White Crow

I'm falling behind with everything at the moment in an attempt to knock some shape into a children's story I wrote ten (or more) years ago. It is far more arduous than writing the thing in the first place and nt so enjoyable but I am grimly determined! (Equally grimly determined to get some humour into it... not sure hat's the right mood to be in....)  Otherwise things are toddling along much as usual. Yesterday I took sandy to see Robocop and eat a very calorific meal.  I wouldn't have chosen Robocop because I saw some of the first one and thought the whole concept too nightmarish to want to repeat (I had bad dreams about waking up in an iron body, rather like the bad dreams I had in my youth about getting polio and being confined to an 'iron lung') but the choice was limited and it was S's half-term. I was secretly relieved to find '12 Years a Slave' had disappeared from the listings. Anyway, the new make is much less dark and brings in some interesting barbs  about the use of robots to 'keep Americans safe.' 

It chimes rather well with a wry comment on West Wing made when hostages had been taken and heavy reprisals were shouted for by the Senate: "Why should American lives be worth more than anyone else's?' 'I don't know, but they just ARE.'

Here's a recently published poem (I haven't been writing poetry lately so there aren't going to be any more for a while.)

White Crow.

Peck at the deviant bird.

Destroy the aberration.

Tear out its feathers. Pierce its flesh.

Make its blood flow.

          (Its blood is as red as our own, but do not notice that.)

Herald of the Apocalypse.

Portent.

To be followed by two-headed calves,

plagues,

and a sudden downpour of bufonidae.

The very antithesis of apple pie.

Of comforting homogeneity.

So peck at the deviant bird.

Destroy the aberration.