Pins and Needles.

This poem is by Monique Lalonde, and describes the sensation of pins and needles in or on the head or scalp, as some people experience during a migraine.

ECT sparked

      the Big Bang,

           and life began.

       The click

                 click

                    of static

              And the prick

                          prick

                      of skin

           goes deeper

than the fog within.

 

And as they crawl their spinal staircase,

           the tick

                 tick      

                    of my body clock

                 keeps their marching step.

                  And as they carry their load

                                       I wonder;

        Which piece of me they take,

    and if it can be replaced?

 

 ECT sparked

         the Big Bang,

              and the life of

the Electric Ants began.

©ML2007

I discovered after reading this, that there is such a thing as an electric ant, similar to a fire ant! To find out more, visit this Australian Government website.

BearCat

Aberdeen City is full to the brim,

Of cats who are fat and those who are slim.

But whatever the shape, bearing or size,

There’s only one cat who can light up my eyes!

 

As a kitten his fur was jet black and white,

clean as fresh snow and black as the night.

His eyes shone bright yellow, with thin rings of green,

He was the most beautiful cat that I’d ever seen.

 

As he grew it was apparent, his looks were not all

that made him so charming, in one quite so small.

He was loving and gentle, and liked other cats

Rarely partaking in quarrels and spats.

 

We had many other cats sharing our life,

So disagreements and arguments were quite often rife,

But this cat was passive, caring and kind,

A more tolerant cat would be difficult to find.

 

He welcomed each new cat by sniffing their nose,

And kept all the others very much on their toes,

He was soon at the top of the feline household

Quite an achievement for one not that old.

 

If one of the others stepped out of place,

He gave them a gentle cuff, denoting disgrace

They soon learnt the best way was to award him respect,

He wasn’t unfair, but he did keep them checked.

 

A year or two passed and we notice a change,

Our cat’s fur changed colour, we thought that was strange.

So a visit to the vets loomed despite his disgust,

We need to sort this, and the vet we could trust.

 

Our poor cat was turning from black to a brown,

The vet took a look and he started to frown.

But then he stood back and he looked for a while,

And his countenance slowly transformed to a smile.

 

Your cat is not poorly, he’s fit and he’s well,

You’ve been very worried, I know, I can tell.

But puss here is happy, I’m sure you’ll agree,

Even more now he knows that he’s part pedigree.

 

Part pedigree? What on earth do you mean?

I mean that he carries a Burmese cat’s gene.

Are you telling us Puss here is partly Burmese?

Thank goodness it’s not some horrific disease!

 

Oh no, said the vet. I can allay all your fears.

Do you see the dark shading on the tips of his ears?

And the dark round his face, and round his four paws?

These markings are points, caused by genetics, not flaws.

 

Puss is a Burmese, mixed with a domestic type cat.

It isn’t unheard of, He gave puss a pat.

Delightful wee cats, they’re a wonderful breed.

Go to the library and find what you need…

 

…to understand Burmese cats, and how to succeed

in making him happy, for though he’s crossbreed,

He’ll still have the odd personal character trait…

…the things Burmese like and the things that they hate.

 

Well, what a surprise.We would never have guessed,

that Puss was part aristocrat, it was hard to digest.

But he is our moggy, and we love him so much,

Who cares if he’s the result of a commoner touch.

 

So Puss has been worshipped and honoured big time,

He is now ten years old, at the peak of his prime.

Whether he’s purebred or moggy, he’s special to us,

And he will always have much love and plenty of fuss.

©DF2007

A Seasonal Legend

Come little cousin. Come, take my hand.
We must worship the Lord, before Christmas draws near.
Let us walk to the church, for the evening is clear,
and the silvery moon lights our path through the land.

Pedro walked quietly, but his concern was soon clear.
Pepita was reluctant and her pace was so slow.
Little cousin, your countenance expresses your woe
Come swiftly. I assure you there is nothing to fear.

Pepita’s brown eyes became filled with soft tears.
Her cousin stopped walking and asked her the cause.
She looked earnestly at Pedro and after a pause,
Sat down on the roadside and told him her fears.

I ‘m so very ashamed. I have nothing to give
To the Christ Child tonight, when we arrive at the church.
I have nothing to give him, despite a long search.
Do you think he will love me, my sins to forgive?

Of course he will cousin, for he knows how you’ve tried.
No matter how small or how humble your gift,
if it’s given with love, his spirits will lift,
and you’ll not find his love and forgiveness denied.

Pepita looked around her, and next to her feet
were wild flowers from the fields, proud beauties, though small.
Nimbly gathering flowers from this colourful sprawl
she bound a sweet posy, tiny yet neat.

They walked hand in hand to the house of their God.
Entering the church, Pepita slowed down.
Pedro encouraged her and she banished her frown,
Setting down the sweet posy as though nothing was odd.

As she knelt at the altar, Pepita was rocked
By a shaft of bright light, so vividly hued
the whole building with light was suddenly imbued,
and the congregation gasping, incredulous and shocked!

For there at the altar, where her posy had been,
was a basket of red and green flowers, so it seemed.
Pepita , surprised, knew that she’d been redeemed
and joyfully her countenance became more serene.

From that day in history, to this present day,
those flowers have been worshipped at Christmas each year.
For the flowers the child picked, are symbols of cheer,
used at this season our joy to convey.

So what is the flower that bedecks modern day Hestia?
That Christians display every year, without fail?
The plant that’s the focus of this ancient tale
Is Euphorbia pulcherrima. Or simply, Poinsettia.

©DF2007

This poem is based on a Mexican legend concerning the origin of the Poinsettia. You can learn more about the Poinsettia, and how it acquired it’s name by visiting http://www.urbanext.uiuc.edu/poinsettia/

 

The Rainbow Bridge

As I began my final walk,
grey skies were laden with rain.
Mizzled, soft precipitation,
seeping into my brain.

The air was chill, not frosty yet
but a penetrating cold.
A week or two, a month perhaps
And winter would take hold

My steps were slow, so very slow.
Like the proverbial push through sand.
Legs so heavy, tired and lazy.
Invisibly attached to the land.

My pain was intense; my mind confused;
feverish, almost burning.
Smoking what little life was left.
I could never think of returning.

My breathing slowed, so shallow now;
life slowly ebbing away.
No sounds of birds, to speed my path;
my fears to help allay.

But I was wrong. For suddenly
A golden orb appeared,
Looked down, took pity on my plight;
My discomfort disappeared.

My legs felt light, no longer lead.
My steps were quickened with a spring.
My heart was gladdened , the pain had gone.
I no longer feared what life would bring.

I looked up and saw a perfect sky
With floss-like clouds and carefree birds.
In the distance a sparkling coloured arch
Somehow beckoned without words.

It shimmered, glistening in the light,
And seemed to be moving nearer
A bridge between worlds to ease the pain;
My destiny was now much clearer.