Fred the Pirate and other poems Page 2

  Without fail once a week

  Armed to the teeth with books of notes

  To share with all the trite they wrote

  I sit and listen there is no laughter

  As they grind out another chapter

  Another episode of spite

  Spewed out aloud with much delight

  They seem to look for each defect

  And criticize with great effect

  In their writing there is no grace

  So I put on my smiling face

  They tell me if I spent more time

  I could make my poems rhyme

  Their work I tell them I adore

  But really I can take no more

  I cannot face another week

  To hear another writer speak

  I feel that I’m going down

  As in their wordy spiel I drown

  It’s all become an utter bore

  So I think I’ll go no more

  THE FIESTA OF SAN MARCO

  It´s before dawn and the brass band tune up

  Filling the plaza with a cacophony of discordance

  Then with the trumpets blaring they march

  Through the narrow streets of the town

  Peace descends on the town and all is quite

  Then to sound of barking dogs

  As if from nowhere the streets are filled

  Multitudes of sheep driven forward

  To the sound of coughing and farting

  To be followed by the gypsies on their horses

  The gypsies regaled in their finest clothes

  The horses bedecked with ribbons and bells

  By evening the bars are full

  The wine flows and to the sound of laughter and song

  The fiesta of San Marco comes to a close