Explorer

I shall search for that special one

for writing is too slow

consider any age range that is not too low

without any more ado

I shall surf the net

and ignore the fact I have lit a cigarette

I shall posts pictures on facebook

and twitter in between

learn very fast those chatting rules

sitting on the computer stroking those keys

holding down the mouse

chatting with laughter and tease

Posting my profile forms part of my plan

on my to do list

hoping my hobby brings me a man

that pens his thoughts in prose

with a watermark rose.

© Paterika Hengreaves

(July 2012)

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Feelings

To me you are so special ...     tossing toffeesmiles doolight my star;

            important... you make me feel        thinking of you

keeps me smiling – He-he!

because of the joys we are sharing...

Gr-r-r – Yesterday I was sad – but, but

your email today makes me very glad

Gee wiz!

our plans for this yuletide season        send thrills

                                                                                     down my spine

thinking of that chalet

                        down-under

                                                and a la carte...holy grill...

Hmm –   oceans keeping us apart

Gr-r-r– so what a lonely soul

 must do          with loneliness soliloquy

                        B-r-r – ponders miserably...you not here

ivyvines of love            threading

                        our hearts

                                     soul so enmeshed

                                                            with starlights...zzzz

© Paterika Hengreaves

(July 2012)

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Messenger

They got on line you know,
Having said the usual hi and hello
With emoticons fully aglow,
But their stroking techniques were very slow.

He mentioned to her, that he did not buy the ham,
Because he got tied up, in traffic jam;
For the lights had gone astray,
And that was what caused, the long delay.

At the time she replied, the clock struck two,
And said that she was down with the flu,
But heard the news, that much fighting was still in Iraq,
And Palestinians were worried, over the death of Arafat.

Bush has been reelected President,
And for the second time, he is a White House resident;
So the war on terror, has reached an all time high;
Despite Kerry’s campaign cry, as to the reasons why.

©Paterika Hengreaves
January 2005/Arkles Bay, New Zealand

Love

(in Acrostic)



Lasting in the minds it could, when
oneness of hearts is good;
valuable as any diamond should;
endearingly it is, and so very pure.

Lend an ear as we speak on the subject my friend;
observably, it is not hard to comprehend;
variable they may say, but this you should know;
each new day, love is on display.

Let us accept through faith that God is love;
only His love is dogmatically so very real;
valuable it is, for it drives, and fuels the thirsty soul;
everlastingly it streams, over the mountains of life.

Longingly, we search for such goodness, for we know
out there, His arms hug us all, and so
vastly; He gives the wings to soar above mountain tops;
endless love, He gives all, and generations yet to come.

© Paterika Hengreaves
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Whimsical Echo

(In Open Form)

Of this you can be sure
For there is no need for you to ignore
And perhaps in time
When the clock does chime
And there is no more slime
Or slick on the roads out there
It will again be clean and clear.

An apple a day
Keeps the doctor at bay
Yea, not many bills to pay
So we joke and say
That frolic is an aspect of play
Causing laughter to burst in the air
Without a frown or a drop of a tear

Look how they did dance
And the way they did prance
They did not cry
Neither did they sigh
Too short is life for strife
So put away that knife
And forget about ending your life.

Such a handsome man was born in May
And his name was Ray
He walked the streets by day
With emotions that tossed
Twirled and kept him in a fray
As though like driftwood on some bay
The vagrant walked away.

Too many sad nights
When watching orchestrated fights
And without keeping the score
The boxer fell on the floor
His face with sweat and of gore
So the crowd rushes to the door
Not wanting to watch anymore.

As you should know
That the echo is like hello
On the rebound every time
The persistence of the chime
Or a sound is dropped
After its source has stopped
For replies
To which the echo supplies.

©Paterika Hengreaves

Those Charming Birds

All over the town, people are talking,
About the six dimensions,
Of these evolving freaks,
Whose thunderous voices,
At dawn and dusk,
Rock the Aotearoa, mountain peaks.
These bizarre cases
Of nature, some how, do enthrall.

Their facial structure,
So very small,
And nostrils, out of place,
Which cosmetic surgery,
Could erase, the mystery.

Their social ways of life, are very weird,
And their eating habits, smeared.
With a crotch, clutch and drop,
Of an egg, so big,
In their burrow of grass, and twig,
They lay in the ground.

They are copycats, and prowlers
Of the night, not easily found;
They work, when others are fast asleep.

With so many talents and gifts;
Their camouflage is unique,
And the tattoo patches, too sleek
On their chests, and bellies,
They wear, these honorary celebrities.

We are superstars now,
But bemoan the fact,
That we are hunted, by the paparazzi,
The ferrets, every dog, and cat;
Stalking us, in our natural habitat…

These terrorist bands, with covert and overt plans,
Are ruining our heritage, and our lands.

We are confused,
By the bright light,
You are calling us, fur ball hermits;
Yet you are saying, we have a great smell,
And much finesse,
Wearing a saggy dress…

Naturally shy, these foul descriptors,
Don’t lower their self-esteem;
For their awesome skills are very well entrenched.
The mystic god of the forest, Tane...
Smiles on their freakish charm,
And they are revered, across the land.

Some are icons with flightless wings,
Flying remarkably well on high,
The national emblem bears their name,
At the Olympic games, for fame,
And across the food chain, for capital gain.

As agile as ever,
They do the polka, and the haka,
With great mouths to holler,
All birds in the air,
All fishes in the sea,
Do tell us what this poet
From another land, touring our town,
Is talking about!

The barb talks,
Not about the fruits,
Nor about the kiwis;
Only about Kiwi Birds,
Found in beautiful Niu Tireni.

©Paterika Hengreaves
August, 2004/Hibiscus Coast, New Zealand

Throwing Poetics to the Wind

Donning in softness they caress,
With gentle touch of lips,
The tender, dancing tongs,
Hold fast, the vase of love.

The taste of sweetness, takes a plunge;
Down the slope, with an angel twist,
Upon the swans, of a setting sun,
Like soft mounds, upon a dusky cheer.

The velvet yield, and gentle drop,
The whispering raiment, cast aside...
Falls to ground, and spinning
Like a rose, treasured love unfolds.

Gliding through to the very core,
Sipping with delicate pauses, at oasis spring,
Near the centre, at the border of gems,
Amorously rest, in lingering laps.

The damp, fiery tongs are seared;
Dipping into the flowery urn,
To scoop the laving juice of desire,
On quivering leaves from branches high.

Softly, planting tiny kisses,
Across the apple of the eye,
With hordes of dancing butterflies,
To dance, the dance lovers keep,
On the hill, they roll and creep.

©Paterika Hengreaves
Spring 2006/Ohio, USA