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This Ain’t No Teddy Bears Picnic

Be afraid, be very afraid. (NaPoWriMo #5)

In Australia, there are whispers of a murderous cabal of people-eating koalas. Known colloquially as “drop bears”, their location is known only to Aussies, who avoid them for dear life. The modus operandi of the drop bear is to drop down from the trees onto unsuspecting visitors. That’s when things get gruesome. But times are a-changing, ladies and gentlemen. Survival of our respective species, of the planet, means we will all need to reduce our meat consumption. Let’s see how that goes. Gather round.

Blood red eyes, dagger claws, give lie to that sweet furry body and button nose.
“To our sacrifice and to yours!” The leader of the Drop Bears includes the captive in her hypnotic gaze. Then, in a booming bark, she projects to the crowd, “One last time. For tomorrow we turn vegan.”
The crowd blanches, then tentatively at first, begins to chant, “Flu-ffy. Flu-ffy.”
“But tonight. Tonight, Sisters. Tonight, Brothers. Tonight, there will be feasting on more meaty prey.”
“Flu-ffy. Flu-ffy.”
Silence falls – or maybe drops – as the throng gathers to feast.
Finally, a shout rings out. “Tomorrow. Tomorrow, we dine on the Infidel.”
The crowd roars. “Flu-ffy. Flu-ffy.”

A Vegetable’s Nightmare
The silence ripples.
Beyond the shadows,
beyond the adulation,
in gardens across the country,
the infidels quiver in their beds.

If you are a visitor to Australia and plan on visiting koala habitat, best do that during the day. Koalas and their kin, the drop bears, are nocturnal and feed at night. There’s no telling if the drop bears will honour their resolution.

Day 5 of the NaPoWriMo challenge was to write a poem about a mythical person or creature (drop bears are more secretive than mythical) doing something unusual – or at least something that seems unusual in relation to that person/creature. I made a slight deviation from the brief, but near enough is good enough.

Stay safe, everyone.
Kind Regards.
Tracy.

PS. I had rather too much fun setting up the photos. I’ve had the koala toy since I was a baby.

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Back On The Hustings (NaPoWriMo #4)

Investing in public health saves lives.

Hurts. History repeats.
Overwhelmed (even more) hospital staff. Important details omitted.
Seniors. ie. not. Bedded down in the geriatric ward. Also, still short staffed.
Pan. ie. bed. Plan B. Also, patients. Way too many (not their fault).
Investment. To fix this health care crisis. Also incomplete medical notes.
Toilet. Plan A. Please god, plan A. Also tired, ie. everyone, and stop the tax cuts.
Accidents & Errors. Inevitable when staff exhausted. Investment, not tax cuts.
Love. Not for love or money. Burnout. Get out. Real life “Survivor“.

The entrance to the Emergency section of Canberra Hospital and the complex’s main tower, by Nick D, Creative Commons Attribution: Share Alike 3.0

Aussies, give your vote to the person that shows they care by putting their money where their mouth is. Our health, public health. In Australia, public hospital costs are shared between the national and state/territory governments.

Unfortunately my TL is back in hospital, ladies and gentlemen. I may need to take another blogging break. I’ll let you know or fail to show. How poetic!

Take care, everyone.
Kind Regards.
Tracy.

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Admiring The View (NaPoWriMo #3)

Today three strange cars pulled up out front.
One was white, one was green, one a colour in between.
We scratched our heads, we gave a shrug,
because we had no clue what this could mean.

Perhaps their intent was simply to admire the view bucolicus
of our newest creation botanicus.
Spiky grasses, delicate daisies, a blossoming shrub or three.
Look, not even that sap sucking gum tree can stop ’em deadius!

[It gets worse.]

But maybe the onlookers’ intent was far more nefarious.
Salacious desires for substances slightly more licentious.
Or perhaps they were merely lost all three,
but we really find that very hard to believe.

Or just maybe they were salivating over our male buxus.
Told all their sketchy friends to come check it outus.
So maybe we ought to charge a fee to prevent a stampede?
Kid-free, adults a buck, carpooling receives a discount-ious. 😉

Oh my, oh my. That is truly awful. It didn’t exactly go where I expected it to go. The NaPoWriMo optional prompt today was to write a poem in the form of a “glosa”, utilising a quatrain from another poem of our choosing. Since I am a complete newbie to the formal aspects of poetry and poetic forms (not to mention proper English), I didn’t even know what a quatrain was, so I thought I would try to write one of those, ie. a quatrain, instead. I fear I got slightly distracted in the process. As you do.

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The Clash (NaPoWriMo #2)

Photo by antonio filigno on Pexels.com

Cockcrow to brownout, iron melts.
Fruitful and fruitless is the product of labour
under blast furnace sky. Golden age of man
built on seeping pile of manure and metallurgic sands.

Cronos has finger on the pulses,
his finger in the pies – a polyphagic appetite,
polydipsic thirst, promises profligate.
Hollow god of fortune in guise of sovereign man.

Staccato beats the seconds, the minutes,
the hours, the dread. In messianic masterstroke,
sickle wielding in parlous miscalculation,
sunders creator from his balls, heaven from this earth.

Eulogise, pathologise, mythologise to light
a conflagration. Killing time, past consuming future,
til darkness slowly dies from his seed of destruction.
Only to be condemned equally by those drunk
on his poisoned chalice and by those whose freedoms he trampled.


I started this poem a couple of weeks ago, ditching it when I advised myself not to go there. Anyway, I decided to revive it for Napowrimo. I understand that Napowrimo stands for National Poetry Writing Month. I’m a Napowrimo virgin. I can’t imagine what possessed me to join in this time. I’m afraid, ladies and gentlemen, that as far as my poetry goes, it is all downhill from here.

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The Appointment

She felt she was being judged. She didn’t want to look at the woman across from her. Would her judge think her a fraud, or worse, incompetent and weak?

“What is a good day for you?” the disembodied voice across the desk asked.

How to answer that? Think, think, but the thoughts came too slowly. Silence filled the room. She felt so weary. A psychiatrist’s couch would have been welcome at this point.

Then, “A good day is when I don’t have to rest in the car for an hour before taking my groceries inside.”

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

As she left the office, she could feel the doctor’s eyes boring into her back. She wondered what her gait and posture said about her, but she no longer cared.

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Under Grey Skies

Welcome to my regular Friday song/tune day, ladies and gentlemen, where I pick a piece of music that reflects my mood or the times, to share with you. How about a poem first?

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Surrender Is The Only Option

Welcome to my regular Friday song/tune day, ladies and gentlemen, where I pick a piece of music that reflects my mood or the times, to share with you.

Happy new year to all who celebrate the Chinese New Year. It is the year of the Water Tiger. I feel inspired to write a short poem.

Surrender To The Forest

silence descends
deep are the shadows
birdsong marks its passing
the water laps the lake

Photo by Danne on Pexels.com

Continuing on this cultural journey, I think we should have a listen to Sun Quan, The Emperor, by Moyun. Enjoy.

Kind Regards.
Tracy.

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Painting Not Writing

Let me tell you a story. You shall see.

I don’t write. I paint.
A little pat here, a little daub there.
Need more colour, need more tones,
need to tone it down.

Start from the centre and build,
a puzzle to be solved.
Is a painting, like a story, ever finished?
I don’t think so.

Don’t ask me to start with a structure,
summary or plan.
I write by feel. I write by doing,
and see what unfolds.

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Heightened Senses

Where has the year gone, ladies and gentlemen? Has it left a taste in your mouth? If so, I hope it fizzes on your tongue – the umami of friendships, happy reunions, sad farewells, betrayal, disappointment, joy, creativity, fellowship. community – the colour of life in all its hues.

The Colour Of The Senses

Can you smell purple?
Can you feel blue?
Can you see gold in the rainbow?
Can you hear a ringing pearlescent edged with pink,
taste a summer morning, luscious red on tender lips?
Colours complementary or clashing, multi-sensory mix and match –
can you smell, feel, see, hear, taste the colours coursing,
massing, grooving, singing in the fellowship of man?

I took the first photo and wrote the little poem. The next two photos were taken by my True Love. I think that is a reasonable division of labour, even if I do say so myself.

This is my response to Jude’s Life In Colour kaleidoscope photography challenge and also the first of two responses (pressure!) to Tina’s Lens-Artists Photo Challenge with the theme of Your Choice. Thanks to all the wonderful hosts of these challenges for keeping us occupied this year.

We are nearly there, ladies and gentlemen. 2022. Soon. But let’s not rush it. Be kind, be patient, be your most compassionate selves.

Love to you all.

Kind Regards.
Tracy.


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Grey Expectations

Each month, Jude hosts a colour challenge, Life in Colour. The colour for November is black and/or grey. This is definitely my last contribution to this month’s colour challenge.

What Next?

On the lookout for smoke tendrils in the sky,
Black-faced Cuckoo-shrike surveys the scene.
Each year lurching from one extreme to another,
What are we to make of the constant vacillation?

Grey expectations –
Hoping for a break in the weather.

There has been yet more flooding in parts of Australia. The rain would have been welcome had it come after harvest. British Columbia (Canada) has also been experiencing serious flooding this week. Please take care if you live in a flood affected area.

Kind Regards.
Tracy.