Robert Nimmo
—Poetry by Robert Nimmo,
Christchurch, New Zealand
—Public Domain Photos Courtesy
of Joe Nolan, Stockton, CA
THE UNINVITED
Day parades its wares:
brazen beamer veiled in haze,
capricious and fey.
Moon slips, coquettish, alluring,
stringing threads
between hibiscus fingers.
The darkened faces silhouetted
beyond the jungle frame liaisons
and creatures from the nether-light
creep in.
No twilight, no fading,
no dappling, no shading.
Night lunges, a silent panther,
its eyes the yellow lanterns
of scattered kampongs,
its scent the pungent odour
of dying mangroves.
Night conceals.
She sings a sensuous song
and spins a delicate trap.
Night
is for the hungry;
tis the realm of the tiger.
Night
is velvet, smooth,
tactile.
They came at night
when the moon
was waning
and the dark
weeping
Day parades its wares:
brazen beamer veiled in haze,
capricious and fey.
Moon slips, coquettish, alluring,
stringing threads
between hibiscus fingers.
The darkened faces silhouetted
beyond the jungle frame liaisons
and creatures from the nether-light
creep in.
No twilight, no fading,
no dappling, no shading.
Night lunges, a silent panther,
its eyes the yellow lanterns
of scattered kampongs,
its scent the pungent odour
of dying mangroves.
Night conceals.
She sings a sensuous song
and spins a delicate trap.
Night
is for the hungry;
tis the realm of the tiger.
Night
is velvet, smooth,
tactile.
They came at night
when the moon
was waning
and the dark
weeping
TAROT
In Balliecomb a little house
stands close beside a park;
outside the paint is peeling off
inside ’tis deathly dark.
No human ever ventures near,
I've seen no person come;
yet deep inside the darkest nights
strange figures bang a drum.
No one sees and no one hears
as each strange ghostly shape appears;
but nightly they play cards—and why?
no one knows, not even I.
One strange old wrinkled aunt recalls
great wickedness within those walls,
the owners tried most every vice
and now they have to pay the price.
Some nights you'll hear a lonely scream,
the local folks can tell,
they whisper: “Tis a spirit
whisked away to hell.”
For if you're bad then be aware
one day they'll get you too,
make sure you always try your best
and what you say is true!
In Balliecomb a little house
stands close beside a park;
outside the paint is peeling off
inside ’tis deathly dark.
In Balliecomb a little house
stands close beside a park;
outside the paint is peeling off
inside ’tis deathly dark.
No human ever ventures near,
I've seen no person come;
yet deep inside the darkest nights
strange figures bang a drum.
No one sees and no one hears
as each strange ghostly shape appears;
but nightly they play cards—and why?
no one knows, not even I.
One strange old wrinkled aunt recalls
great wickedness within those walls,
the owners tried most every vice
and now they have to pay the price.
Some nights you'll hear a lonely scream,
the local folks can tell,
they whisper: “Tis a spirit
whisked away to hell.”
For if you're bad then be aware
one day they'll get you too,
make sure you always try your best
and what you say is true!
In Balliecomb a little house
stands close beside a park;
outside the paint is peeling off
inside ’tis deathly dark.
ILL-FATED
I met a witch at noon today
travelling in disguise;
She wore the darling buds of May
but had dark and evil eyes.
I met her in the checkout aisle
I had too many goods;
She sneered and gave a witchy smile
as she snarled the “coulds and shoulds”.
Embarrassed I crept from the store
unaware that I’d been cursed;
but I’d barely left the carpark when
both my front tyres burst.
I met a witch at noon today
travelling in disguise;
She wore the darling buds of May
but had dark and evil eyes.
I met her in the checkout aisle
I had too many goods;
She sneered and gave a witchy smile
as she snarled the “coulds and shoulds”.
Embarrassed I crept from the store
unaware that I’d been cursed;
but I’d barely left the carpark when
both my front tyres burst.
A HYMN
Oh, Sekhmet, the one who’s beloved of Ma’at,
Grant we who worship the power that you hold,
You who hold sway over Bastet the cat,
And make of the weakest, warriors bold.
Grant us the power over hot desert plains,
Let us proclaim your glories afar;
Your colour red’s already widespread,
You who were fired by the eye of God Ra.
She whom before all evil doth tremble,
Lend us the healing powers you possess,
So the whole world knows you resemble
A great power for good who fights strain and distress.
Grant us the strength to tame the bizarre
And long make you live in the strong arms of Ptah!
_____________________
Today’s LittleNip:
THAT WITCH!
—Robert Nimmo
We have a witch who travels down our chimney
Only in the darkest deep of night;
This wasn’t really bad till she was spotted by our dad,
By heck, she gave Auntie Dolly quite a fright.
_____________________
In another life, Robert Nimmo wrote four musical comedies, has had poetry published in magazines and journals worldwide, including the Inclement, Fire, The California Quarterly, and Literature for the Caribbean, and has produced twenty books on Literature. He has written four novels: Caught in a Singapore Sling; Shaken, Shocked and Shafted (on the Christchurch Earthquake and its aftermath); and two historical works: I Rode with Robespierre and Butterflies in the Wind. Additionally, he has released three collections of poetry: The Big Tree and Other Stories; Songs of the Pegasus Possums; and Leaves from an Ageing Tree. At the moment he is completing his erotic traveller, My Hot Little Handbook of Sexual Sorcery and Murder. He contributes lyrically to Twitter, has a following on Instagram and his own blog. One of Bob’s poems, a sonnet about Medusa, was posted yesterday on our Form Fiddlers’ Friday; check it out! Welcome to the Kitchen, Bob, and don’t be a stranger!
_____________________
—Medusa
Oh, Sekhmet, the one who’s beloved of Ma’at,
Grant we who worship the power that you hold,
You who hold sway over Bastet the cat,
And make of the weakest, warriors bold.
Grant us the power over hot desert plains,
Let us proclaim your glories afar;
Your colour red’s already widespread,
You who were fired by the eye of God Ra.
She whom before all evil doth tremble,
Lend us the healing powers you possess,
So the whole world knows you resemble
A great power for good who fights strain and distress.
Grant us the strength to tame the bizarre
And long make you live in the strong arms of Ptah!
_____________________
Today’s LittleNip:
THAT WITCH!
—Robert Nimmo
We have a witch who travels down our chimney
Only in the darkest deep of night;
This wasn’t really bad till she was spotted by our dad,
By heck, she gave Auntie Dolly quite a fright.
_____________________
In another life, Robert Nimmo wrote four musical comedies, has had poetry published in magazines and journals worldwide, including the Inclement, Fire, The California Quarterly, and Literature for the Caribbean, and has produced twenty books on Literature. He has written four novels: Caught in a Singapore Sling; Shaken, Shocked and Shafted (on the Christchurch Earthquake and its aftermath); and two historical works: I Rode with Robespierre and Butterflies in the Wind. Additionally, he has released three collections of poetry: The Big Tree and Other Stories; Songs of the Pegasus Possums; and Leaves from an Ageing Tree. At the moment he is completing his erotic traveller, My Hot Little Handbook of Sexual Sorcery and Murder. He contributes lyrically to Twitter, has a following on Instagram and his own blog. One of Bob’s poems, a sonnet about Medusa, was posted yesterday on our Form Fiddlers’ Friday; check it out! Welcome to the Kitchen, Bob, and don’t be a stranger!
_____________________
—Medusa
For upcoming poetry happenings in
Northern California and otherwheres,
click on
UPCOMING NORCAL EVENTS
(http://medusaskitchen.blogspot.com/p/wtf.html)
in the links at the top of this page.
Photos in this column can be enlarged by
clicking on them once, then clicking on the x
in the top right corner to come back to Medusa.
Would you like to be a SnakePal?
All you have to do is send poetry and/or
photos and artwork to
kathykieth@hotmail.com. We post
work from all over the world—including
that which was previously published—
and collaborations are welcome.
Just remember:
the snakes of Medusa are always hungry—
for poetry, of course!
Northern California and otherwheres,
click on
UPCOMING NORCAL EVENTS
(http://medusaskitchen.blogspot.com/p/wtf.html)
in the links at the top of this page.
Photos in this column can be enlarged by
clicking on them once, then clicking on the x
in the top right corner to come back to Medusa.
Would you like to be a SnakePal?
All you have to do is send poetry and/or
photos and artwork to
kathykieth@hotmail.com. We post
work from all over the world—including
that which was previously published—
and collaborations are welcome.
Just remember:
the snakes of Medusa are always hungry—
for poetry, of course!
