eric.bell
03-09-2010, 11:05 PM
The Travel Journal of Miscellaneous Pocket Items
Entry One: the Dime
A dime rolls swiftly across the street
Careful to miss all the passers-by’s feet
A dime rolls ever so discreet
Making sure it finds a seat
And when it finds it calmly it will sit
Having made sure to miss all the un-glorifiable spit
Entry Two: the Fountain Pen
Flailing clumsily through the thick office air
The rickety fountain pen did break in mid-air
Its contents removed and strewed all over the room
What was once white is now smudged fully black. The broom!
Oh, what of the broom? Now matted from that of the aerial strike
It’s now as useful as soldiers at picket or policemen on strike
And the clink, clank and the tink, tank can be heard by all that are around
For the spring does bounce ever to and fro, alas, to fall within a dusty, supply mound
Entry Three: the Cigarette
Slipping carelessly it strikes the ground
Stands erect for a moment, then wobbles effortlessly
Then finds its way to the stall’s grate without the slightest hint of sound
One by one hasty travelers urinate just above, until one did see
The little fag, lying motionless wanting not but to be found
Swiftly the dirty faced sprog did usher it to his lips. As he did pee
He lit the fag and began to puff, until--of the fag--none could be found.
Entry Four: the Key
Jingling and jangling from a ring on a chain
The keys did sing and make a persistent noise;
Never letting off their steady beat
As the janitor walked in long, lazy strides.
The incessancy of the march had, long ago, become mundane.
But then, all at once, he stopped to poise
And began looking franticly about his feet
And to all respective sides.
A key, it did seem, was missing the beat.
His eyes scurried swiftly, back and forth, across the floor.
The oldest of keys, on his quant little ring,
Had vanished from sight,
Had he the eyes to see under his feet
He’d seen that it had fallen through a crack in the floor
And was never to jingle, jangle, or sing
Along anymore; now it rested forever just out of sight.
Entry Five: the Poem
A pocket-sized poem slips on into the breeze
Softly it floats, like that of leaves
Drifting on through a cool autumn day
Slowly slipping, floating, drifting-- away
Well, it slipped ‘til ‘twas night
And floated on as it made its flight
Across lake, forest, and field
It did float ‘til it met with the farmer’s till for the latter did not yield
Foot note:
Fag- is an English term for a cigarette.
Sprog- newly recruited airman for the British Royal Air Force.
Entry One: the Dime
A dime rolls swiftly across the street
Careful to miss all the passers-by’s feet
A dime rolls ever so discreet
Making sure it finds a seat
And when it finds it calmly it will sit
Having made sure to miss all the un-glorifiable spit
Entry Two: the Fountain Pen
Flailing clumsily through the thick office air
The rickety fountain pen did break in mid-air
Its contents removed and strewed all over the room
What was once white is now smudged fully black. The broom!
Oh, what of the broom? Now matted from that of the aerial strike
It’s now as useful as soldiers at picket or policemen on strike
And the clink, clank and the tink, tank can be heard by all that are around
For the spring does bounce ever to and fro, alas, to fall within a dusty, supply mound
Entry Three: the Cigarette
Slipping carelessly it strikes the ground
Stands erect for a moment, then wobbles effortlessly
Then finds its way to the stall’s grate without the slightest hint of sound
One by one hasty travelers urinate just above, until one did see
The little fag, lying motionless wanting not but to be found
Swiftly the dirty faced sprog did usher it to his lips. As he did pee
He lit the fag and began to puff, until--of the fag--none could be found.
Entry Four: the Key
Jingling and jangling from a ring on a chain
The keys did sing and make a persistent noise;
Never letting off their steady beat
As the janitor walked in long, lazy strides.
The incessancy of the march had, long ago, become mundane.
But then, all at once, he stopped to poise
And began looking franticly about his feet
And to all respective sides.
A key, it did seem, was missing the beat.
His eyes scurried swiftly, back and forth, across the floor.
The oldest of keys, on his quant little ring,
Had vanished from sight,
Had he the eyes to see under his feet
He’d seen that it had fallen through a crack in the floor
And was never to jingle, jangle, or sing
Along anymore; now it rested forever just out of sight.
Entry Five: the Poem
A pocket-sized poem slips on into the breeze
Softly it floats, like that of leaves
Drifting on through a cool autumn day
Slowly slipping, floating, drifting-- away
Well, it slipped ‘til ‘twas night
And floated on as it made its flight
Across lake, forest, and field
It did float ‘til it met with the farmer’s till for the latter did not yield
Foot note:
Fag- is an English term for a cigarette.
Sprog- newly recruited airman for the British Royal Air Force.