The Wasp Murders

Found under the bench, after we sat down.

Found under the bench, after we sat down. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

What happens when woman meets wasps?

Who is the more treacherous?

Who wins when all are dead on the floor?

Who is the more savage?

Monday 19 Sep 2011

***

“I am just an ordinary individual…

With no malice in my heart.

I would ’t hurt a flea!”—as I throw the dart

Isn’t that what they all say?

When accused of the part

Of the murder in the dark!

*

Yet this morning

I must confess to my crime

Murder was the color of my mime

Stealthily I crept into the cold cellar

They all would be dead in no time

Revenge was definitely mine

*

Carefully I plotted

Raising the can of Wasp Killer

A can in each hand of the cold chiller

Pushing the button with frenzy

Poison spewing needing no filler

Yes, yes, the Wasp Murder Thriller!

*

“What have I done!

Now hundreds lie dead on the floor

They fly and breathe no more

Vengence leaving a bitter taste

And I am sick to the core!

There is no vaccine for this sore!

*

All that the wasps wanted

Was to share my home

A corner for that one little cone

But a space I  could not spare

Not to those pesky drones!

No 911 for them to phone!

*

Now, I, left with the guilt

Of my murderous deed,

My treacherous creed

Must weep for these creatures

Savage am I, I must cede!

Compassion I must feed.

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the Ocean Swallowed up my Brother

HMS Scylla and Odinn collision

HMS Scylla and Odinn collision (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Roger was 19 and flying high

An Air Force man in the sky

I was only five and still close to the earth

Who would guess there would be a rebirth?

Unexpected the local policeman did announce

Rough and unsympathetic, his life he did renounce

My Mother in her apron, with nine to count,

From her feelings, silently did dismount

In the plane with eight other young men

An engine exploded and took them to their end

For a week, five days no less

The bodies had been laid to rest

Near Iceland, in the cold Atlantic sea

No bodies to bring home, no way to set us free

All were dressed in black

As in the St. Michael’s Church we sat

A strange rectangular box in front

Draped with an American Flag, death hitting us blunt

Carpet Diem*

RIP

RIP (Photo credit: McBeth)

   This poem is dedicated to SUSAN MESSMER, who gifted me with the title of the poem and encouraged me to write it!

                                        * * * * * * * *

The rug lay still upon the floor

No one could ask for more

Years and years it drank up the spill

Family and friends wishing it no ill

Once beautiful and soft

Now an occasional deadbeat moth

Remnants of candyland dotted its frills

Kool-aid and pop that Sara spilled

Artist tints of color that Lara shared

Annie and her fingernail polish with such care

Elliott’s cigarette ashes laying bare

Adorned with their Dad’s long silver hair

Baby Formula from all three

Grandkids next contributed free

Juice, cereal and gummy bears

All so wonderfully, joyfully shared

Coffee from Momma and Poppa did fall

How about that carpenter’s glue on top of it all?

Think of all the footsteps that this rug endured

Absorption of conversation assured

Grandparents, sisters and brothers, and friends

Twenty-five years this rug did lend

All this exuberant life and more

All absorbed by this carpet on the floor