All Dubious Prose by Carol McLeod (pwnkle)


Attacked by a ladybug, who was no lady at that,

These persistent little buzzards perch

On every piece of hardware at hand

Tasting too bad to be dispatched by my cat

Itís the little things that drive me crazy

Especially when they fly into my ear

They donít notice that I am in their way

They donít know Iím here

Iím too big for them to see

Iím too loud for them to hear

Iím too still for them to avoid

And I donít have dots


Old Friends

The old cat winks at me from her perch

atop this computer

She is wise and knows many things

She likes it there for its warmth

While I am freezing here

She has been watching me for hours

Throwing the occasional encouraging question my way

Other than that we have nothing to say to each other

Being old friends we donít need to talk much

Iím sure she thinks Iím not a very good cat

With an ignominious covering, not like her gleaming fur

She knows I donít really eat the mice

That she leaves by the door for me.


Limericks for Chosh

they say there's a woman named Chosh
who went to the fridge for a nosh
inside she found nothing
but some blue moldy stuffing
and she cried out "this ain't very posh "

there's a lovely blonde woman up north
who used to pace back and forth
'cause she found a quarter
from south of the border
and wasn't sure what it was worth

there is a gal from Oshawa
who loved to sniff the flowa's
one day she froze
at the sight of a rose
and she said 'that flowa has powa '


Slapped with a boing

I was slapped upside my head with a boing

By life I think, with my brain it was toying

I wondered why I was acting so strange

no common sense am I deploying


I would rather be a peculiar bird

Than one from whom no one has heard

What matters to me has been rearranged

the bird is the word


Perhaps upon my head Iíll place

Something that looks good over my face

Maybe a hat with ribbons of royal

Or maybe a chapeau made of tin foil


A tin foil hat can do you some good

When aliens are cruising in your hood

They'll never find you wearing that





Tripping Canada

Once we went to the land of the moose

my partner in crime and I

upon the frozen land let loose

as from or home land we did fly


into the wild land of bears we went

although not a one we saw

and lo our host lived not in a tent

but in a town known as Oshawa


forewarned we were and watchfully wary

weary from  packing cameras

nothing seemed to be too scary

garishly gaudy or glamorous


was nary a moose within sight or sound

and never was spied  Ann Murrey

it was not bears ,but  friends we found

theyíre canadian, but theyíre not furry



Silently by dark of moon
I slipped through the house
settling by a window to see
stars and planets and planes

Specks of light above moved westward
each bent on a journey of its own
flickering steadily on through night,
towards separate endings

In darkness at the quiet end of day
finding solace from the world around
where sounds of daylife would intrude
when I slip into dreaming night

The darkness smells of honey and spice
outside this window , and summer grasses.
strands of thought like cobwebs catch
flotsam of the day , shimmering briefly
and fading away

grass green so still then bitter yet
dripping from my lips pursed against
I cannot hold my life inside it sours
glisten as honey beckons sweet taste

dreaming takes me to a garden of bells
sweet dew drips off the garden walls
humming air chimes sweet with sound
long throated lilies bow golden bent

acrid smoke of bitter burning leaves
one minute full of beauty and color
sting eyes to tears of joy and crying out
in confusion spitting out poison seed

I can step off the edge of a real world
fly over the boundary of this earth
open eyes to a dreaming world so close
buzzing green and sweet air singing life


It's quiet here in the dark of the house
no one stirring but me and the mouse
my cat woke me up so I crept out of bed
I should have gone back but I'm here instead

it wouldn't hurt just to sit here and see
if anyone else was awake like me
I went to the kitchen and put on the kettle
I'm ready to play , I'm in really fine fettle

I seat my pajama'd self down in the chair
and warm up my fingers to start talking there
but it's so easy to get side tracked
led astray by an interesting fact

once more I've followed that little white rabbit
a virtual pest and a virtual habit
into the wonderland of my computer
and if I get lost I can always re-boot her




the children had begun to dance
doors open to cool warm brows
hands on hips , hands raised high
joy is found in the here and now
hearts beat with the music fast
I wiped the heat from my face
I knew this for the gift it was
to see their childish grace
dance is joy and joy is singing
the child held my hand tight
I saw the world through her eyes
bright room , doors opened to night
through her eyes I saw myself
and heard how lovely was the song
how wonderful it is to hop and twirl
and to this world belong