(Ode to heels)
I know that for your posture they’re not the best
and feminists say that they’re a sign of the oppressed,
emphasising the natural rotundity,
professing a woman’s claim of her fecundity,
while, for the short, they raise her elevation
if only in her own imagination,
but, when those arse-cheeks dance and sway,
they get men’s full attention any day.
rs 27.8.12
‘Another man done gone’
in the words of that old song,
a big man who fought hard to free
his people from hard tyranny.
Praise and honours in his name
fall around the earth like rain;
tears too, let’s not forget,
from those he never even met.
In his homeland mourners sing
battle songs, remembering,
and dance their joy that he’d held fast
strong and true until the last.
But now’s not the time to overlook
those names who’ll never reach the book –
heroes may show us the way
for which millions had to pay.
Crocodile Tears
“I miss all those dinosaurs,” said the old croc to his mate, I haven’t seen them for a while. Where’ve they been of late?”
“Lizards, lizards everywhere and not one worth a skink; Komodos might be scary but they create such a stink.”
“I’ve not tasted cœlocanth for many, many a year, I could be mistaken but they’re dying out, I fear.”
“Evolution’s in reverse, the going’s getting rough, it seems only bacteria are made of the right stuff.”
“Alligators aren’t the same – they haven’t got the weight – and caymans are so flimsy, that’s why the world’s in such a state.”
“The birds are so much prettier but they vanish in a blink; you need some pterodactyls to make you stop and think.”
“The insects are still with us – thank Darwin for this skin! – though they grow smaller all the time. Are they giving in?”
His missus answered finally in a voice both deep and gruff, “Are you eating that wildebeest or have you had enough?”