Ernestina (vacuum cleaner) and the maverick woodlouse


 

Dadabot cosy, Dadabot free.

Dadabot inside his green glass pea.

Dadabot neither hot nor cold,

Dadabot slowly growing old,

Dadabot feeling nothing much,

Dadabot seeing green and such.

Dadabot remembers a beautiful girl,

Who made his heart spin and his circuits whir.

Dadabot wills her to re-appear,

Ernestina draws slowly near.

But her lustre has gone and her trajectory is clattery,

She’s stuffed with dust and dead (like a used up battery).

Ernestina has clearly been around,

Rumours of her depravity abound around the town.

Her bag is full of unspeakable dust,

And she bulges in places, and reeks of rust.

Ernestina’s colours are dull and faded,

She’s rickety and slow and her suction is jaded.

Dadabot sees and Dadabot hears,

Ernestina now is the Ernestina of the years,

And a maverick woodlouse creeps out from the bag,

As her eyes are filled with longing and her shoulders sag

To see dadabot has holed himself up in a pea,

And all too plainly, it was never meant to be.

Dadabot thinks himself a girlfriend, who is then eaten by a chair


Alone inside my bubble I could barely see out,

I didn’t think to scream and i didn’t think to shout.

I thought a place to put her, bubble by bubble,

And her throne grew painfully, doubled and doubled.

Pea-thick soup jelly her seat and her place,

I thought her and thought her into time and into space.

She grew and she trembled as life’s breath made her alive,

Skin and hair and hands so cold they made my heart dive

And splash and jump and leap through the waves so slick,

I try to move towards her but the glass is too thick,

Her robot hands and robot arms poised coolly on their chair,

Crazy and deranged I am held by her stare

And she sinks oozily back into the chair that I thought her,

Bubbling away with soup-crazed laughter,

Sucked and eaten by her pea throne,

And I am left alone,

Staring at a chair

Burping her into the air.

Dadabot decides to live inside a glass pea


 

Dadabot up

Dadabot down

Dadabot had enough of this town

Thought a home, inside the house,

And it grew like thoughts come seeping out,

Hypnotic, spasmodic little shiny piece by piece,

Grew a bubble over my head

And shiny slippers for my feet,

And glass dripped down and masked my face,

And shards fused together to make my place,

And i touched the gleam with cold hands,

As it trapped me in its bubble so periodic,

Green and frogmotic,

Greeny gleamy sheeny inbetweeny

I could see out the cracks,

But i soon stopped that and feasted my little eyes

On the smooth shell hypnotic all around me.

It glows the outside and glares it from my mind,

And my thoughts with it are neatly twined,

Here glass, sphere glass perfection is my predilection.

My direction, well, is my pea’s for we roll as one.

This is where my world begun.

The light trapped out, the light trapped in,

A perfect pea with me within.

I lick the smooth surface of my prison and drool,

I can’t get enough of my green whirlpool,

Where thoughts are swirling cool and cold,

In my bubble i’ll grown old,

And rust away.

We’ll roll together down the way,

Over the hills and far away.

Dadabot’s thoughts on mops and custard creams


(Dadabot is starting to sound relatively sane in his old age,

but his actions suggest that madness may be creeping in.

He has stopped listening to the mops, for one.)

The peas lie shrivelled and I lie crumpled,

An age of newspapers piled up rumpled

Blocking the exit to the front door.

Thoughts of eerie pancakes come and go.

But one escaped once,

I feel this to be true,

For I counted their twining movements

And I knew

That the tendrils of his heart-strings were longing for

THE OUTSIDE.

He felt the pull of his fellow peas

Like the tides feel the moon,

Like a Newton’s cradle on an office desk,

That ticks slowly back and forth

Until an exciting biscuit breaks the monotony of the day,

By plunging into a mustard colour mug,

of uncertain origin,

Blazoned with adverts for entities

Whose meaning or purpose is unclear.

But he broke away.

Or perhaps was taken.

The one that got away.

Drawn by the prospect of a flash of custard cream,

Or Nice, to sugar-coat the beat of life

For a few exquisite seconds.

Cackling mathematicians grimace.

Here there are no exciting biscuits.

There is no hope.

Even of a custard cream.

I wonder if he thinks of us,

And what he has become?

Or perhaps he too lies shrivelled,

In another building, surrounded by the floating detritus

Of a life unredeemed even by an exciting biscuit.

I do not think the mops can be as intelligent as I once thought.

So, against their advice I painted each pea a perfect polished chrome,

In several coats with careful sanding of the cracks inbetween,

And they shone like perfect planets in a divine system,

While inside their green cores rot and shrivel to a different sludgy beat.

I tied them up,

In perfect symmetry,

And set them beating a perfect rhythm,

Loud, clear and deadly

To bring him home again.

Seize tarmac, philanthropists!

The pea that got away.

The mops are uncertain.  They nod their sage heads

And murmur disapproval.

But one is starting to wonder,

If it could manoeuvre itself through the letterbox

And find him.

Plunge, orchestral backgammon.

Litter the life floor, or Dadabot takes the lift




Dadabot grows older.  He is moved from a building with stairs 
to one with a lift.

Time passed has
Words not peas
                   But words are peas
                   And order.
They took me
They placed me perfectly in a placement befitting my nature
                    Or lack of nature
                    The lights brightle me and quake
Shaking certainty.
That’s not for I, but for them,
                They have become and are something.
                Spakkley lights glomble said I
There’s no stairs here.
My order has become lifted,
              And I place my peas in permutations on the floor,
              Complex beyond your frail imaginings
And press the lift button.
I long to press the emergency button
RUMBLE, RUMBLE AGAIN INTELLIGENT CROWS.
             But fear where they would take me next
             Were I to so transgress.
Zoom and burr the lift whirrs,
And I never know what lies inbetween,
            Any more.
            Perhaps there will be a problem with the door.
            SIGNIFICANT MOPS.
I think the peas are speaking to me,
And the earth bends strangely all around.
            The journey here hurt my brain,
            And I heard cries of voices all around.
PADLOCK YOUR CEREAL, COWARDLY FLIES.
But I saw more,
Buildings bending towards the core,
           And wonder if they are filled,
          With beings like me going up and down,
Gazing on their complicated pea permutations,
Which litter the life floor.

THERE ARE NEVER ENOUGH PEAS


Dadabot sits down to watch tv one summer’s eve.  He’s not sure whether he was just willed into being or arrived on a spaceship from somewhere, but either way, he is confused by the advert breaks – thanks to http://wanderingeileen.wordpress.com/2011/06/12/601/ for inspiring this!

He of frugal protocol rhubarb delicious

An accident had at home

THERE

And he did but pretend nonchalance

All the while cows laughed.

Fungal toe infection clutches

Standard operating procedure

Part of asking questions urgently

Beautiful ladies, handmaidens of Venus

Swim, dance, sing and.

Perfect match another hygienic somewhat.

ARE

There is never enough time

Peas are shown, green, grown,

Fresh, frozen, five a day

Seeing that birds eyes are taken they see no more.

Freeze your elvish wrinkles, swish.

Peas freeze,

Knees on yours again.  Pout.

Eat more peas.

Count how many peas so that

Fat you are not.

And free

NEVER

Points mean prizes and peas are points.

Lots of points.

Points need protecting with he.

To be free.

ENOUGH

Questioning quality pervades eyelashes,

Long.ones and

the asks when ambient treacle

Rescues pandas sobbing.

PEAS