Christopher M. Earle, Watercolours
Poetry
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Christopher M. Earle, Watercolours Poetry |
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Some of my poems.
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The And they’ll look down long after I am gone,
Their time is vast and mine is but a twinkle, My twilight nears yet they are in their dawn And I am here, if only for a moment A ripple in the pool, a fireflies spark A sparrow glimpsed between the leafy branches, And what is light must soon return to dark. Eternal are the stars that turn above me, In time, my time on earth will cease to be And in that time I hope to leave a handprint, A mark that all the gazing stars may see. ©Christopher M. Earle, 2008 The Pigeon, the Cod and the Cuckoo. The
pigeon and the cod, were
thinking, (which was odd,) Of
why their pet the cuckoo was so named. They
agreed onomatapoeia, Was
the reason their Maria, (Maria
was the cuckoo, who they’d tamed) Had
the moniker she had, And
it made the cod quite sad, that
he made no sound allowing him such choice For
she made a cuckoo sound, Every
time she came around, And
‘cuckoo’ is deriveth from her voice The
cod’s no vocal chords. And
although he swims up fjords, In
his annual, once yearly great migration. That’s
really all he does, So
his brain is nine parts fuzz, And
one part nugatory information. And
he has no voice or song, Cannot
whistle, bang a gong, Cannot
fly or drive a car or do his taxes. He’s
no talent in the arts, He
has trouble throwing darts, And
he’s next to useless when he’s sending faxes. He
cannot read or write, But
he knows that late at night, That
the tides come in to cause the sea to rise. And
the pigeon sighed with doubt Which
caused the cod to shout. “I’ve
seen it with my very own two eyes!’ ‘I’ll
explain a bit, you see, It’s
the moons own perigree, That
makes the oceans waters rise and fall.’ Not
the planets or the sun, The
moon’s the only one, And
without the moon there’d be no tide at all. The
pigeon, she guffawed, And
she said straight to the cod, ‘I’ve
half a mind to say that you’ve been drinking!’ ‘For
surely ‘perigree ‘ Could
ne’er affect the sea, Perihelion,
perhaps that’s what you’re thinking?’ ‘Oh
no’ replied the cod, ‘I’m
certain’ said the cod, My
word was right, tis not Perhilion’ My
word’s for stuff round earth And
for what it’s really worth, Your
word’s for those that orbit ‘round the sun’ The
pigeon said “I’ll fly, And
I’ll try to verify That
what you claim as fact is really true. And
the pigeon (who was Joan,) Flew
to the telephone- box
and called a smart guy that she knew. And
when she soon returned, She
declared that she had learned, That
cods were often smarter than they seem. That
though there’s no Cod College, This
cod was full of knowledge, A
compliment that caused our cod to beam! He
said he had no voice, so
it gave him little choice, But
to learn all that his tiny brain’d allow. So
he learned the things he needs, to
survive among the weeds, In
the seabed where he spent most of his life, ‘Survivals
key’ said he, ‘When
living in the sea, Especially
when one’s children and a wife. And
the best way to survive, Is
to make an effort, strive, To
be the best that you can surely can be. And
if there’s stupid cod, I’m
not one By God’ I’m
the smartest brightest Cod in this here sea. All
of my ancestors, The
Polly’s, Dave’s and Esthers, Aspired
to great heights and took a risk, Them
that were the strongest, It’s
them that lasted longest, The
weaker ones, I fear, became lutefisk.’ ©Christopher M. Earle,
20057
On the occasion wherein we acquired a third cat:
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