This is another standalone poem from my linked series, a work in progress, poems written around the theme of the weather.
Please don’t ask me when the whole thing might be completed!
Bilbo in the Breeze
Tonight, there is no moon,
But I hear dry leaves,
Swirling and clattering on the path.
Fingers brushing my cheek,
Cold breath on my face.
Leaves, dry leaves,
Flung into the air and a voice,
A spiteful, hissing voice,
Whispering in my ear:
‘What has it got in its pocketses?’
There are nasty, cold fingers
Poking and prying around my pocket.
I feel a tug at my jacket,
A sudden push in my back.
I jam my hands in my pockets
To warm them and keep the nasty fingers out.
My fingers touch…
Something dry…
It crackles…
What have I got in my pocket?
I really want to know what is in the pocket. I do love this poem.
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Thanks, Lucy. In the pocket? Guess…
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I think I can take a little guess…
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Ooh…go on, then…
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Is it… a magic ring?!
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Bong! NO!
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Boo. Is it crisps?
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No, but closer…sort of…
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I wanted it to be crisps 😦 Leaves? (we could be here some time)
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Yay! Leaves! Crispy dry leaves!
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Yay! Nearly crisps, then. Excellent!
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This is fun! I should write more mystery pomes!
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Yes, this was great!
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That means I’ll have to think, though. I’d better leave it for another time (did you see what I did there?).
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Ho ho I did – well done, that man! You’re a natural.
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That’s what worries me…
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hmmm. leaves are the obvious choice. How about crackers? maybe you’re hungry/?
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Leaves, indeed. I’m glad it’s obvious. Thanks, Jina!
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i guess the part mentioning the leaves in the beginning, then the fingers in your pockets and back shove – that’s the wind, right? – gave it away.
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That was the idea. It wasn’t meant to be a riddle.
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Could it be an empty maltesers packet in your pocket or an old bus ticket for the Park’n Ride into Norwich? Nice poem though, liked the cold pokey references. By the way Mick, when might the whole thing ……… never mind.
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Agh! Don’t ask! And dammit! The park and ride ticket! How did he know? He must have looked! Nasty, tricksy, hobbit!….oh, no. Sorry. Leaves, actually.
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Pretty leaves obviously.
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Nice leaveses!
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Those leaves blow everywhere !
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They do, Malcolm!
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A rocket? 🙂
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Ha! No…
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Tis only my b’leaf in that icy trickster, more pervasive even than politicians, that leads me to believe something has been reaching into your pocketses unannounced, leafing a little surprise and taking a secret something beginning with s.
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That’s good, Dave. Yes, leaves indeed. But, a secret something beginning with s?
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When the trickster left a leaf it took space.
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Aah!
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This is a lovely poem, Mick. I am sharing it to my Poetry Sharing site on Facebook.
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Thanks, Robbie. That’s kind!
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