“Well well, what have we here? How ever did you get past security? Prendergast! Prendergaaast!? Crumb cake, where is that incompetent bumbler… very well, I suppose you’re here for some sort of linguistic escapade? Or to rob me of my priceless antique ivory animal figurines. I surely hope the former, nothing else needs to die over ivory anywhere, particularly elephants. And no, despite my lack of pandemic callisthenics I have not quite yet reached elephantine proportions. At least not one, beyond say, 4 years of age?
Moving on, I finally managed to write something not morbidly depressing. Huzzah! Enjoy.
“Engineering Degrees Celsius”, July 7, 2020.
Dazzling sunshine simultaneously blinds and grants wondrous visions
An intoxicating aroma of freshly cut grass and crackling bbq entices a peaceful fervour
Children’s laughter peels out, the innocence effortlessly dispelling long cloistered melancholy
Distant bells ring in cohesion, sombrely achieving micro-relevance over raucous avian cacophony
Mammals scamper about in discordant fashion, chittering coyly, intentions shamelessly lascivious
Gentle murmurs of tranquil woodlands intone harmony amid bucolic elegance
This sprawling emerald deluge provoking a bizarrely delightful suffocation
Fixedly regenerating elemental integrity, authentically organic engineering
Placid serenity abounds within all who would permit venture into such poignantly lucid awareness
And, assuming no unanticipated net external force, this body will, remain at rest.
If you think this an eery parable of the other nature-themed item from last week you would be correct. I restrained myself from adding humour this time, wanted it to be all about the majesty of the scene. Relatively pleased.
Will the body ever be acted upon by an outside force? What happens with the potential robbery scenario? Who in the hell is Prendergast? Find out next time on, Craze of our Lives…
[outro music]
-Alex Blaikie
Categories: original poetry writing
dReadpoetssobriety
A fractured mind held together by cellophane and some used tack.
Dread Poets Sobriety 
“…bucolic elegance…” how nice!
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Thank you sir!
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I am perplexed. As the stanzas unfold, to my mind, we are moving from a living, gentle bucolic scene to an equally natural death, decay, and regeneration into nature of the body at rest.
Have I substituted morbidity for your upbeat message? Regardless, I like this piece very much.
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Anything so insightful may transform whatever as desired
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Aw, c’mon! You specifically said you finally hadn’t written something morbidly depressing, so you were clearly going in another direction. Won’t you share?
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Haha very well, wrong interpretation of body. I meant it as a body at rest stays at rest law of motion, meaning I’m very happy laying there and enjoying until interrupted. Really was supposed to be light:)
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Newton’s first. Next time N2? 🙂
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Very nice description of a rural scene.
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