Twiddling Knobs

Cut from the same cloth,

Poured into a mould,

Flippant in excesses,

Warm words written cold.

Fine-tuned with a dial,

Ear to hear the clicks,

Turn, turn, got it!

Enough to make you sick!

Agenda’d to the hilt

With a dash of silken voice,

Clones, in cloistered tower,

Drowning in white noise.

History rewritten so soon,

By the boys that live in back,

Twiddling knobs – yes, knobs, I said,

I’m glad I have a … different body part.

 

Although, admittedly, some of those who do,

Twiddle knobs too.

Ashes Of Peace

Ashes of peace,

Treaty entreated,

No phoenix to

Surface in flight.

End of the conflict,

Gives no concord,

Truce settled for less

Than they might.

 

Divergence of interest,

No contradiction,

Consistent

In their discord.

Battle still rages,

Though behind lines,

Neither believes

One word.

 

Fear and mistrust,

Goodwill gone astray,

Ceasefire may last

For a while.

Without true intention,

A closer inspection,

No solution.

No style.

 

 

For The People

The Paperbook Collective welcomes contributions of poems, stories, photos and art. You may want to check it out.

http://jaydeashe.files.wordpress.com/2013/09/the-paperbook-collective-issue-two_2013.pdf

Empty echoes in

Hallowed halls,

Glittering grime

On ancient walls,

Fettered to grandiosity,

Chained by resonating

Fine words,

Purveying promises.

Falsity.

 

Pets and Promises

I managed to resist buying a dog for years.

I negotiated with my children each time it was mentioned and so we’ve had more hamsters than I care to think about, a few guinea pigs, a budgie, a couple of gerbils, goldfish and some woodlice that my kids thought would make good pets! My back garden is an animal graveyard. Natural expiration, I may add.

Last year, I gave in.

A three-month old Border Collie was bought.

There were promises made before the purchase.

We promise we will get up early and walk him before we go to school.

We will take turns at this task.

We will do it gladly even when it is raining.

We will groom him daily.

We will feed him.

We will wash him.

We will love him.

Pleeeeeeease!

Peeta has adopted daddy as his running companion.

I feed him.

They love him.

And, when pressed, do all of the above.

But only when pressed.

He’s part of the family now.

So I have eight kids instead of seven!