The Scorpion and The Cockroach
It was in a cleanly washed jam jar that Frank put them in,
he wanted to know which would survive, which one would win.
The scorpion wasted no time as it arched its back and struck,
but the cockroach quite unaffected, for a way out it did look.
The roach disliked being attacked and tried to climb the jar’s side,
but the glass was too steep and smooth, and so it couldn’t hide.
Repeatedly it tried to climb the jar, but it fell upon its back
and so the scorpion launched another ferocious attack.
The cockroach tried desperately to become upright once again,
as the scorpion’s venomous tail tried to strike the roach’s brain.
With a flick of its sturdy wings the roach became upright,
but still it didn’t resist attack, or put up a fight.
The battle weary scorpion grew tired of attacking its foe
and ceased hostilities at least for a moment or so.
But then the cockroach became hungry and had a desire to eat,
so approached the scorpion and nibbled at its feet.
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poem by Orlando Belo
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I’ve Tried
There is nothing left to do or say
I’ve done my best in every way.
I've tried to live as a decent man
and be as honourable, as I can.
I’ve tried to be honest in all I do,
be loyal and unreservedly true.
I've worked relentlessly all my life
and put up with an unfaithful wife.
I had plenty of ambition as a younger man,
but doors never opened the way they can.
Somehow the sun didn't shine down on me,
wrong time and place, wasn't meant to be.
According to her, I never earned enough,
which made her social life very tough.
Clothes, shoes, hair, and beauty creams
were most important, and not extreme.
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poem by Orlando Belo
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Childhood Friends
I've known you since you were nine or ten
when you played with my sister in her cardboard den.
You were a skinny bean pole, a silly little thing,
the first girl to get to me, with your incessant chattering.
Whenever I lifted my head, you always seemed to be there
haunting me with your presence and getting in my hair.
Repeatedly I told you to scram and even chased you away,
but you returned to play the game you liked to play.
In the late fifties on Alvaston park, on Sunday afternoons
a number of us listened to Radio One's top twenty tunes.
Whilst we were singing and dancing like typical noisy teens,
you were in the corner of my eye trying not to be seen.
When school days were over I entered a different world,
the sixties brought crazy times along with forward girls.
I had my share of girl friends and searched for more,
but then I noticed you, the girl next door.
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poem by Orlando Belo
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A Flash Frog
Walking down this quiet country road
that I’d never walked down before.
A bullfrog jumped out in front of me
and said, “Hey man what’s the score? ”
I must admit I was surprised by him,
and by the way he rolled his cigar.
I also liked how he spun his cane,
he had style to spare by the jar.
As he spoke his gold and diamond teeth
sparkled, and made me close my eyes.
“Hey man, has some cat took your tongue
to swot away those pesky flies.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t understand your question,
what do you mean, what’s the score? ”
“I mean how are you doin’ today my man
and are you jumping off the floor? ”
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poem by Orlando Belo
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My Dad’s Funeral
The day was the day of my dad’s funeral
and we began early by drowning our tears.
At 11: 30 the hearse arrived with dad,
so we hurriedly finished our beers.
The Funeral Procession took to the ring road
the slowest and longest way to the Crem’.
Nearly everyone’s bladder was bursting,
even the women’s and youngest children.
When we reached Markeaton Crematorium
everyone dashed from their cars to the loo.
There were so many people waiting to go
they had formed an unprecedented queue.
Eventually the Funeral Service got going
and everyone was relieved, and glad.
Tears fell as the vicar was speaking,
which made us all feel terribly sad.
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poem by Orlando Belo
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Megan’s Tree
The wind howled waking the girl from her nights sleep
it shouted for her to go outside into the forest deep.
Search out the widest tallest oak known as Megan’s Tree
and take a step inside to see what no one else can see.
Tonight Megan’s Tree has a portal that leads to Patinsa Scart
a place where there is no night, so day has no end or start.
Where humans who are half horse walk and gallop around,
and the other sorts of humans are very rarely found.
White horses have wings of feathers and fly high in the sky,
and don’t give answers to questions, so don’t ask them why.
They give rides to chairs and tables that do not like to walk,
but some walk very well, and some like to walk and talk.
The chattering birds talk all day to anyone who’s willing to hear,
but what they say is only gossip, so there’s little truth told here.
Dragon flies and honey bees fly side by side with the hawk
while geese and ducks splash and swim, argue and squawk.
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poem by Orlando Belo
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Eight Minutes To One
In the early hours the radio alarm
went off at eight minutes to one
despite me setting it earlier for six
and checking that it was on.
Now wide awake I rechecked the setting;
and I had definitely made no mistake.
I put it down to an electrical malfunction
and fell asleep until it was time to wake.
I didn’t think any more about the alarm
and continued with my normal day.
The alarm was already set for six o’clock
so I went to bed in the usual way.
At eight minutes to one the alarm went off
exactly the same time as the previous night.
Again I checked on my alarm settings
and again everything was set right.
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poem by Orlando Belo
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The Visitor
A blind middle aged man
sat alone in his new flat
listening to the silence;
he often sat like that.
He sensed someone close
and strained to hear.
“Hello, who’s there?
I know you’re here”
The silence remained unbroken,
but he knew he wasn’t alone.
“I ask again, what do you want;
why are you in my home? ”
He became anxiously fidgety,
“Why don’t you speak,
have you nothing to say,
or do you fear the weak?
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poem by Orlando Belo
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Jack, Come In, Back In Five
Anthony and Anna have painted a picture of a grey stoned castle
that’s floating on a cloud in an otherwise clear blue sky.
It sits upon a rock surrounded by trees, shrubs, and red roses,
and has steps leading up to a tower on its eastern side.
Pale yellow and green gaunt creatures patrol the battlements,
they appear as though their souls have been taken away.
Their moans and the noise from their dragging feet break the silence
that no other creature dare disturb night or day.
Through the shadows of the tower’s highest unframed window,
a creature looks out with it’s piercing blood red eyes.
Its attention had been caught by me as I stare into the painting
and I can feel it’s eyes pulling me from my earthly ties.
First of all my mind and then seconds later my body is taken,
transported into the creature’s dark fusty room.
Without warning its pointed teeth painlessly puncture my neck,
whilst the sun gives way to the brightest moon.
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poem by Orlando Belo
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The Zalonka
As you know I’m not one to fantasize,
but last night I saw a Zalonka’s eyes.
It seemed to come from out of the sky,
but please don’t ask the reason why.
You may of course think and wonder
how I recognised it as a Zalonka.
Well, I remembered it from a pictured text,
and now you want to know what’s next.
Well, with its evil green and bloodshot eyes,
like all Zalonkas’ it began to hypnotise.
I felt my feet and body rise from the ground,
and then I heard an unearthly sound.
It had transported me to Zalonkasar,
its home world on this far away star.
The unearthly sound was that of the Zabaway
that never stopped chattering night or day.
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poem by Orlando Belo
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