1 A world inhabited not be Jane Austen

2 Denied white smoke

3 Love knows no obstacles




13 March 2013 Absurd 2.4

A world not inhabited by Jane Austen

The ice-cubes are burning

but there is no smoke,

only the mango yellow flames

with purple hearts.

The sun is clad in a green jersey,

knit with a cable pattern;

the sun is hot,

it should take off the jersey.

At the market

people are buying friendships;

there is a good discount today.

I need a friend,

but I’ll have to borrow money

from a pauper.

The plumber is disgusted –

one of the pipes he bought

is flawed,

it is hollow.

High in the air a love-bird

rides on the current

with outstretched arms;

it is looking for carrion.

Somebody ought to write a book

called Sense and Sensibility;

there isn’t enough of it.



11 March 2013 Absurd 4.1

Denied white smoke

Although he was a moth

of the cloth,

he would never become Pope.

There were many reasons for that

he was told by his lawyer

who specialised in religious matters.

Firstly, although the moth had a Latin name –

Tineola bisselliella (Tiny to his friends)

he could not speak the language

nor write it.

Secondly, the lawyer said,

it is not common for a pope

to have children,

and the moth had five hundred

and thirteen of the little tykes.

Thirdly, and this was probably

the most formidable obstacle,

the cardinals were greatly concerned

that the moth,

once he had become Pope,

would eat his zucchetto.



5 March 2013 Absurd -0.5

Love knows no obstacles

A certain number

of moths have prostheses,

but I recently met one

with a pacemaker.

He coped quite well with it

and flew his usual distances

in search of suitable night flowers

without difficulty.

I am not very fluent

in mothish

and it took quite

a long conversation

and patient explanation

before I fully understood

the moth’s condition.

By the way, he was called Benedict,

as his parents were devout.

Our conversation turned to different flavours

of nectar

and how humidity

and temperature

influenced the quality

of the commodity.

However, he soon lost me

as I am not a habitual

nectar consumer.

When we parted company,

we shook hands

(OK, metaphorically)

it left a small patch

of powder on my finger.

It’s wonderful to know

that there is a moth

who can continue to enjoy

rowdy, flavour-filled nights

in spite, or because of,

having an artificial helpmate for his heart.

Even more poignant,

is what he told me

just before he flew off –

he touched his chest and said:

I’ve got a machine in here,

but that doesn’t make me a machine –

I’m in love.