Opportunity

Before you know what hit you, friend,
it will be too late, I’m afraid.
I’ll phone everyone who knows you
and tell them your well kept secret.

I’ll tell them not to warn you and
before you know what hit you, friend,
it will be too late to escape-
we will make you face the music.

Preparations are under way,
it will be unforgettable!
Before you know what hit you, friend,
we will spring the surprise on you.

I still can’t see why you expect
us to let this pass by. We’ll have
you celebrating your birthday
before you know what hit you, friend.

Ode To Road Hogs

We are the kings of the highway
we drive at the speed of our dreams,
and the stakes of the game we play,
are only our lives, it seems.
We are the scary road hogs
and we are coming your way,
speeding through wads of white fog,
when others slow down and pray.

We are the witless speeders
that cut in in front of your bonnet,
we are self-appointed roadsters
for whom the car’s purr is a sonnet.
We are the traffic jam-makers
and we are the bane of the road,
we rejoice at every head-shaker
over whom we get to gloat.

We are the organ-givers
of organs that are not our own,
for if someone needs a new liver,
they’ll get it from our war-zone.
We are the reckless huggers
of black leather-bound steering wheels,
and we are the annoying buggers
that drive too hard at your heels.

Yes, we are the kings of the highway
and do whatever we please.
We risk, Oh!, dozens of lives each day
and cause countless heartbeats to cease.
We are the car-hood-chasers
and we are the pain in your neck,
and we will stay mindless racers
till our corpses burn in a car wreck.

They Called Her The Austrian Whore

Spent,
ill,
fallen from the Palace
of the Sun
into
the deep of the dungeons,
Prisoner Number 280
was convicted
before she was trialed.
And
the guillotine
did its work.

Toffee Troubles

On my right, a red toffee,
on my left, a green toffee,
squashed in the middle, me.
We're all of us clamped in a clammy hand's grip.

Through two fingers I see
the bride and groom smile
and as they are cheered,
we toffees are thrown in a colourful arc.

The red one wishes us luck,
the green one looks greener,
I wish my yellow were less bright,
as we rain down onto the joyous crowd.

I bounce of a head,
bump against an elbow,
then down, down I go,
till I unceremoniously hit the gravel path.

Many shoes block out the sky,
their heels pounding the ground.
One of them stamps down on me
and stains my yellow wrapping and cracks me in half.

By the by, the crow disperses.
I am left lying on the dirty ground,
waiting to dissolve in the rain.
Damn! Sometimes being sweet doesn't help at all!

Culinary Combinations

In a heavily flowering tree
sat Anzee Chimp and Chimp Anzee.
Together, they watched a big, fat bee
as it gathered honey in the tree.

Suddenly, Chimp grabbed the bee,
eat it up, then said in glee:
'There's nothing like a big, fat bee
seasoned with honey, don't you agree?'
'I don't.' Anzee replied, 'for me
bees are best when dipped in tea.'

I think, if they'd asked the bee,
it would have told them to be so free,
as to put its honey in some tea,
drink the mix, and leave it be.

Skadi's Hunt

Her skis whisper as they cut
the blanket of white snow,
silent winter watches coldly
as she swiftly moves along.

In her glove-clad hands she holds
a heavy bow with practiced ease.
and her eyes gleam at the sight
of inattentive prey nearby.

The wilderness around her
resounds with that in her blood
and the beasts know her well,
the greatest hunter of them all.

The moon glows in her skin,
snow glitters in her eyes,
the cold sleeps in her smile
and death lies in her hand.

Her arrow taps warmth
from a slow deer's flank.
Painfully, crimson drips
into merciless whiteness.

A scattered herd of deers
falls from view, quiet returns
but for the quick beating
of Skadi's hunter heart.

Dusk

Silent 

starlight curves across

a glass cold

against pensive hands.

Drifting through 

blind-eyed windows,

the soft smell of cookies

cools into sweetness.

A glance -

a dizzy flash of warmth

after all 

is said and done.