Delores of Mumblings and Jenny of Procrastinating Donkey are taking turns hosting Poetry Monday.
Today's theme is Mosquitoes (courtesy of Delores).
Today it's still holiday, it's Pentecost Monday. No school, no work, no obligations. We sleep in, we eat a slow breakfast, we dally around. I open my computer to check on the weather forecast. In my newsfeed I notice everybody's Poetry Monday writings. Oh of course. Holiday Mondays are still Mondays. I haven't given a thought to mosquitoes before now. At least not to poetry on mosquitoes. The real ones have been pestering us. I sit down and pull my hairs out. Here's what my poor stressed brain came up with.
Zzzzzz - a mosquito is buzzing
I'm turning and tossing
trying to cover my ears.
The mosquito is quiet
I'm ready to riot
to alleviate my fears.
Because quiet mosquitoes
means they use me and my toes
for breakfast and dinner and snack.
It's itching, I'm scratching
And soon I'll be matching
a well patched stretch of tarmac.
Disclaimer for the A-Z Challenge. I will visit blogs, but I won't necessarily comment if the contents do not speak to me.
I will mercilessly remove comments only made to generate views like: "Nice blog, please visit mine".
mandag den 10. juni 2019
5 kommentarer:
Jeg bliver altid glad for en kommentar.
Jeg prøver at svare på alle kommentarer - og lover at hive alle kommentarer ud af spam-fængslet så hurtigt som muligt.
I am always grateful for all comments, and try to reply meaningfully to all of them.
I furthermore promise to pull your comments from spam-limbo as fast at possible.
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Kommentarer til indlægget (Atom)
Love it.
SvarSletWho would have thought that pesky little blood suckers who inspire such clever and varied poems.
You took the words rigth out of my mouth. One irritating critter, so many poems!
SletOh, well done, MotherOwl - especially when you were writing under pressure! Quiet mosquitoes are the dangerous ones, for sure :)
SvarSletOh yes. Quiet mosquitoes ... I'm longing to be old and deaf, not hearing mosquitoes at all will be pure bliss.
SletOh, how we hate them, especially when they are suddenly not seen or heard. It means they have chosen a spot, and we don't know where
SvarSlet