Part 7: Mongoose's Day

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Humor  |  House: Booksie Classic


This is part 7 of a 9 part series of poems about a fantasy world in which I get stuck. The animals speak, and are generally unhelpful while I try to find a way to get home.



They were all written when I was in my mid to late teens and were received well by my friends at the time. I just thought it would be nice to get them out to a wider audience.

Submitted: September 15, 2017

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Submitted: September 15, 2017

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Part 7

Mongoose’s Day

 

The mongoose was smoking

Dragging a bit too hard

He didn’t have any filter tips

So for roach he used some card

 

He was sitting on a sofa

In his quite large ornate lounge

Reaching under cushions

For any money he could scrounge

 

He was actually quite well off

But he didn’t really care

He liked looking for money

He found quite a lot in there

 

He was saving money up

For a brand new sparkling car

And an extension on his house

So he could start to run a bar

 

There was a window in his house

Small and dark and round

It looked out onto his mill

The wind made a swishing sound

 

A storm was brewing it seemed

A rainy cloudy mess

With lightening and thunder

To take cover was for best

 

The Mongoose was quite safe

Snuggled down beneath his quilt

The wind blew through the rafters

And the trees began to tilt

 

All the animals outside

Were running for their homes

The clouds were shaped quite strangely

They looked like garden gnomes

 

One sitting on a toadstool

With a rod and line in hand

Another pointing at an ostrich

With its head beneath the sand

 

I, on the other hand

Was crouching with a frog

Hidden under bushes

Inside a hollow log

 

Loud thunder all around us

The flickering of light

A slowly plodding thumping sound

As Bear came into sight

 

We watched him as he slowly

Climbed up into a tree

He held a stick into the air

That’s all that we could see

 

One big flash of lightening

Dimmed our vision of him

Then all we saw were snowflakes

As we peeked out from our log’s rim

 

When the snow had fallen

And blanketed the ground

We crawled into the wilderness

No sign of Bear was found

 

Not even a small footprint

Or shred of woolly fur

We could not find a single thing but

To have seen him we were sure

 

Then at that point the mongoose

Who had woken from his sleep

Looked out of his small window

And saw clouds that looked like sheep

 

They were travelling quite strangely

In upward motion it seemed

Then a brown one joined the flock

Out of the window mongoose leaned

 

From his improved viewpoint

He saw the bear quite clear

He was flying with the cloud sheep

To the ozone he was near

 

Up and up he travelled

Till he was just a tiny dot

He disappeared into nothingness

And was impossible to spot

 

Later on that day

I knocked on Mongoose’s door

He told me of the Bear

And his flight from off the floor

 

He said that was the way

I’d get back to my own earth

I’d have to sit in lightening

It would hurt like giving birth

 

I’d have to get a stick

Or a metal pole or two

And hold them up into the air

And wait for the storm to brew

 

He said that he had done it

Quite a number of times

I’d emerge out from the quicksand

And start talking random rhymes

 

It was only temporary though

He told me that quite sure

Then I’d start speaking normally

In English oh so pure.


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