The Bard and The Brewer
Mid the middle ages, lived a middle-aged bard,
earning middle wages spinning fables and canard.
Running short of cash one day and feeling parched and stale,
he gambled on poetic sway to win a pint of ale.
The brewer, amazonic woman, also middle-aged,
wore an inharmonic scowl, her countenance was caged.
The bard surveyed her muscled bulk, his eyes flicked left and right,
pausing at her sulky hulk and downcast mouth clamped tight.
The bard assumed a winsome charm, he'd done so half his life.
The day before, he'd fast disarmed the cake-armed baker's wife.
He said, ‘I came for ale my dear, but find my thirst suppressed'.
'From drinking in your visage clear, my needs are reassessed'.
'May I just say I'm blessed, for you are Venus in a vest'
and hope it won't transgress if I should compliment your chest'.
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poem by Diane Hine
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Buying a Car
I wanted a car when I wearied of walking.
With savings in hand, I left home to peruse.
The dealer was helpful, bright-eyed and fast-talking.
He offered two models from which I could choose.
The first looked immaculate, surfaces gleaming,
compared to the other, defaced by a scratch.
"The price is the same", said the car dealer, beaming.
I deemed him unscheming, so asked "What's the catch"?
He mumbled and hemmed as he opened each bonnet.
I missed all his words, for the squeak of the hood.
While first engine, seamless, had no mark upon it,
the other was patchwork of iron and wood.
The first car, he promised, would cause me no worry,
the makers long trusted with local renown.
He offered a test drive, said "No need to hurry,
as long as you stay within limits of town".
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poem by Diane Hine
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Mathematical Star Signs
A Mass of Aries rams describes a Curl
Potentially connected to a Field
Some Fractal of Mechanics may unfurl
A Calculus of fuzzy-logic yield.
Quadratic Taurus bulls do not Equate
So don't get Knotted arguing the toss
Although with cows they'll gladly permutate
Inverting them with Product makes them Cross.
Most Geminis are tied in Causal Loop
Because their brains are Hypobolic Plot
So if you Add their salad to their soup
It anti-matters them and matters not.
Cancerians love Cartographic law
Their kind presents a Strange Attractor risk
But should their Bifurcations start to bore
They make delicious Metamathic bisque.
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poem by Diane Hine
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Hemispheres
Near
vertical adhering
corpus-callosum adjoins sheared
surfaces of mirrored brain hemispheres.
Reason and imagination need both halves in gear.
Language, emotion and reason are not commandeered
by one side or the other, a popular notion for some years.
But they do have unique roles and either one may domineer
the other, depending on need. The left, is a careful engineer,
responsible for precisely focussed concentration. Volunteering
a broader perspective, the right assumes the role of a mutineer
when danger threatens. It is our vigilant lookout, our summiteer,
keeping us in touch with the rest of the world. To judge insincere
from sincere, to out-wit opponents, to empathize. The frontiers
of the intangible and technical, of the metaphoric and austere,
are attended by specialists. The right can interpret a sneer,
evaluate body-language and distinguish jests from jeers.
The left, can study intricacies of crafts, and persevere.
Linked by corpus-callosum, they signal and interfere.
Is it any wonder we oftimes sense an overseer?
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poem by Diane Hine
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A Farce.
Caesar thought he was out of reach
'midst weeds and grass, he ate a peach.
Pompeia, his wife, found him at last
Palms held up, she delivered a blast.
'Caesar, new lawn is coming today,
get busy, clear weeds, cut grass, don't play.'.
He said 'Stop, enough of your SNORTS AND BAWL'.
Biting ONCE MORE INTO THE PEACH, he obeyed her call.
And when he was done, found that that wasn't all.
'RAKE HAY WHILE THE SUN SHINES'
said Gran with a fag on her lip
'SEIZE THE HAY', said Pompeia,
whilst beating cream with a whip.
Caesar said 'How about help, I'd expect no less'.
'We're making a trifle for Dan's wife Ness'.
'Who? '
'you know, NESS ESSITY..........THE MOTHER OF VIN VENTION'.
Caesar stuck in his finger and licked causing tension
'Why? ', wailed Pompeia and hit him with a sieve. Ding!
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poem by Diane Hine
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Parrot In Paradise
Parrot in the cyclone eye
spread his sodden wings to dry.
Wall of wind approaching sly
snapped him up and flung him high.
Swept aloft a hundred mile,
dropped on black volcanic isle,
Parrot viewed the ashy pile;
not the jolliest exile.
Parrot flew around the peak,
finding there a pleasing scene.
Brought a smile to his beak,
a little paradise of green.
After roaming full extent
sadly, it seemed evident,
on this fertile lava vent
he alone was resident.
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poem by Diane Hine
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Mistaken
1.
Clenched in Snowball Earth's ice viced grip,
survivors hid, shunning sterile shores
and as eternal winter melted, drip by drip,
a forest stitched the silty oceans' floors.
Crinkled spindles and leafy globes open,
man-high, thumbnail thin, sentinel fronds.
Multicellular life, freshly woven,
modules linked and branched with fractal bonds.
Too dark, too deep, to be photosynthetic,
nutrients were gleaned through membranes fluted.
Strewn in an unseen ghostly aesthetic,
not plants but animals, static, rooted.
In places, Earth's belches and coughed ash
sank, killed, coated and cast still life tableaux.
Sediments weighted and imbued the cache,
layer on layer of time-locked plateaus.
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poem by Diane Hine
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