Dark Queens Park; A Sampling of Rhymes

Hi, Everyone,
I had my very first, ever, poetry reading a few weeks ago. For those unfortunates who could not haul themselves into the basement of the library to come by for a listen, and in honour of Hyack Days, I am offering my first online debut of 5 of the poems from the reading. Here, just below, is a wee intro:

Dark Queens Park
A Different Kind of Neighbourhood Tour
A Sampling of Rhymes
By (me) Theresa Henry-Smith

Welcome to Queens Park.
And as neighbourhoods go, it’s a beauty. It has gorgeous heritage homes on streets lined with mature trees. It keeps a proud history alive by being host to annual events like the largest parade in western Canada, The Preservationist Society’s Annual Heritage Home Tour, and a May Day celebration in the neighbourhood park. I believe I am, indeed, very fortunate to reside there.

But I‘ve been musing lately... Is there a darker side to Queens Park? An evil lurking behind those restored bay windows? Please, join me in this sinister examination in:
Dark Queens Park. A Different Kind of Neighbourhood Tour.......

A Murder of Crows

The four and twenty Blackbirds,
That got baked in a pie,
Had it really coming,
They surely had to die.

Their caw is so annoying,
And they rip apart our lawns,
Let’s catch them and let’s cook them,
That will surely make them gone.

May Day Parade

It’s the pride of our fair city,
Our Hyack Days Parade,
Most spectators behave,
But not so; Tom and Wade.

Every year they show up early,
With their lawn chairs and their beer,
They block the views of little kids,
They wreck the atmosphere.

They loudly boo at boy scouts,
And the senior volunteers,
And to the startled May Queen,
They make suggestive leers.

Well, karma had its way this year,
The pirate float; it went off course,
And accidently killed those louts,
Not one soul has shown remorse.

Now parade day is much nicer,
We really can’t complain,
Except if you like watching,
In freezing, pouring rain.

French Immersion Line-up

Its 2:00 am and freezing cold,
They drink tea, no longer hot,
They lining for the program,
They want to hold their kids a spot.

They’ve all been there for many days,
They cannot take a chance,
They really really want their kids,
To talk like folks from France.

Stepford Tots

At the daycare down the lane,
The children never seem to play,
They always walk in unison.
They’re taught to just obey.

The children all have vacant stares,
They make me think of drones,
They call their teacher ‘master’,
In robotic monotones.

I want to tell their parents,
I was going to make a call,
But a note came through my door,
Written in a childish scrawl.

It said:
Ring around the Rosie,
A pocket full of rye,
Stay quiet, our dear neighbour,
Or you will surely die!

The Physically Fit Undead

They sprint out in the morning dark,
Disappearing in the mist,
The neighbours think they’re joggers,
But they’re zombies, I insist!

The Eternal Renovator

Here is Klaus,
With his unfinished house,
Where he drills, and he hammers, and he cuts,
He’s finds it so much fun,
So he’ll never get it done,
And the neighbours on his street,
Hate his guts.

Here is Klaus,
With his unfinished house,
Where the streets all echo with his clatter,
The sawdust never clears,
It’s been over twenty years,
Now we’re praying for a fall,
From a ladder.