Tag Archives: whimsy

A Serious Thought

 

A serious thought

Popped into my head

It seems there was trouble

With a word that I said.

 

I cannot remember

The word that I used

But my brain is insisting

That my ego is bruised.

 

My feelings chimed in

They felt it was wrong

The word that I used

Belonged in a song.

 

Confusion’s set in

We’re all in a flux

The bits that are me

Think everything sucks!

 

I need calm in this place

That I call my head

Relax and shut up

I know what I said!

 

I lied to them all

I needed some peace

It is sleep I require

As the voices decrease.

 

Have you ever surmised

About the noise in your head

They’re loud all our lives

Until we are dead

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I welcome the gang

When we all work as one

But then there are days

When I am seriously done!

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Away

 

A child sleeps softly

Her dreams intact

Tragedy and fear

Just a whisper away.

 

But darkness embraces

This small little soul

It hides her, protects her

Keeps monsters away.

 

Too soon there is dawn

And the new light of day

The sleeping child wakes

To a world far away.

 

We owe this young one

A life of her own

Filled with the wonders

Not far away

 

We work and we pray

Please Lord make it so

A beautiful new world

Please show us the way

Poo Soup    

 

I am sure I misheard

The words that you said

You asked if I’d rather

Consider you dead?

 

I know that’s not right

But it’s now in my head.

Such silly old me

You asked about bread!

 

There’s soup on the menu

I like that, I do

What’s on today?

You say that it’s poo?

 

Creamed, you continue

It’s special you see.

I know this is wrong

But, with a chaser of pee?

 

This restaurant is new

With a speciality palate

I am not quite there.

So the onion’s a shallot?

 

I long for the day

When food was a breeze

A coffee was simple

And sweets were a tease

 

Now latte’s are half-fat

And waste’s on the menu

I don’t understand

That food’s now a venue!

 

I’ll just drink my tea

And snack on a chip.

Maybe I’m asleep,

And this is a trip!

Lost in the Words

 

I am losing my mind

As I’m drowning in verbs

The nouns are revolting

And hiding in herds

 

A preposition approached me

It was listless and drawn

Next was a conjunction

Looking ready to spawn

 

Adjectives are losing face

They really want to leave

But near at hand I think I see

The pronouns holding strong

 

Now I think a peace is needed

An interjection of a kind

All together fight as one

With an adverb so aligned

Five Shots for The Broken Anchor

 

Andrew heaved a sigh of relief. It had been a busy night but now the bar was empty and he was looking forward to cashing out and going home. Not bad for a summer gig but it was exhausting work. As he turned around to polish down the bar one more time he noticed a man sitting at the end.

“Hey man I didn’t see you sitting there, sorry about that. What can I get you?” Andrew looked expectantly at the man and wondered if he’d seen him somewhere before. He looked familiar.

The party in question raised his head slightly and quietly said “beer, whatever you got on tap”.

Andrew hurried to comply. The sooner this guy drank up his beer the sooner Andrew could get out of here. As the bartender turned back to his patron he noticed the man looking at the five shots of rum that were always kept at the end of the bar.

Ever a friendly sort Andrew proceeded to explain. “There’s a cool story about those shots of rum. The original owner of the bar and his four shipmates went down at sea in a storm. These are to honour them. Cool story don’t you think?” Andrew expected this patron to react the way everyone else did: to smile and then to go on to talk about something else. No one likes to talk about death too often it’s, well, depressing.

“It was’na cool, it was cold. Bitterly cold. You have’na got the story right.” The person speaking barely raised his head and he spoke so quietly that Andrew had to stop what he was doing and pay attention.

“Only four died that night. Tonight. 100 years ago tonight there was a storm. They thought they were safe. They anchored in a small bay and left one on watch to make sure everything was okay. Everything wasn’t okay. It was cold. Just one quick little sip of gin would warm you up. Problem is one little sip ended up becoming a whole bottle. It was a bugger of storm. But sailors are used to sleeping when the boat rolls. They count on their shipmate on watch to let them know if there’s any danger. But he fell asleep. Too much grog. When the big wave hit he got tossed into the drink. Saved his life. Shipmates were asleep below deck. The sea took ‘em. The sea doesn’t give back what she takes. She’s a jealous mistress.”

Andrew was stunned. “How do you know this? How do you know what happened? And what happened to the fifth guy that went overboard?”

The man looked up and Andrew could see his face and realized that he was an old man. He looked broken and sad. Andrew looked a little more closely and realized where he’d seen his face before. He took a step back and watched.

“Insurance money paid for this bar and its name tells the story of what happened that night: The Broken Anchor. One man survived and lived with the guilt of what he had done. He lived and for the next 40 years made a toast to his four shipmates every night with four tots of rum. Their ghosts can’t drink them but everybody should know how they died.”

“Cecil. His name was Cecil. I remember now. He was buried at sea. When he died he asked that the name of the bar never be changed and a measure of rum be added to the others so that there are now five. I love the history of the area and that one is definitely one for the books. Man that is so cool! You must be a relative, you look just like the picture in the office. ” Andrew was excited and turned away to grab a pen and a piece paper to write down this newfound knowledge. When he turned back the party he had been speaking to was gone. There was water pooling on the stool and the floor. There was another damp spot on the bar along with a piece of seaweed and an empty shot glass.

At first he was confused thinking he’d imagined all of this but when he looked to the end of the bar the remaining four shots of rum were also gone, emptied. A chill went up Andrew’s back and for the first time in a very long time he grew afraid of the dark.

At that precise moment he heard the local church bell ring 2 o’clock in the morning. Gusts of wind rattled the panes of glass in the front window and Andrew for just a moment was sure he heard several men singing. He couldn’t quite make out the words but was pretty sure he heard the name Cecil B. That was the name of the boat!

 

 

 

A Walk

 

I’m taking my bumblebee for a walk

He likes to drink you see

Floral syrup is his brew

He gets it all for free!

 

I’m taking my Robin for a walk

He flies from tree to tree

It’s hard for me to keep abreast

When Robin’s on a spree

 

I’m taking my butterfly for a walk

He likes to drink each day

Nectar is his beverage

A sip and he’s on his way

 

I love to walk with all my friends

They have so much to say

If only I could understand

Then maybe they would stay