The Office

The Office

The Calendar changes from day to day

And the gossip drives me mad.

I tidy up my desk

And the others think I’m mad.

They come with coffee in paper cup

And they never do a thing.

I clearing tyrannical emails,

They let the phone just ring.

They watch the time and go to lunch

But they never seem to return.

I take down endless messages

And for freedom I yearn.

The Calendar is flipped over

Pretending as they feign

When the boss walks by, the bell rings

And tomorrow we’ll do it all again.

By Linda Prince

The Roundabout

The Roundabout

It came about in a roundabout way,

I was hoping to go round clockwise,

But then I found it went the other way

I’m sure you can imagine the surprise.

Cloc’ or anti-cloc’? That is the question -

Is this North London or abroad?

Is this a result of Continental obsession

Or just another April fool fraud?

Round and round and in and out – will they ever get it right?

Round and round and up and down – it’s just another blight.

By Linda Prince 

© Richard Wilson

The Windhover

The Windhover

Light soft breeze, he faces the West.

Ruffled feathers stationary, hovering still.

Patience personified, he waits for the probable guest.

Lavender evening meets lilac heath,

Enters a chill in the turbulent air.

Unsuspecting visitor scurries beneath.

Violet clouds hide violent ending.

Flashes of another hue streak down

Beyond gravity hidden, blending.

Bright eyes, nimble agile bird of prey

The Kestrel shivers and glides away.

By Linda Prince

Pussycat Party

Pussycat Party

It’s our Birthday, Happy returns all round.

It’s our Birthday, presents and treats surround.

You’re invited, yes of course            ,

Provided you aren’t a dark horse,

Or a dog.

It’s our Birthday, today we are nine.

It’s our Birthday, on the sofa we recline.

Kippers and sardines both welcome here,

But you had better disappear

If you’re a dog.

It’s our Birthday, we look our best today.

It’s our Birthday, a bowl of cream on a tray.

Birds of a feather received with a smile,

And we’ll play and tease the mice for a while

But not a dog.

Happy Birthday to us, Happy Birthday all day.

Come on in, guests invited and gatecrasher stray.

We’ve have such fun, it’s been a blast.

Oh no, we’ve just realised, too late at last

You’re a dog.

By Linda Prince

Wembley Way

Wembley Way

Today’s the day

We’re on our way.

We’ll shout for us

And boo for you.

Today’s the minute

It’s really great innit?

We’ll cry for us

And laugh at you.

Walking down Olympic Way (but no one calls it that!)

I’m breathing in the atmos’ -

We’ll knock you into a cocked hat

Unless game you boss.

Today’s the place

Glory or disgace.

We’ll clap for us

And jeer for you.

Walking down Wembley Way (everyone calls it that!)

I’m taken in by the quiet

Before the crowds descend for combat,

Snaking in a coloured riot.

Whether you’re a red, or maybe a blue,

Or a team that sports a different hue,

If you are wearing yellow or perhaps a purple shade

Your heart skips a beat as you walk the footie parade.

Today’s the Cup

Thing are looking up.

We’ll hope we win

And you will lose.

But whatever the outcome, it’s only a game

And we will be friends always the same.

Our hearts will leap

We’ll joke or weep

Down Wembley Way.

By Linda Prince

Wembley Way © Linda Prince

Rain

Rain

Awaking from cashmere cocooned slumber

Heartbeat rising, senses sleepy, shapes in a darkened room appear.

The distant sounds of pitter-patter splashback on the window

Signals to befuddled brain, smashing water so severe.

Liquid water, cold and fresh, precipitation falls to earth

Gravity sucking water droplets to its heart.

And nestling tender beneath duckdown Tog

I listen to kinetics beyond the glass barrier

That heralds the days’ saturated prologue.

Splish splash. Striking at the blinds the watery portents tap

Splish splash. Squirreled deep under cotton clouds of white

I shround myself  and determine to prolong my snuggled nap.

Let the rain fall heavy and launder fresh the streets with glistening glow

I love to hear the sound, I love to hear its power, the other side of the window.

By Linda Prince

Poor Paw

Poor Paw

A twinge, an ache. I noticed it today.

I tried to run around but it didn’t go away.

I hopped from left to right and I hope she didn’t see

But we just had paw inspection with the comforting ‘poor me’.

Arthritis? What at my age?

I don’t think so, let’s move on and turn the page.

I hopped from right to left and I hope she didn’t notice

But now we are waving bandages and a warming poultice.

‘Poor me’ I hear.

Poor me - I fret.

Poor paw I fear.

Poor paw - I bet

Poor me – you see

Knew it. I’m going to the Vet!

By Linda Prince

Dolly Mixture

Dolly Mixture

Bright pink cylinders rub shoulders with chocolate shapes

Sugar coated jellies from the cellophane escapes.               

Tiny hard rounded gums that roll around the tongue

And chewy squares of sugarpaste appeal to old and young.

Crispy coating and squishy comfits with flavours subtle

All bagged together in see-through plastic resembles builder’s rubble.

Pink and yellow and red and brown and white

and some that have shades of many we see

If Dolly Mixtures can happily sit side by side

Why can’t we?

By Linda Prince

Clear recent History

Clear recent History

She worried about him, she cared too much

And while she was caring, he had her in his clutch.

She changed her clothes, she changed her style

And he would criticise, picking her apart with bile.

She shivered and cowered, and his dominance would worsen

For as she tried to please him, she became a different person.

Then one day she realised she was a glutton

So she switched on the laptop and pressed the freedom button.

In an instant he was gone, there was no on-line mystery.

With all outdated browsing, he had suddenly just become history.

By Linda Prince

The Ice Pack

The Ice Pack

I’m sitting on an ice floe that’s drifting here and there

It gives me time to think, which is important for a bear.

I’m waiting for some lunch, I do hope some swims along

So while I lounge here hoping, I sing a little song.

“Oh, one grey seee-aal hanging on the ice,

One grey seee-aal, hanging on the ice.

And if one grey see-all should accidently fall into my mouth

That would be very nice.”

So I’m sitting on my ice pack, and I’m told that I should heed the warning,

I’m a endangered species and then there’s the global warming.

They say I need to become territorial, that would give me a better chance

But I can’t be bothered to be responsible for the upkeep of the manse.

I’ve seen all of the photographers, the researchers and the throng

Who like to record their memories while I just sing my song.

“Oh, one grey seee-aal hanging on the ice,

One grey seee-aal hanging ……..”

Oh no wait – do my eyes deceive me?

Or is that shape diving too near my frozen ice pack

A funny little grey thing – oh, yes a little light snack!!

Linda Prince

Copyright janetfo747 Year of the Horse!           http://bit.ly/PhJ0nX