poetry

Heir Ball

Well fancy that!
he left the cat
a million pounds or more
could someone
call Miss Marple
to check on Tiddles’ claws?
I mean it sounds
quite fishy
though I’ll let you decide
but to my mind
there’s a motive there
for kitty homicide.

Advertisements

Background

this noise it comes from lost creation
big bang echoes in the mind
Babel climbing appellations
a sense from chaos hard to find

but earnestly I look for patterns
in the white noise hooked below
for in them there must be reasons
that my conscious thoughts must know

even silence, still, disturbs me
my thoughts can’t grasp the undertone
in all order stochasticity
is then this sanity my own?