Originally Intended for Publication on April 1st
The other day I heard the Earth was flat,
That all these years it’s been like a mat,
That you hardly see or notice there,
Until you are told the Earth is square.
If it is square then I am sure,
What I have learned was oh-so-flawed.
But perhaps it’s all a dream of sorts,
And when I awake all will be as before,
And if it’s not then I must learn,
Not to walk too far lest I fall off the edge.
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Oh to have legs like insects and things,
To walk on all fours is something I dream,
Or even just two, like HU-MAN THEINGS.
Would make me so happy, would realise my dreams
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I dream of the day, I grow legs and see,
What it feels like to walk, not slime so lowly,
You see, I am a poor slug with no legs at all,
A garbled old thing, just slime and slow drawl.
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Now don’t get me wrong it’s not all bad, I confess,
There are some perks living in a damp mess,
But I cannot help wonder about legs, I admit,
Oh lord give me legs, be it two, four or six.
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Are you normal?
Do you want to be,
A faceless person in a heaving sea,
With no aims, ambitions, dreams or goals,
Just happily plodding along that road?
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Are you slowly dying?
Don’t you feel the magic of each new day,
The sounds of laughter as children play,
The warmth of the sun on your back, so good,
The song of birds, the smell of wood?
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Are you passing time?
Don’t you wonder at the sky, so blue?
The start and end so vague to you.
I hear you say, ‘I am happy, still,’
So too is an ant that has no will.
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Wake up, wake up!
It’s not too late,
There still is time to change your fate,
Renounce the normal, do something MAD,
Shock them all create a fad.
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Be yourself, alive with goals,
With dreams and wonders still untold,
Exult this life in your distinctive way,
It’s yours alone; you must have your say,
Lest you slip into oblivion without a trace (left behind).
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The Fog
It was a cold November evening, so cold the weak, autumnal sun made no inroad into the heavy frost that had descended the previous night. As I approached my friends’ house, I looked forward to the warmth of their fire, the congenial atmosphere, and a glass of warm Madeira wine. It was a custom, a family tradition to offer their visitors this warming imbibe, a custom that had survived the passage of time, including the family’s migration from the tiny outpost of the same name, far out in the Atlantic Ocean, to merry old England. Generations of guests had enjoyed this warming drink on such cold wintry nights.
Opening the gate, I walked along the path, admiring the garden that was always in such pristine condition, no matter what time of year or how bad the weather happened to be. Lifting the doorknocker, a facsimile of a lion’s head, I gave the door an assertive knock. I waited for my hosts to respond.
“Is that Jeremiah?” Christine asked, calling to her husband, upstairs.
“Yes, darling,” Charles replied, making his way downstairs, to the door. Opening it, he greeted me. Seeing how frosty and cold it was outside, he said, “Welcome, Jeremiah. You must be frozen – come in. Hand me your coat and hat, then get yourself to the sitting room.”
I made my way into the sitting room, where Charles offered me the armchair directly in front of their roaring log fire. Stretching out my hands, warming them, I thanked him for his hospitality.
Entering the room, Christine said, “Jeremiah, it’s so good to see you – and on such a cold night!”
“You know me,” I chuckled, “out in all weathers…”
“Out in all weathers is one thing – but this?” she replied, opening the curtains, gazing at the frost covered ground.
“How about a nice glass of Madeira, to warm you up?” Charles asked.
“Sounds good,” I replied.
Picking up the bottle of Madeira wine that had been resting in front of the fire, warming, he said, “Won’t be a tick.”
I smiled; I had no need to reply, because my two friends, whom I had known all my life, knew me inside out.
“Here you are,” said Charles, “a glass for the weary traveller.” He handed me a glass full to the brim with the fiery brown liquid. “And one for you, dear,” he added, offering his wife a glass, also.
As my two hosts joined me, relaxing in their wonderfully comfortable armchairs, sitting in front of the sparkling, crackling log fire, I thanked my God to have been blessed with such good friends.
As we caught up with all the gossip, talked about our plans for the future, and reminisced about the good, fun times we had enjoyed over the years, the evening passed quickly (time seems to have that effect, when you’re having a good time, doesn’t it?).
Glancing at my watch, I was shocked to see that was past eleven, so knocking back the last of my Madeira wine (my fourth glassful, I might add), I thanked my congenial hosts for their hospitality, then extricated myself from the comfortable chair.
“You’re welcome,” said Christine, giving me a little peck on the cheek.
Handing me my coat and hat, Charles said, “You’re always welcome in our home.”
Buttoning my coat, pulling the belt tightly closed, I shivered, thinking of the cold night facing me outside. After donning my hat, I was ready to go.
Charles gasped in shock when he opened the door. “Look,” he said, “I’ve never seen so bad a fog!”
While we had been cosy and warm inside, drinking our Madeira wine, having a good time, a heavy fog had descended. It was bad, really bad, a pea souper if ever I saw one.
“You will have to stay here for the night,” Charles insisted. “You’ll never find your way home in that!”
CONTD
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Stories, eBooks for children and
young at heart adults
By ME, The Crazymad Writer – ARRRRGH.
Giggle my boots, gaggle my hat,
Goggle my shirtsleeves and fraggle that cat.
I am friggled with laughter, for I know that it’s true,
That you really do love me, not Johnny Lazoo.
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You see, Johnny Lazoo, a man of some strength,
Wanted to court you, wanted to bend,
Your ear with his stories, your eye with his looks,
But you never gave him as much as a look.
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The day that you said, ‘Yes, I’ll marry you, I will,’
Was the happiest day of my life; it was brill,
To think that you chose me over Johnny Lazoo,
Makes me friggle with laughter, knowing it’s true.
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Before I head off with my bride and my life,
I will give you this piece of excellent advice.
If you are planning to woo your beau, here’s the rub,
Friggle her with laughter and griggle her with love.
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Stories for children and young at heart adults
By ME, The Crazymad Writer – ARRRRGH.
The Crazymad Writer 