Whew – well I’m back again and in the meantime I am using a nifty ‘teensy weensy’ little computer called (so cute) Raspberry Pi. I see the busy bees at WordPress have been making changes. And to cap it all this cute little computer is using open source software – very different from Microsoft, I must say! So… please be patient with me as I struggle to master all these new things in my life.
Missed you.
Love, Denise xxx
Post No. 819
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Fall
.
Wind-blown gust-strewn
Crispy crunchy leaves
A cornflake breakfast scape
Raining down on me
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©Denise G Allen, 13 June 2015 08:12
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Spin and leap
High in the air
Try to catch
What isn’t there
Windows covered
With drapes and blinds
Who can guess
What hides behind
A perfect scene
Try not to scream
Making up
Waking up
From a dream
Spider lashes
On her cheek
Lips silly-coned
She cannot speak
And (s)he, and he
With coiffured hair
Blows his TRUMPet
For all to hear
A plastic life
In a paper book
A fairy tale
Which some believe
And try so hard
To achieve
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©Denise G Allen, 16 January 2014 07:18
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Riding on the ghost train
Killing off my brain,
Riding on the ghost train
There and back again.
Icky sticky spider’s snare
Caught against my new-washed hair
And a pair of glowing eyeballs
Floated through the foetid air.
Riding on the ghost train
Killing off my brain,
Riding on the ghost train
There and back again.
A bloodied face looked down on me
With no eyes that I could see,
Drip, drip, drip from out the sockets,
Metallic smell from naked sprockets.
Riding on the ghost train
Killing off my brain,
Riding on the ghost train
There and back again.
Nowhere safe to stop the train,
They are out to get my brain,
Now my head aint worth a dime,
God help me save this life of mine.
Riding on the ghost train
Killing off my brain,
Riding on the ghost train
There and back again.
Aaaaaaarghhhhh…
©Denise G Allen, 17 December 2013 10:58
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If human beings are immortal
then age is immaterial
whether in earth years,
eons, or eras;
a baby could be older than its mother,
and a father younger than his son,
which could explain
why some babes are born so wise
and adults’ ignorance exposed.
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©Denise G Allen, 13 December 2013 09:29
Shades – Trees
Edited
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Shades
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Shades of green with blue and gold
Block out more than half the sky ~
Magnificent trees, some young, some old,
With leaves that whisper in the breeze.
They sway, they bounce, they flounce,
Coquettish moods become apparent,
But then again they can be fierce
And whip themselves into a fury.
Sheltering birds take fright, take flight
Away from these bad tempered giants
Whose harbour was no longer offered,
Whose comfort was no longer proffered.
However, with the passing of the storm
I looked up at the leaves of varied hue,
At the sky of palest blue, and was
Surprised
To find
A passing bird spit in my eye!
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Image and poetry: ©Denise G Allen, 05 November 2013 08:15
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Heads of grey congregate
Once a week around tea and cake
At the start of bible study ~ a
Refresher course, training/grooming for their crossing
Into the future, I always think.
70’s, 80’s, 90’s and one turned a hundred last week.
Only a few, one or two, in their 60’s,
Not close enough yet
To feel regret as the years steadily pass ~
The calm before the storm ~
Where their elders can fit a year in a day
Or so it seems as time ebbs away.
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©Denise G Allen, 04 November 2013 09:50
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Some people have holes for souls,
Emptiness where their soul should lie
And they walk on by, shells themselves
Space to rent, for living or working
Or space-saving for stolen ideas
Packed neatly for use should the need arise,
Nevermind the origin was from another brain
While yours rides on the train to nowhere
Holidaying…
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©Denise G Allen, 27 October 2013 10:53
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You sense the world that passes by
With expressionless face and blinded eye
And I, beside you, see myself
Reflected in your polished skin ~
You change appearance on a whim ~
I look at you, but who I see
Looking back is only me.
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©Denise G Allen, 03 October 2013 06:02
This is written for Sidey’s Theme this week: LINK DOESN’T WORK.
http://viewfromtheside.wordpress.com/2013/07/04/weekend-theme-113/
Aunty Mae
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I spent a day (or two)
With Aunty Mae (and you);
Eccentric old bat
Who wore a hat
(which often took flight)
Every single day
(and also at night).
She made her hats
Out of this and that,
Odds and ends,
And used to mend
And do alterations too.
Bits and pieces
Of spastic plastic,
Buttons and bows
And lots of ‘who knows?’,
Rainbow colours with
Bits and bobs, drops and globs.
She’d sit for hours, days,
Weeks and years
Concocting bizarre creations,
And the weirdest conceptions,
But beautiful too, in a way,
Ensuring we’d never forget
Our sweet Aunty Mae.
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©Denise G Allen, 06 July 2013 08:39
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