Saturday, April 16, 2011


(An Acrostic)

Hovering like some whirring insect,
Under, above and out and in;
Making music with your blurred wings
Moving them as though they spin!
Insides of flowers your place of worship;
Neat your beak with pouncing dart;
Gently, like a surgeon piercing
Breaking wide the flower's heart.
In a world of crass and clumsy,
Rapid changes which encroach,
Divinity is in your fluttering;
Hummingbird, you living brooch!


Bright, bright colours in the gloom
Of the local club's 'pokie' room.
Colours meant to tantalise!
An invitation to the unwise.
Poker Machines lie waiting,
Knowing they're captivating,
Knowing the addict's eye
Will never pass them by.
Add music and jangly sound
To make the mad heart pound.
Who cares if the table's bare;
And the children need clothes to wear?
Who cares if you're deep in debt
So long as you can bet,
Bet on that certain thing;
Make all those winning bells ring?
Surely you'll win next time!
The thought is quite sublime!
Your money is burning a hole!
You're about to lose control!
Such cheerful colours they are!
So, of course, you'll go too far.
Down, down, down in the abyss.
Oh what folly is this!
The British Poetry Competition is now open.
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1 comment:

Darlene said...

Your Acrostic poem on Hummingbirds captures their rapid and fascinating nature.

And the poker has a good message for compulsive gamblers. I had a sister-in-law that should have read it. She would have had lots more money than she had.