The Shrimp

The Shrimp is a weird sort of creature
that alien look – its best feature;
The legs, there’s five pair,
4 antennae like hair,
solitary-ness much like a preacher.

Appendages all are segmented
You may think he’s disoriented
Swimming backwards he goes
when escaping his foes;
This reaction- is death circumvented.

This crustaceous creature has stalk-eyes.
As a decapod, he’s not in disguise,
as a prawn-(2 less claws)
with a few other flaws,
and his thorax, an edible size.

After peeling the carapace- de”vein.”
From this job you may want to refrain,
if you think it’s a “vein”
then you’re really insane
if I tell you, you may just abstain.

This ditty of Shrimp, so delicious
may have been much too ambitious,
but with strong shrimp cocktail
(horseradish to prevail),
is an alien dish quite auspicious.

Late Summer

The worker bee is sweet to me,
diligent in her stealth.
Her gratitude is plain to see
as she works to gather wealth.

With tattered wings she carries on
in loyalty prodigious.
I watch her working ‘cross the lawn,
with intensity almost religious.

Late flowers attract a summer sound;
a buzzing so symphonious.
More than just noise, it is profound,
sweet bee voices, euphonious.

And when the nectar’s gathered in,
since ever days of olden;
they concentrate as if to spin
it into honey golden.

©p.johnson. Aug.2015IMG_0304

The Toad not Taken (life of a homeschool mom)

Two Toads diverged in a greenish wood,
And sorry, I could not hold them both
And be one amphibian lover, long I stood
and looked at one as far as I could.
To where it got squished in the undergrowth;

Then I looked at the other, just as fair,
Its skin had for sure the better claim,
Because it was spotted and shaped like a pear;
The children said, “touch it”, on a dare
But they’d squished this one, too…about the same,

Now, both, that morning equally lay
in state, near the dirt I then dug, quite black
Oh, I kept the first for another day
In the jar of formaldehyde Toadie did lay
I doubted its life would ever come back.

I shall be dissecting this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two Toads diverged in a wood, and I –
I took the one less damaged by,
The “squishing”, and *that* will make all the difference.

© Pam Johnson 2005

~Posthumous apologies to Robert Frost

Early Spring

The worker bee, is sweet to me
as I watch her work, and wonder;
just how can she, stay at that tree
long gathering her plunder.

With panniers filled with pollen, milled
into tiny pellets golden,
and buzzily flies through sunny skies
retracing pathways olden.

Returning back with filled up sack
for the good of all her hive.
She’ll then unpack, this yellow and black,
until she’s no longer alive.

Baiting Me. lament of a fisherman’s wife

Minnows swimming in my fridge
I do not like that sacrilege.

I smile politely and ignore
Their dancing just inside the door.

I will not feed them as some do
But neither go they in *my* stew.

The grubs or worms are just a tad
bit gross, but maybe not as bad.

I have to draw the line somewhere
But I like fish, so- must be fair.

When I find worms wrapped ‘round the grid
I must insist “Keep on the lid!”

Will not complain of the middle “man”,
to avoid the *bait* frying in the pan….

Anthropomorphism

The Geese
congregate on the
Lake in the City because they feel
safe there. 
These havens are for when they
need food and fellowship.  They make these stops
on their way 
south, where it will be warm and sunny. And
they thumb their beaks at hunters.

They look down from their V shaped height, and
feel sorry for the White Geese,who are
slaves to men.  Their ends are sure,
and Pâté is scheduled.
And they can’t
fly.

©October 2012. Pam J.

On to Me

Why do flies
with simple minds
and compound eyes
know when I

have in my hand
with murderous plan
and they disband
from my flyswatter, and

find some other
thing to bother
’till I put down
again my swatter

©Pamela Johnson 2011