New poems by Mary Cresswell
Evoking The Muse
The ginger cat is my Dark Lady,
the penates of my lair.
He is my Scarlet Pimpernel
I seek him here, I seek him there.
He licks in shape the purple flame
of perfervid fabrication
and scrambles for fresh figments
on my tree of inspiration.
He scuffles in the spinifex
by my deep poetic sea;
he pounces on my efforts
and drags their guts to me.
When he has my thoughts in shape
at last, hell then defer
his efforts into blameless sleep
to dream, perchance to purr.
The Enlightened Manager
Sensitive management is the cutting-edge tool for organisational progress.
With my sensitive new age smirks
and my sensitive new age manner,
I smugly survey the world from my works
Im a sensitive new age spanner.
What The Preacher Said
The sky is falling! The sky is falling!
We must go and tell the king!
We knew the truth would be appalling!
This is the end of everything!
Know ye that well all be taken
before the passing bell can ding
The pig will never turn to bacon,
the chook will never see the pot,
every pudgy seed or acorn
the farmer and his wife allot
will go to waste. Such misery!
Is this what God hath really wrought?
Is there no hope for such as we?
Come quick, come quick my tender darling,
so you can spend this night with me.
Tis the end of summer calling
across the barnyard, cold and sure!
Chicks cant escape when the sky is falling
and youths a stuff will not endure.
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