Caveat: Poem #976 “A chance meeting in Cairns”

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...and we were stuck in Cairns for just a day
and walking from some mall where time was killed
and crickets sang and rain made rivulets
and randomly my spirit sister waved
and stopped her car and turned around quite quick
and said hello. We told our little tale.
She laughed and grinned and drove away again.

– seven lines of blank verse (iambic pentameter).

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Caveat: ikr

Excerpts from the chat app on Abraham’s smartphone:

God: kill your son
Abraham: srsly?
God: damn right
Abraham: um…ok
God: holy f* nm
God: jk
Abraham: jeez…
God: hah on that topic i’ll prolly kill mine tho lol
Abraham: wtf?
God: ikr

  • Credit where credit is due: I found a joke, online, similar to this, but much shorter and not “all in” with respect to the chatspeak. Inspired by that, I expanded the concept to the above.

Caveat: Poem #974 “A walk around my mother’s neighborhood in the north of Queensland, where there were a lot of bugs”

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They swarmed: a cloud of tiny bugs that -
distilling atmosphere with wings -
as if hyped up and stoned on drugs that
impelled orbits more than stings.

The green of trees and breeze-bent grasses
made better views than bug-strewn glasses.
In water standing by the road
they buzzed beside a flattened toad.

Unreadable unlike books' pages,
the path unfolded asphalt planes
and hiding mother earth's hot veins,
concealing geologic ages.

I stopped to take a picture then
and waved my hand around again.

– a sonnet.

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Caveat: Poem #966 “The parrot”

A parrot made a noise, there, leaping -
I tilted head and looked across -
it flashed some green and red, in keeping
with brightish rainbow moods; the moss,

affixed to stones below and gazing
up greenly at the raucous praising
that spilled out happy birdish squawks,
undisciplined, unlike the rocks,

whose gentle, calm enunciations
could only offer echoes, cold.
The bird was hopping upward, bold,
and tracing out complex relations

that flowers sketched against the sky,
that raindrops tapped as clouds went by.

– some kind of sonnet
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Caveat: Poem #953 “The alien met along the road”

I set aside my thoughts, just walking.
The alien along the road
appeared and gave me pause, his talking -
his soulless pleadings - like a code

made up of tangled verbs and meanings
from which I got the barest gleanings.
I followed through an open gate,
his gestures seemed to show we're late,

how could I know, could he be trusted?
In dark and looming halls we roamed,
his pointless words spilled out and foamed.
We stopped beside machines, all rusted.

And he explained what he had planned,
but still I didn't understand.

– some kind of sonnet
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