He schleps constantly at noon
Through declivities and straight roads,
Bearing messages sealed by the hands
That laid them bare in the first place.
Sweat caresses his face, forming one mass of
Earnestness in every breath of delivery.
“Hello,” he says, “your mail. Your package.”
My palm breathes harder, having neared his.
I sign the delivery paper and reach out for the
Package.
He is fussy with time and gets rewarded when
The Christmas bells chime slowly
From wintry belfries posting blandishments of
Yuletide.
Merry Christmas!
A bright coin rolls into his palms and greases them.
He welcomes titbits of news within crimson cards.
His lungs inhale airs of chaperoned champagnes
Amid the voice of canticles, soft and secret.
Categories:
titbits, christmas, community, december,
Form: Free verse
Turnips are delicious,
Turmeric is tasty:
Tartlets are officious,
Truffles make for hasty
Toss-ups. It seems vicious,
Turbot served in pasty
Titbits. It’s pernicious!
Categories:
titbits, food,
Form: Pleiades
The Cat sat glumly on the mat
Eyeballing his dinner dish
It was high time someone filled it
To the brim with his favourite fish
Things had been a bit slack
Lately his meals had been late
Treats were hidden from him
No titbits were left on a plate
It was time his owners stepped up
The situation was becoming alarming
If he kept on going like this
He was in mortal danger of starving
That bloody vet rang last week
He overheard words including 'fat'
That sounded highly suspicious
No good could come of that
So here he was on tight rations
It just wasn't good enough
It was time to teach them a lesson
It was time to cut up rough
He planned it meticulously
His revenge was oh-so-sweet
He waited until they weren't looking
And threw up on the new lounge suite
Categories:
titbits, cat, humor,
Form: Rhyme
SITTING HERE ON WOODEN PIER
Sitting here on wooden pier,
Watching waves roll in
Sea-weed on the drift to shore,
The tide is on the turn,
A pelican floating by;
Searching,
Searching,
Forever searching,
Looking for another feed.
As Pandanus abound frequently,
Summer is nearly here;
The warmth from Sol above,
Is indictive suggestive feeling
Of long days around the corner.
As small crustacean abounds about
Leaving tracks and tell-tale signs;
Of whereabouts in sand.
Lonely sea-shell on tidal reach;
Existence of feeling
Of being all washed-up alone,
Far from depths, it came,
Maybe on another surge
Carried far back out to sea.
Faraway from home
And on the beach,
Corked in a bottle wrote;
Message from another place,
Message from another time.
As seagulls squawk and squawk;
Funny way they talk
To one another when on the scrounge
For any titbits found.
And sitting here on wooden pier;
I am in my element
Enjoying what is here,
Of sun, surf, and sand….
Francis Cooper – Mac © Feb 2019
Categories:
titbits, happiness, imagery,
Form: Free verse
My Mam told me about a park she used as a child
there was a real steam engine cemented in the earth
for the children to climb and play within
no safety nets to catch you as you fell or were you pushed
the swing area had its problems too
where Sammy used to like to see the girls knickers
when they swung high in the air
as Mam said all knew about him, never touched a girl
there was an enormous shute, all shiny brass
so many children caught there pants in the scews
and hung there til the rip could be heard.
they walked home clutching their skirts closely.
I laugh because the parks she took me
were so boring in comparison.
now all are children friendly no sense of danger
yet stay special in my mind.
the lake where swan's, ducks have to fight the seagulls for titbits
loved the boats you paddled your way around the islands in the lake.
best of all I remember the ice cream stall with its mile long queue.
worth the wait, the flavours to die for,taste was heaven!y,priced too high.
Categories:
titbits, memory,
Form: Verse
The Lone Believer-
I am a diary, many people confide in me.
Since ages I have proved to be one of man's best companions.
I am unique in my own way!
Don't you all agree with my opinion?
My pages create history.
Once, there was Anne Frank's diary
Now there's me;
Tomorrow, there will be someone else's diary!
I tell a tale of my own,
My dog-eared brown pages seek attention in it's own way.
All the little titbits of every single day;
Make it's way, to my pages that play.
Don't your all share your deepest secrets with me only?
Men will be born,
They will surrender to the nature's feet,
But, I will tell my tale;
Nevertheless of my writer's absence
And I will continue to survive;
I will try to re-live the moments of the forgotten days
But, alas! human beings are fools,
They don't even want to know what i know;
They are not so privileged as I am indeed;
Because men can never die!
Their memories, their actions are eternal.
And, I know that,
I know that well.
I bear them, those memories, those actions.
I am the symbol of eternity
I am the lone believer of immortality.
Long live me! long live men!
Categories:
titbits, dedication, deep,
Form: Personification