Kind Of Feeding

She is looking to pay,

To feed come what may,

Stray cats by her way,

While he looks for way,

To keep rats at bay,

That have come to play,

As cats that are stray,

That feed on rat prey,

Aren’t hungry today.

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A Cup Of Outside

From the outside,

Inside we hide,

The elements bad,

And we’re so glad,

But sunshine power,

For body flower,

Wind stroke and shakes,

From slumber wakes,

Thirsting fresh air,

To drink and share,

And the wet rains,

Clean all dirt, stains,

Lies, we’ve been fed,

It’s wrong, instead,

From the inside, hide,

And embrace outside.

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Balancing Act

Back so bent and strangely stooped,

On bench until dog had pooped,

Why today he sat on grass,

As I came on one leg pass,

Had he lost his balance or,

Had he meant to sit on floor,

Fine balance from bending in,

Keeping upright thick and thin,

And falling over last straw,

Thrown from life’s open door,

He struggled, but got up tall,

What else to do after all,

And shuffled off with back bent,

Balancing acts swayed and went.

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The Art Of Climbing Mountains

Staring at the incline of dirt and rock,

I am sure I saw the mountain face mock,

Me with my questionable plastic clogs,

Big handbag perched on arm, not climbing togs,

I knew I couldn’t make it up, but still,

My son said he’d push me right up the hill,

And for a bit, I managed to ascend,

Until we got to a rather sharp bend,

Slipping and sliding I sat on the ground,

Hanging firmly on to a stony mound,

And waited for rescue by some kind soul,

To get me way down with my body whole,

For to climb all mountains there is an art,

Which is wise to know before the start,

That it’s not about the whether you can,

But rather whether you correctly plan,

And are equipped with everything you need,

For however high you aim, to succeed.

 

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Beating The Queue

The queue was about an hour long,

Waiting so much time seemed all wrong,

Joining the endless queue no stop,

Couldn’t even see to the top,

We were immersed in frozen time,

Of young and old, noise muted mime,

Started to merge as we waited,

Was our meeting chance or fated,

With not much that queuers can do,

Your options when in line are few,

Turned to each other strangers all,

Shared glimpses of lives crystal ball,

Though complaining as we proceeded,

Deserting line was not conceded,

Perhaps others would leave their place,

And so speed up this queuing race,

Then when at last there was no queue,

We bid farewell, unstuck the glue,

Never to remeet, never have met,

If not caught in mosaic queue net,

Shared trap forced a community,

To beat line with formed immunity.

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Thanksgetting

New festival to celebrate,

The human spirit elevate,

Appreciation of the new,

Gathering of many and you,

Americans may have been first,

But the bubble grew and burst,

And the world is following fast,

Cherishing and making it last,

Forget thanksgiving, less appeal,

Than worshipping a real good deal,

Black Friday religious delight,

Bargain shopping worthy of fight,

Zealous world’s chosen to rejoice,

Unified in commercial voice.

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WTF

A fake cuss word,

Shouted out heard,

‘Oh sugar!’, ‘You couch!’,

No bad, no ouch,

Doesn’t feel right,

Missing the bite,

No reason why,

Swearing defy,

To feel release,

And inner peace,

The word must be,

Genuinely,

A profanity.

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