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 Category:  Fantasy Poetry
  Posted: April 3, 2015      Views: 8

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 ABOUT
RICHARDFANN 
.

Currently reviewing my objects in life, so writing is taking a back seat, it's kicked into the long grass, it's having a break, it's finding some space, it's looking for stronger roots, it's thinking up a new tune to pl - more...

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Childrens fantasy poem.
"The Octopus Poem" by RichardFann





The Octopus Poem.
 
On
A sunny Sunday afternoon
You're walking along
Past a pond.

The water stirs.  
 
You look.

Suddenly this almighty octopus shoots out two tentacles
And drags you in.
Nowt you can do but fight.
Instinctively you lash out. Arms and legs and head are raving and flailing.

For five minutes
Swish  swash  splash! Smashing
The water, the tentacles, or the leathery head.

For ten minutes
Splash  swish  swash! Thrashing
The water, the tentacles, or the slippery head.

For fifteen minutes
Swash  splash  swish!  Crashing
The water, the tentacles, or the glittery head.
 
You’re struggling for your life, but
Not winning,
And not losing, as
Expected.



Then you realise, it just wants to play with you
and have an exhilarating day with you.

So you take a deep breath, and lie perfectly flat. How’s that?
 
It stops.
To think.
 
Then you feel the tentacles all under you, and
Whoosh!
You fly ten feet into the air, fall back, and separate the water.
 
Then you feel the tentacles all around you, and
Spinny  Whizzy  Whooo!
You fly fifteen feet into the air, spinning like a top, you cannot stop,
And fall back, and cut into the water.

Then you feel the tentacles, some on your shoulders, some on your feet,
Zipperty  Zoomtatty  Zoom!
You fly twenty feet into the air, flipping end to end, like a high diver,
And flop back into the water.

And you love it;
And it’s fun!
And it goes on and on
For another fifteen minutes.
 
No-one comes along,
Thankfully.
And then you get pushed back onto the bank, drenching wet.
Game over.
 
Then a crabby, crotchety, blotchety old man comes along.
You fool, he says,
You messed up the pond,
And you’ll catch your death.
 
You say, Good Day, and walk on.
Then there’s a plopping and a splashing, and then ...
He’s gone!

 

Author Notes
Thanks for the graphics.
The darkness is reflected in the words.
The pic fits the text, but this poem in not related to the Beatles Song.

Just a bit of fun,
while walking along,
on a peaceful Sunday afternoon,
quietly reflecting on life.

Notes:

'Nowt' is a Yorkshire word, or a North of England word meaning 'nothing.'

'glittery head' presages some intelligence.

'Game over' is a foreboding.

'Blotchety' is a word I just invented.

'Good Day' feintly resembles today, 'Good Friday.'

Pays one point and 2 member cents.

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