Pumpkin Pathos

ABC WEDNESDAY
http://abcwednesday-mrsnesbitt.blogspot.com.au/
letter 'P'

PUMPKIN PATHOS

I sing of the pumpkin,
So golden of hue,
Which wakes in the meadow
All sparkling with dew.
He knows that he's ready
And fatly mature.
He'll end up as dinner
Of that he is sure.
Imagine the shock
When he's carved with a knife!
It's not how he thought
He would exit this life.
His mother had told him
He'd be on a plate,
And he had been, secretly,
Proud of this fate.
He knew he'd be tasty,
He knew he'd be praised,
And he knew that for this
Useful task he'd been raised.
I sing of the pumpkin
Who's really surprised
When he finds as a human
He has been disguised.

They've chopped and they've gouged

Till he looks like a man!

He hadn't expected 

This change to the plan!

When someone lights a candle

Inside his carved shell,

How the pumpkin reacts

It's not easy to tell.

But suffice it to say

(And, I beg you, don't mock)

Our big handsome pumpkin

Is in for a shock.

*

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LOST LOVE

Losing love is like losing life;

The pain of it twists like a knife.

Everything single thing he said

Writhes and pierces in your head.

You feel that you cannot go on,

Because your Only Love  has gone.

You're completely devastated;

When he said 'Love' was it then he Hated?

Has it all been a pretence?

Nothing's making any sense.

*

The thought of death is in your mind;

So sweet, so soft, so dark, so kind.

Death, which could take the pain away

And, at the same time, make him pay!

How he'll suffer when he learns

That you've gone to the land of No Returns!

Maybe you'll hover above his head

And hear his response to the sad words said....

'She's killed herself! Oh no! Oh no!

Why did someone so lovely go?

She was an angel! I see that now!

I'll repent for ever! This I vow!'

You'll have had your revenge. You'll have saved your pride.

In the course of which, of course, you've died!

*

I was a young girl long ago,

So this sad scenario I know.

This is a message I send in rhyme;

'It'll get better, given time.'

Punish him by living well.

Play-acting can often break a spell.

Pretend his hateful words weren't spoken

Pretend your heart was never broken.

Go out and act a happy part;

Then watch the healing process start!

In months, or, maybe, in a year

You'll forget you ever shed a tear.

Suicidal thoughts will have truly waned;

Instead if losing, you'll have gained.

You'll be involved in your Plan B

And Lover Boy will be......

Memory.

*

No Escape!

IMAGINARY GARDEN
http://withrealtoads.blogspot.com.au/
The theme is Halloween; I chose Witches

NO ESCAPE!

How terrible to be a witch
In the days of the ducking stool!
Say something out-of-line
And a swift death was the rule.
When one was strapped in the ducking-stool
It was only a matter of time
Before one died a dreadful  death,
Whatever was the crime.

The stool was held out over water
And the witch was dunked right in.
If she died that was certain proof
That she'd committed a sin.
But, if she lived, it was equal proof
That witchcraft had saved the day,
So the 'witch' was taken and burnt at the stake
In a truly horrible way!
'The good old days' ? I think not.
Nowadays were much more free
And you can cast your witchy spells
With equanimity.

*

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                                          Newcastle; NSW

BULGING WITH BLUES

Sailing into my home port after a week on the ocean,

I felt an unexpected joy that was sentimental emotion.

Newcastle isn't fashionable, it's full of industry,

And it's really quite peculiar that it means so much to me.

Growing-up in English prettiness, then living in London Town,

With a stint in glorious Cape Town, truly South Africa's crown,

A middle-sized city Down Under, designed for hard work and trade,

Surely can't compete with Sydney, which wins every accolade!

But sailing into the harbour, I rejoiced in the pleasant views,

And, most of all, in the blues and blues and blues and blues and blues.

*

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PS

Nearly all my pee-esses seem to involve food! Yesterday a group of us met to celebrate The Fifth Monday. I have instigated this, being President of the Probus. We normally do things on Mondays, but a few times a year there's a left-over Monday, a fifth one in the month, so I thought we could meet for lunch that day. We went to The Burwood Inn on this occasion and we enjoyed the fod and the company.

Chores

CHORES

I think I was a feminist

Way, way before my time.

And now I can explain it

By means of a Rinkly Rime.

I was a little evacuee

During the second world war

And my hosts expected me to do

A certain evening chore.

After the meal was over.

Whatever were my wishes,

I was given a tea towel

With which to dry the dishes.

The son of the house was older

By only one short year

But did he have to do the drying?

Goodness me! No fear!

When I queried the situation

 I certainly got no joy.......

'What! Trevor do the dishes!

Don't be silly, dear! He's a boy!'
And in that short split second
I became a Suffragette.
(Historically, maybe not
But I feel the seething yet!)

It seemed so terribly unfair

And when I became a wife

I still objected to 'women's work'

Though it was my lot in life.

*

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TRICK OR TREAT

(An Acrostic)

To tell the truth, at Halloween

Rarely have I felt too keen.

I've lived my life in various places,

Countries where those Pumpkin Faces,

Kids as Ghosts and Witchy creatures,

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Often with very scary features,

Revel in knocking at the door.

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Truly, I find it all a bore!

Recently, in the Land of Oz,

Even we've succumbed because

Australians copy other nations,

Taking-over their celebrations.

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Commercialism likes the date

But I fear, with me, it doesn't rate.

*