Archive for the ‘humor’ Category

Uninvited Guests

picnic file000250766038

Table set, places to sit.
Guests arrive, barbie lit.
Then the wasps swing by,
uninvited.

A flurry for covers, cans of spray,
furtive eating, looking each way,
for the wasps are here,
despite it.

Yet there’s water to drink, food to eat,
more than enough. We are replete,
though the wasps hang round,
delighted.

Praise for our table, cleared of its scraps.
Thanks for our friends, as we now relax,
now the buzzing wasps
are quieted.

© Copyright Ellen Carr 2015

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Without a trace (Episode 2)

The Missing Postbox – Episode 2
Last night 2 local people stealthily placed two posters (see below) on the pole next to where the missing postbox used to be. By the time they went past this morning, at about 9 am, the posters had disappeared! So, the plot thickens. Who took the posters? Was it the same person/group who took the postbox? Was is a humourless local council worker, Australia Post fighting back, or who? Any ideas?

Here’s the poster, followed by the poem, slightly updated from my previous version.

IMAG0158

Without a trace

The sturdy bright red postbox

on the corner of the street,

come rain or shine or thunder,

so welcoming and neat,

disappeared one week day.

We never heard it go!

Tore up its concrete roots and went,

with nothing left to show.

For years it stood accepting

epistles by the score,

envelopes and parcels

from people rich and poor.

A pillar box of permanence,

as neighbours came and went,

keeping safe their payments,

and letters that they sent.

It stood through years of changes,

as postal charges soared,

as stamps became a luxury

we little could afford.
Endured the indignation

as email traffic rose,

put up with competition,

and Facebook, I suppose.

I went to post a letter,

in my usual way,

and found our much loved postbox

had simply gone away.

A mystery surrounds it.

We don’t know where it went,

nor why it chose to leave us,

or what its leaving meant.

We’ll miss our local postbox,

maybe more than most.

It’s such an inconvenience.

Not happy Aussie Post!

©Ellen Carr 2014

Without a trace

 

Photo courtesy Bidgee, Wikimedia Commons

The sturdy bright red postbox

on the corner of the street

Come rain or shine or thunder

so welcoming and neat,

Disappeared one week day.

We never heard it go!

Tore up its concrete roots and went,

with nothing left to show.

For years it stood accepting

epistles by the score,

envelopes and parcels

from people rich and poor.

It stood through years of changes

as neighbours came and went,

keeping safe their payments,

and letters that they sent.

It stood its ground though changes

as postal charges soared,

as stamps became a luxury

we little could afford.
Endured the indignation

as email traffic rose,

put up with competition

and Facebook I suppose.

I went to post a letter

in my usual way

and found our much loved postbox

had simply gone away.

A mystery surrounds it,

We don’t know where it went,

nor why it chose to leave us

or what its leaving meant.

We’ll miss our local postbox

Maybe more than most.

It’s such an inconvenience.

Not happy Aussie Post!

©Ellen Carr 2014

(A true story. The postbox that we always use just disappeared. Now Australia Post is cutting back on staff, and services, but taking away our postbox….that’s about the limit. Or is there a more mysterious reason for its disappearance?!)

Human watching at Logans Beach

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We have a system, we have a plan,

that no-one will see us; and nobody can.

I’m an observer from Southern Right Spies

and I see a lot with my big eyes.

 

We’re keeping data, making notes,

human habits, the ways of boats,

observing patterns, noting trends.

Long-term study, open ends.

 

Weather patterns correlate

with their numbers and their state.

Sunny days will bring a crowd,

vocal soundings, wailings loud.

 

Rain brings fewer, extra-skinned,

top ends covered, mushroom-finned.

Increased movement windy days,

paws near eyes on days of haze.

 

The boss insists, ‘Stay out of sight,

certainly do not excite.

Watch control group standing round

Keep selves hidden; make no sound.’

 

‘When we know their normal ways

we’ll introduce some tests,’ she says.

‘Monday afternoon we’ll breach,

and note reactions on the beach.’

 

‘Will they change behaviour when

they know we’re here, and will they then

hang around to watch us play

or move a little bit away?’

 

‘Next day we’ll blow and lobtail too,

perform a pectoral slap or two,

note how humans now react

to each movement and each act.’

 

To the humans we’re benign,

science research is our line.

Our knowledge of their types and ways

grows with passing years and days.

 

Perhaps we will communicate

with humans at a later date

but  in the meantime we’ll pursue

our aim, to know them through and through.

 

© Ellen Carr 2013

 

Looking for whales at Logans Beach, Victoria, Australia (and seeing none) I wondered whether the whales might try and observe us humans. This inspired this poem. There have been a lot of whale sightings along the Victorian coast this winter, but not on the day we were looking!

 

White-fleck havoc

In the whirling cavern

a wretched evil spread,

cloned itself in tiny pieces

and clung to black and red.

 

Its white-fleck havoc

singled out the dark,

multiplied its power

in every mocking mark.

 

Just a single tissue

colonised our clothes,

spread its spotty dandruff

everywhere it shows.

 

Whose the guilty pocket

or the culprit sleeve

from whence the viral paper

sought its mischief to achieve?

 

(No-one’s owning up!)

 

© Ellen Carr 2013