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AISHA DAY SPECIAL
Mutant Aisha Plushie
Perched upon a shelf so high,
A plushie clad in blue.
Single eye does smile with mirth,
Peculiar pink hue.
Mutant Aisha Plushie lone,
Forever, twisted grin.
Sharpest spikes upon its tail,
A collar 'neath the chin.
People say the ears are worst,
With pair of dangling jaws.
A little scary, I'll admit,
But we all have flaws.
What about its only eye?
Two or one, it's just one off.
Teeth show, just because it smiles,
Yours are the same; don't scoff.
If you look past that shade of blue,
Those jaws of faded pink;
The sharpened spikes and jutting teeth,
The single eye that winks...
You will see that this plushie
Differs not from rest.
Mutant Aisha longs for love,
See how its face requests?
Aisha sits on shelf no more,
I brought it home with me.
I can't help but notice, though,
Its grin of evil glee.
Ears seem to wriggle now,
Those teeth look like they bite.
I'll be careful to face not
Those dangling jaws at night...
The Inventory Aisha
Advent gifts and Tombola food,
That rotten boot you just fished,
Omelettes that have otherwise mildewed,
That Hissi plushie you've cherished --
All under the ever-watchful eyes
For she considers everything a prize.
All those items you left to rot
Or perhaps forgotten some rainy day,
A yellow Aisha handles each with thought,
Then tucks them each safely away.
Whistling gaily as she goes about her work,
This is not a job she'll ever shirk!
Presiding above your Inventory
With determined skill and grace,
Organisation is her quarry,
Each item has its own special place.
Food goes here, toys are there,
Not scattered about everywhere!
A simple apron is all she needs,
Her brown locks held with a braid.
Not fancy silk or shiny beads,
Or anything else expensively paid.
Simplicity, discipline, and a cheerful smile
Is her motto, it makes her life worthwhile.
The Zombie Aisha
Something creeps within the dark,
Behold, the ghastly groan.
Two trudging steps upon the floor,
Alas, you're not alone!
Something lurks out in the night,
And something seems so wrong.
This Aisha thought once lost to all,
Is never gone for long.
Eerie are those white twin orbs,
The sheen of vapid gaze.
Like fading moonlight do they beam,
And linger through the haze.
Ears that once stood proud and tall,
Now bent, forever changed.
Crooked ears give strangest look,
This Aisha seems deranged!
Ah, the gloss of crimson coat,
A thing of memories past.
Now it's tattered, sickly green,
A shocking, ill contrast.
He sways with rhythm all his own,
And lumbers down the hall.
Groaning in that eerie way,
That terrified us all!
You hear a banging at the door,
That zombie! He's outside!
You have no time to run away,
No moment left to hide.
He stumbles in, the smile wide,
He tags you, turns to run.
Apparently the undead, too,
Still live to have some fun!
On quiet and moonless nights like these,
Better lock your doors and windows tight,
For there's a gang of renegades in town,
And they do their work in dead of night.
The Aisha Thieves, a hidden troupe,
You'd never suspect by the light of day,
But as evening draws in, they go out,
To spirit possessions and jewels away.
In secret tunnels, hewn from the rock,
Beneath your feet they've made their den,
And once your treasure has vanished there,
It will never be caught sight of again.
They work in pairs, black-clad duos,
Experts at lock-picking and at stealth,
You won't see them come or hear them go,
Until they've made off with all your wealth.
Aishas who have no homes or owners,
Stealing what they need in order to survive,
By raiding banks and jewellery stores,
They've learned a new way to thrive.
So bolt your door and secure the gates,
You may yet evade this criminal spree,
But the best way to stop the Aishas' crimes
Is to give them a home in your own family.
Lady Osiri -- Happy Aisha Day
And it whirls
And it whirls
And it spins and it spins,
And she shapes and she forms
And she designs and adorns --
Lady Osiri, of the Desert's hot sands
Has the artist's power in her quick hands;
Maker of finest earthenware, pottery pioneer,
Hers are the best urns and clay ornaments dear:
For whose paws can paint such delicate motifs,
Stripes, spots, hieroglyphics, patterned gold leaf,
Silver swirls, orange flame, and all-seeing eyes --
It's true, only Lady Osiri's fine taste can devise
Such pottery marvels and sublime clay creations,
The pride and the joy of the Lost Desert nation.
With a musical jingle of her golden bangles
And a toss of her bright, curling hair,
She perches lightly on her stool
And spins this clay spool;
There's magic in those
Old paws yet.
Total Poetry Pages : 2009
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