Lone Wolf of the Desert

The sun sweeps over the desert plains

Scorching the sky into dusk

But no one would ever know it contains

The lone wolf of the desert

Pale ginger fur that shifts like the dunes

Light dawn eyes of ashes and cinder

Padding after the streak of sun, like a trance

Its pelt is flaming, scorching, kindled

As the sky turns night-black

It rises up, fur fiery and sparkling

It’s the guardian of the desert, leader of the pack

It’s an Indian Phoenix arising in the darkening

Auburn, sleek fur that pricks up the breeze

Dark blue eyes of the midnight sky

Night-kissed cheeks, stars in its tease

The guardian spreads golden wings to fly

He soars through dunes, lands on cacti

Ruby light trailing after its gorgeous eyes

And a star swept by his cheek, to imply

He was Brahma in disguise

The dawn sheds light on the tired mutt

Who shuffles his aching paws

No one must know he is dog by day but

The Lone Wolf of the Desert with the sapphire eyes

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Dove

Your chaste white feathers

Your dainty feet

Your dazzling eyes the colour of heathers

As you gift us a precious tweet.

 

You hold an olive branch

One dedicated to peace

Your feathers seem more bleached

As they swing in the breeze.

 

Young lavender eyes sparkle

Unlike that of a hawk’s

Your coat seems to bristle

Are you trying to talk?

 
You are my muse, my model, my favourite bird

You are an angel in disguise

You seem to destroy and calm discord

As you flap your wings, hoping to rise.

 

You’re my inspiration, my cherub, the bird I hold dear

You’re the goddess of harmony, the kindest animal

You’re the puzzle piece, the last gear

You bless us with concord, very admirable.

 

You’re a disguise of Fortuna, the spreader of Fortune

Your coos are melodic to the ear

You shun fighting and war, discord and torture

You’re the defender of serenity, the Peaceful Musketeer.

Waffles

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Pieces of waffles, great taste they have.
For more and more and more I crave,
The flavour and toppings engulf me like a wave.
I find myself becoming waffles’ slave.

The cream, in a shell-border, reminds me of
My mother’s face cream, it smells! (Cough! Cough!)
But it isn’t , chocolate woven in,
The fragrance creeps into my nose and grasps me in as I grin.

The berries are fresh, smells of sunshine,
And the hard work of a farmer’s lifetime.
The crimson and cyan and all those colours
Would attract me for a couple of hours.

The light and crisp waffle, prepared with care,
Might hypnotize you, so please beware.
And the waffle that comes from Belgium,
Arrives in Hong Kong, oddly smelling of blossomed geranium.

The drizzle of caramel, is a garnish,
But I still eat it, coats my mouth like varnish.
And the chocolate shards shaved so patiently,
I must order some more and wait for them impatiently.

Now you’ve known the glory of waffles.
Yes, of course they’re better than trifles.
Buy one, unwrap one, shove one in.
I bet you won’t regret it, you’ll never again be thin.