Birdsong bought with crumbs of bread,

Auditory senses being fed,

Swooping down onto the lawn,

Slices pecked apart and torn,

Little murmurs of delight,

At the feathered pecking sight,

But why not the same effect,

When creature that’s not elect,

Non-winged animal on grass,

Belonging to diff’rent class,

Nibbled on the food left out,

Causing all to shriek and shout,

What nerve, how had it dared,

The bread was not to be shared,

So out came the trap and cat,

To get rid of the tree rat,

‘Til it learnt to sing as sweet,

Squeaking with a tuneful tweet.

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The city shone its special gold,

Stones alive, their stories told,

The mud, the air casting spell,

Adding to a wonders well,

The old city smiled so wide,

At all those who were inside,

And by its wall dancing dance,

Souls joined up in joyful trance,

They sang together as one,

Whipping in Theys, everyone,

Lyrics meaning a mere tool,

‘twas the song combining all,

All a piece, a part of she,

Jerusalem, a part of me.

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Sort Of Eavesdropping

Generic ’merican gal in hat,

Serenaded in the sun, she sat,

The only voice in bikini clan,

Each perching on a lounger divan,

She did not lie sunbathing lazy,

No, she was proper angry crazy,

Shouting, pointing at, ranting about,

What exactly, there is much doubt,

Father treated her oh so badly,

Account stripped to $8000 sadly,

The house was sold, well what a cheek,

She seethed and spoke in spluttered speak,

Entertainment by the swimming pool,

A free performance for us all,

Ears were strained for every word,

But still not all she said could be heard,

Thus it was rude, not respectable,

This public rant unacceptable,

Thou shan’t leave your audience denied,

Either speak clearly, or be decried.

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Meeting The Teacher

It’s that day of the year,

That all parents fear,

When invited to hear,

About their little dear,

Where it is made clear,

That we need to steer,

Grades up from the rear,

How we need a beer.


We look teach in the eye,

And as much as we try,

Really cannot deny,

That exams do not lie,

How could he defy,

The system and belie,

That to achieve high,

You don’t question why,

Wish that we could fly.


Humility and pain,

Seeing teacher complain,

Our work was in vain,

We let beasts be slain,

In world gaming train,

He did not use brain,

For school learning main,

We bend over for cane,

Parents failing again.

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What Men Wear

Stomachs cunningly strapped in tight,

By armory hidden out of sight,

Women all dressed up in finery,

Mood enhanced by cups of winery,

Perfumed feet wrapped in candy heels,

A prayer against blisters, wheals,

Faces redrawn like works of art,

Nails covered with acrylic part,

Men all wear their stomachs right out,

Confident that it’s chicy stout,

Masculine shuffle on the dance floor,

The sweat begins to really pour,

Male cheeks dabbed with perspiration,

Women applying more foundation,

Men in same comfy flats for hours,

While stiletto appeal quickly sours,

Barefooted women litter the hall,

Crippled sat on any vacant stool,

But girls all know this is the price,

To ensure their men look extra nice,

Women must dress up as they were taught,

To be worn by their male escort.

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New bakery of breads and of cake,

So hard to choose what not to take,

Casting spells on addicted eyes,

For that hard hit of sugary prize,

Smells of cocoa and pastry sweets,

Invading noses aroma meets,

Boxes loaded up with much haste,

Saliva filled mouths want to taste,

But ears remain on neutral ground,

Picking up an unwanted sound,

Eyes and nose decide to just ignore,

Preferring make believe in the store,

Cannot be someone being sick,

Must be some type of dirty trick,

Mouths dry up and eyes awaken fast,

In truth the magic does not last,

Cake consumer with gastric band,

Ingested goodies he cannot stand,

And so he eats and spews it out,

Casting gastronomical doubt,

More so because he is the maker,

He the overindulgent baker.

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Exclusive Art

Artist added sounds to a stew,

And cooked them up, created new,

And to that new he gave a name,

‘Mine’, he firmly stamped his claim.


Artist took letters, mixed them up,

Formed words, sentences by the cup,

Arranged them into types of tale,

A sea of new ‘Mines’ set to sail.


The artist espied scenes and sights,

Catching them with different lights,

Fixed firmly making them his ‘Mine’,

New visions, of colour, shade, line.


Oh how many new ‘Mines’ of art,

Essential for world’s mind and heart,

But cordoned off from the Theys,

In legally determined ways.


And the Theys in this larger world,

In which new art had been unfurled,

Could tread much less than could before,

Where bigger is not always more.

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