OH HARK 34
Out of the ramshackle truck her minions jumped.
By the knitting of the woman the poet was stumped.
Knitting a design intricate on her high horse astride.
She yawned away, eyes swiveling from side to side .
Rubbed her eyes and set her watch to the correct time
And exclaimed it is still the best and the worst of clime.
Knit and purl, knit and purl , frantically she knitted.
In a frown her brows concentrated,her teeth she gritted.
On every finger of her gigantic hands she had a ring.
Despite her stature, in her gait a Neanderthal spring.
She peered at the poet, and furtively changed the design.
Raised an admonitory finger, and made a weird sign.
" Two centuries have passed, things have altered."
Eloquently she sighed, and walked on, unfaltered.
Seeing the threesome she gave a howl of pure glee.
Quaking with fear the javelin man wanted to flee.
Suddenly the forest shook with a blast of wind cold.
The poet mumbled, "She looks two hundred years old."
"What are you mumbling , you disheveled man hirsute?"
Hissed the knitter, " I can read lips , I am not obtuse."
One of her sidekicks gave a vicious tug at her sleeve
Pointing towards someone under a tree starting to leave.
Under the tree a man stuffed a huge boulder into a sack.
Tied shoulder straps to it and slung the sack on his back.
Towards the river he walked , looking around sadly.
While the trees rustled and the wind blew madly.
The woman watched with a malevolent glint in her eyes.
Whispered the poet, is she a subtle killer in disguise?
Suddenly an invisible guitar burst out in joyous humming
Ears pricked ,who was this nocturnal guitarist strumming?
Slowly the minutes fled and a sudden splash they heard.
The moon clouded and in terror fluttered a hidden bird.
Into the dark chasms of the waters had the man jumped?
Inexpressibly shocked they gaped , shoulders slumped .
"Do not worry, you are next", said she , on revenge bent.
Full throttle towards the poet she moved, in her element.
She hissed,"now , I will turn in, but I will be up with the lark."
The forest sighed, conniving at her stealth, oh hark.
Her eyes glistened like metal, transfixed on the poet slim.
His mouth puckered in a silent cry at this threat grim.
By the knitting of the woman the poet was stumped.
Knitting a design intricate on her high horse astride.
She yawned away, eyes swiveling from side to side .
Rubbed her eyes and set her watch to the correct time
And exclaimed it is still the best and the worst of clime.
Knit and purl, knit and purl , frantically she knitted.
In a frown her brows concentrated,her teeth she gritted.
On every finger of her gigantic hands she had a ring.
Despite her stature, in her gait a Neanderthal spring.
She peered at the poet, and furtively changed the design.
Raised an admonitory finger, and made a weird sign.
" Two centuries have passed, things have altered."
Eloquently she sighed, and walked on, unfaltered.
Seeing the threesome she gave a howl of pure glee.
Quaking with fear the javelin man wanted to flee.
Suddenly the forest shook with a blast of wind cold.
The poet mumbled, "She looks two hundred years old."
"What are you mumbling , you disheveled man hirsute?"
Hissed the knitter, " I can read lips , I am not obtuse."
One of her sidekicks gave a vicious tug at her sleeve
Pointing towards someone under a tree starting to leave.
Under the tree a man stuffed a huge boulder into a sack.
Tied shoulder straps to it and slung the sack on his back.
Towards the river he walked , looking around sadly.
While the trees rustled and the wind blew madly.
The woman watched with a malevolent glint in her eyes.
Whispered the poet, is she a subtle killer in disguise?
Suddenly an invisible guitar burst out in joyous humming
Ears pricked ,who was this nocturnal guitarist strumming?
Slowly the minutes fled and a sudden splash they heard.
The moon clouded and in terror fluttered a hidden bird.
Into the dark chasms of the waters had the man jumped?
Inexpressibly shocked they gaped , shoulders slumped .
"Do not worry, you are next", said she , on revenge bent.
Full throttle towards the poet she moved, in her element.
She hissed,"now , I will turn in, but I will be up with the lark."
The forest sighed, conniving at her stealth, oh hark.
Her eyes glistened like metal, transfixed on the poet slim.
His mouth puckered in a silent cry at this threat grim.
The mind is made to stretch as in real time each has struggles to overcome making every character alive and cajoling life with banter and hidden wishes opening the window to more psychedelics - Each Rejected Stuff is challenging Santosh
ReplyDeleteGr8 of U every writing changes hues this can easily be composed into a book of verses from my Santosh
ReplyDeleteI look forward to the expected unusual rhymes, personally, as well as anticipating the unexpected action.
ReplyDelete