Tag Archives: poem

Ode to a Mosquito

Rose

 

Haiku 48

Little blood sucker

I slapped myself in the face

But got the blighter

.

Why is it that every mosquito I’ve ever known waits until you are just dropping off to sleep before it comes whining round your ear?

Last night a mosquito did this. I thought to myself, “Oh, for Pete’s sake!” and slapped hard at it, in a futile attempt to bat it away.

I slapped myself in the face, which was a bit of a surprise!

But I got the little blood sucker!

.

In the past I have even covered my head in my sheet and stuck my foot out for the mosquito to munch on – but it still comes buzzing round my ear!

 

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Ode to a Rose

Red Red Rose

Ode to a Rose

Pretty ruby rose

Why hang your heavy head

Is your secret life

Better left unsaid?

.

Is your glorious scent

That wafts as you’re unfurled

How you wish to be

Remembered by the world?

.

 

What a Whopper! I’m trying to show how big this bloom was in comparison to my hand, though it was so heavy on its tiny stalk that it was falling over.

My deep red rose bush only produces a few blooms each season, but they have the most glorious scent.

No matter how late I am, I always have to stop and smell the roses, every single time I walk past them.

 

Remembrance Sunday

Poppy Day

 

They shall not grow old, as we that are left grow old:

Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn.

At the going down of the sun and in the morning

We will remember them.

Poem ‘For the Fallen’ by Robert Laurence Binyon.

 

November 11th was Armistice Day and today is Remembrance Sunday.

Traditionally red poppies are worn to symbolise those that grew on battle fields such as in Flanders Fields. Here I have a photo of my own little yellow poppy that survived itself against all odds.

A two minute silence is held to mark the end of the First World War, at the eleventh hour of the eleventh day of the eleventh month.

Because we should remember all those fallen in all wars.

And make sure that some day it stops.

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As a young kid I used to buy a poppy each year at school and when older, go round selling them to the other kids.

I used to observe the two minutes’ silence while watching the poppies fall in a remembrance service on TV, at 11 o’clock on the 11th November. They just kept on falling.

So    Many    Poppies.

So    Many    Lives.

And still we go on killing each other.

When will we stop?