Monday, October 26, 2020

Bucket o' Mangoes

 

“Bucket o' Mangoes by Maisie Aletha Smikle

A bucket full of mangoes to go
A bucket full of fries won't flow
Flood me with mangoes up to the rim
Fill the buckets to the brim

A bucket full of mangoes sliced thin
You may leave the seeds within
Forgo the topping and cream
Serve it plain add no cream

Mangoes left fries steaming
Hot fries were beaming
Steam running hot
Mangoes left fries in the pot

Fries got jealous of mangoes' spot
And vowed to reclaim its spot at the top
Fries chanted
Mangoes panted

Mangoes got cool and smooth
Fries got crispy hot
Mangoes tango in buckets
Fries paired with nuggets

Mangoes swam in smoothies
Dived in fruity punches
Careened into buckets
Fries seethed and smothered

Hot steam from its empty air pockets
In bags paired with nuggets
Fries bowed with nuggets
And hit the bucket”

https://www.goodreads.com/quotes/10526998
― Maisie Aletha Smikle

Bless the Lord

Friday, October 16, 2020

Moon Hiking

“Moon Hiking by Maisie Aletha Smikle


Once there was gnome
Who lived in Rome
Nalomb the gnome liked to roam
So he climbed on top of a dome

From the dome
The gnome saw a drone
Dangling in full sight
Swaying like a huge kite

Nalomb the gnome
Watched the drone
As the drone hovered
And steadily maneuvered

Uncomfortably close over his head
Nalomb wished he had remained in bed
Guided by gravity
The drone stopped in close proximity

On top of the dome
Close to the gnome
Was the drone
Somewhere in Rome

The gnome thought of going home
But did not want to miss a chance to roam
So Nalomb the gnome
Climb into the drone

He tightened the screws
Fixed the bolts
Checked the volts
Load more power

Then dialed the tower
And reported after an hour
Gone hiking on the moon
See you very soon”


― Maisie Aletha Smikle

Wednesday, October 14, 2020

Two Kittens

“Two Kittens by Maisie Aletha Smikle

Born to a cat called Mitten
Were two tiny little kittens
Nested in a basket
They purred for the warmth of a blanket

Coated in short velvet hair of midnight black
From whiskers to tail they were beauty black
Soft cuddly and adorable
They searched uncontrollably

Twisting and twirling
Their little tails floundering
Tiny purrs pleading
They comb their little basket for a blanket

To feed her little kittens
And warm their tiny bodies
Mitten must feed her tummy
With something very yummy

Mitten searched for food
She stayed close to her brood
With their small eyes still closed
Mitten’s little kittens mainly dozed

Mitten peered and listen
Her bright ocean blue eyes glisten
She spots a mouse
Coming from a house

The mouse had just feasted
Groggy from its feast
It moved slowly
Mitten pounced boldly

She knocked her target out
Picked it up in her mouth
And feasted with delight
Then licked her whiskers clean till they glisten bright

Mitten returned to her kittens
And found them soundly fast asleep
She covered her little kittens
And soon fell fast asleep”


― Maisie Aletha Smikle

Tuesday, October 13, 2020

Tempest by Maisie Aletha Smikle

“Tempest by Maisie Aletha Smikle

Night has come
The day is done
It's time to go to sleep
And rest in peace so sweet

Then arise at daybreak with a praise
For with sweet slumber you were graced
It's the break of dawn
And all is blessedly calm

Some are waking up from their peaceful slumber
While others hasten home to get their daily slumber
Birds happily chirp hello
And roosters crow how do you do

Angels descend to take their earthly morning stroll
And take a roll
Of when to sack the bad
And when to reward the good

Like an eye at the middle of a storm
So was the calm at dawn
Then…Swoosh...Swoosh
A mighty wind blew

Birds stop sipping dew and flew
Windows flew wide open
Curtains leapt then went airborne floating in the air
Empty teapots flew off stove tops

Banging on adjacent doors
Before landing on the kitchen floors
Utensils cups and saucers clatter
Forks dance with spoons to the rhythm of the wind

Animals huddle tight
In awe and fright
In treetops they huddle
In holes they shudder

For out of their holes they will flood like grains of sand
And the winds from the treetops they can't withstand
Swoosh… Swoosh the mighty winds blew
Sweeping like an enormous broom

The winds swept
What was unswept
And that which was unkept
And without a trace the winds left

The sun peeked from behind the clouds
Checking to see if the tempest had really left
Then gracefully the sun arises
To mop that which wasn't swept by the bristles of the tempest”


― Maisie Aletha Smikle  
https://www.goodreads.com/quotes/10510219

Thursday, October 8, 2020

Under the Sun

 

Under the Sun by Maisie Aletha Smikle

The year was seventeen ten
When I turned ten
I played with Maggy my hen
And wrote a skit for a friend

I fed Maggy corn
That was fetched from the barn
And milked the goats
For breakfast I made porridge from oats

On a bench I sat
Eating my Pop
When out flew Maggy my hen
From her pen

I left my meal
This was unreal
The hen had left her coop
So I got some grain and stooped

Then called out to Maggy my hen
Maggy O Maggy come back to your pen
The hen flapped her wings
Her leg was caught between two strings

Two men got my poor hen
They grabbed me and my hen
And stuffed us in a pen
Then sold us for a stipend

My precious hen they took
Made fire slaughter and cook
Then gulped water from a nearby brook
My poor neck was hooked

In chains like a crook
It must be a nightmare
The crooks were here
To get more than their share

Have I died and gone to hell
I simply couldn’t tell
I always do good
And was never misunderstood

Are these vultures
One could not tell
Their skin looked like the skin of bald head vultures
O dear me roaming wingless vultures

Are these aliens from hell
One could not tell
They looked like me head hands and feet
They don't have four feet

O Lord I did not make it to heaven
Even though I had forgiven
Heated red hot metal pierced my body
Steam gushed from my broiling flesh

There is no doubt these are the demons of hell
Brandishing fiery stones and red hot iron
Burning those who did not make it to heaven
Shoving them into hell’s decked unlit pit

The year was seventeen ten
When I turned ten
Maggy my hen flew from her pen
And the sun stopped shining at half past ten”


― Maisie Aletha Smikle