cares, wanting a brushing,
regular combs run through her, etcetera.
She is much more prissy than I am.
Unbothered by her begging and pleading,
I march on kicking the possibility of a well coiffured head
out of my way,
watching her hopes and dreams land in mire and muck.
She glares at me from a mud puddle
with ticks and lice hopping onto her.
I truly do not care.
Her cowlick promenades around
the bugs’ barn dance.
This does not concern me.
I will never define myself by my hair.
My hair tries to define me
She comes again, to dress his wound,
straggly hair but packed with kindness.
I wonder where she's going next
and who she treated just before.
Of course no alcohol involved
he slipped on wooden steps at night.
Deft hands measure, clean the wound,
replace the silver dressing.
"Keep it dry and elevate," she says agai..
I know he won't unless I nag.
She checks blood pressure, much too high!
then heads to small white car outside.
I thank and bless the District Nurse for
her service, skill and patience.
… and so then I decided
to dye my hair black
but somehow it came out
red. Stained the tops of my
lobes in the process - my ears now
constantly burning. I thought to
myself ‘Why not put your hair
up like those models and guys
in the movies? A man bun?’
Mine came out more like
a deflated scone, its leaking
contents my hair: straggly and
errant like bitter strawberries or
sour milk – the difference I’d
hoped for not entirely a
success. I’d seen my reflection in
a store’s mirror broken, cracked.
My body slewed across one surface
cut in two. ‘Why can’t I be more
like him?’ ‘Why can’t I look like
them?’ Questions pasted over my
face like powdered arsenic; make up
revealing my flaws rather than
covering them. A change was
needed. A reinvented me. And
so, then, I decided to dye
my hair black. But it came out
red.
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