Monday, April 04, 2011

Poem: Figures of eight

Above one of the houses at the back of our garden there is a man who keeps homing pigeons, which he's trained to fly in figures of eight. Stunning and beautiful to watch. But you have to wonder, do they not feel a little dizzy after a while?

Figures of eight
Figure of eight,
Figure of eight.
All that you fly in are
Figure of eight!
By rights you'd get dizzy
And hit chimney pots,
Or get lost and land on
A crane by the docks,
or even fall into
Someone's pegged up socks
But somehow you make it home safe, never late,
After flying your figures of eight.


Poem: Buzzing bee

Sitting on the step down from my kitchen you get a great view of the back garden. Spring having recently arrived, we now have buzzing visitors. This poem's written about one such visitor.

Buzzing bee
What must it be like
To roam round my garden all day
Noisily making your way.
Visiting flowers
Like stops on the bus
Why don't you come visit us?
Buzzing your way through
The hedges and grass
Adding a flavour of class
To the yellow and purple
That grows on my lawn
Working to sunset from dawn
always the worker
You don't seem to stop
Except when the rain comes down,
plip, plop,
And away to your hive
You are gone in a buzz
Orange and black,
All covered in fuzz
Buzzing bee,
Why don't you come visit us?