If There's Anything To Reincarnation

Do you ever get tired of being you? I know I do. Same old me first thing in the morning, and last thing at night, plus all the hours in between! Dull, dull, dull! But, who would I be if I wasn’t me? Or, more importantly, what would I be. I’ve no idea. As you read this, you will see that every creature I mention, has its own set of problems. Given the choice, what would you come back as? Why not let me know, and I’ll write a poem for you about your decision.

If There’s Anything To Reincarnation.
By Amanda Jay Clark.

If there’s anything to reincarnation,
I have a special request.
Please, don’t send me back as a human,
I think that I failed the test.
I never got the hang of living,
As part of the human race.
My heart knows nothing about loving,
And my head is a big empty space.

I’d like to try being a chicken,
Pecking corn under the morning sun.
Then again, with my luck, I’d end up served,
With lettuce on a sesame seed bun.
But a chicken would suit my bravery.
I’m a coward, through and through.
Afraid of my own dark shadow,
Waiting for it to shout BOO!

Since I enjoy eating juicy, raw carrots,
Being a rabbit wouldn’t totally suck.
There’d be so much to look forward too,
Especially the services of the buck.
But, what if I die of Myxomatosis?
Or some farmer blasts my tail with his gun?
I’m having second thoughts again now,
Being a rabbit doesn’t sound like much fun.

Okay, I’ve finally decided.
I’m coming back as a cute kitty-cat.
Curled up on my owners lap all day,
Oh yeah, I could sure go for that.
At night, I can play in an open field,
Meet Tom’s who can make this cat purr.
But . . . Oh no, I’d have to eat mice, and bugs,
And have fleas tickling under my fur.

How about a dog then?
I could learn to sit up, and beg.
I could chase cars and lick your face,
And bite the postman’s leg.
Of course, there’s always rabies,
And, distemper that I couldn’t stand.
But what frightens me even more than that,
Is the vet, and his rubber-gloved hand.

I can see me as a racehorse,
Running around the track.
A proud, and noble animal,
Well ahead of the pack.
Though I don’t fancy carrying a jockey,
For the entire eight mile trip,
I could throw him off half way round,
But then, I would miss the whip!

I’d probably make a great cow,
(So I’ve been told, once or twice,)
Except, I really don’t fancy my teats being sucked,
By that mechanical milking device.
The bull would then try to charge me.
I’d have to say "Sorry honey,
The farmer only gives me food,
He doesn’t give me money."

I’d have the softest, fluffiest fleece,
If I could be a sweet cuddly lamb.
I’d gambol and frolic all day,
And spend my nights having fun with the ram.
There’s always something that spoils things.
A lambs life would be so much better,
If humans didn’t shave us as bald as Kojack,
Just so you can wear a warm winter sweater.

You will fear me as a great white shark.
I will stalk you as you swim.
And know that once I grab your leg,
Your future is short, and grim.
I will be queen of the ocean,
So grant me one royal wish,
Throw me a pig and a cow, every day,
Cos I can’t stand the taste of fish.

I could beat on my chest as a gorilla.
A gentle giant, so big and strong.
I would lock Faye Wray in the closet,
Then run away and have fun with King Kong.
But now matter how much I preened myself,
You can bet Kong would still yearn for Faye.
He’d say "Lady, if I can not have her,
Then I think I’d prefer to be gay."

I could view the world as a goldfish,
Swimming around in a tiny bowl.
I would blow bubbles to fight off the boredom,
And not all from my mouth hole!
When that no longer amuses me,
I’ll . . . Well, what else can I do?
Not much, except thank goodness,
My memory only lasts a second, or two.

How do you think I would look as a parrot?
With a beak as sharp as a blade.
Bright feathers of every colour,
Of every hue and shade.
I would sit on my perch eating crackers,
Listening, and learning to talk.
And when I have nothing interesting to say,
I’ll just let out an annoying squawk.

Perhaps I’d like being a grizzly bear,
Grouchy with temper and mood.
Frightening all the campers away,
So I can steal their picnic food.
I won’t be the cuddly Teddy kind,
My claws will be sharp as a rake.
I’ll be as muscular and strong as Schwarzenegger,
With my teeth as sharp as a stake.

Let’s not forget the majestic bald-eagle,
Searching out food that will be torn to shreds.
As I soar through the sky like a jet-plane,
I’d would crap on bald peoples heads.
Unfortunately, there’s one great big problem.
I simply wouldn’t enjoy the sights.
Not from way up there, close to heaven,
As I don’t have a head for heights.

I’m seeing myself as an elephant,
With ears that flap in the breeze.
I’d have tusks of the finest ivory,
That would have poachers hunting me through the trees.
My trunk, I would blow like a trumpet,
The tune would be heard far, and loud.
But, my embarrassing phobia of mice,
Would stop me from feeling proud.

I’ve not mentioned being a pig yet.
A big, luscious, juicy sow.
Cos the way I eat food in this life,
Things would be no different from now!
I’m looking for some excitement.
Something to thrill me to the core.
The love-life of a sow just won’t do it.
Who wants a mate who’s a boar!

Coming back as a lizard might be good.
Men would see me, and be truly afraid.
For all the misery they have caused me in this life,
I would finally be repaid.
There is always a down side to everything.
One thing that would give me the blues,
If I got mistaken for Diana, in V,
And Ham Tyler would turn me to shoes.

I would love the elegance of a giraffe.
I always wanted to be leggy, and tall,
With a wonderful neck, so slender and long,
I could look down my nose at you all.
Something about giraffes makes me curious.
I daren’t guess at how many tries,
It takes a male of the species,
To get his leg over something that size.

There’s something that would be very different.
I know I could give male zebras the hots,
If I had their delightful black and white stripes,
Instead of these acne spots.
I could be on a wildlife documentary,
But, oh no, I couldn’t excite.
These days, people want colour TV,
Not boring old black and white.

I could always try being a camel,
Learning to spit like a water pump.
But I can’t stand sand between my toes,
So I’d constantly have the hump.
I’d be known for my fiery temper,
And be as stubborn, as stubborn can be.
I can cause so much damage to your health,
They named a cigarette after me.

I’d be good as a lazy, fat hippo.
Wallowing in mud for hours on end.
With a cavernous yawn I could swallow,
A man whole, with his dog and his friend.
With the heat on my back, I’ll bake in the sun,
While my skin wrinkles, and dries like clay.
I don’t need skin like leather,
I have enough skin problems today.

I’ve no intention of being a fox.
That would be the absolute pits.
Being chased to my death by snobs and their hounds,
So the bastards can tear me to bits.
They think they’re the best of British,
That torture is theirs by right.
I think they’re blood-thirsty demons.
The fox can’t put up a fair fight!

There’s no point coming back as a slug.
That would only make matters worse.
Too many people come back as a slug,
Like those in the previous verse.
I’d end up as food for the birds,
But that still wouldn’t make me as small,
As those who enjoy slaughtering foxes,
Those people serve no purpose at all.

Being a wise old owl would be nice,
Watching mice ferret about, and scoot.
Swooping down from my perch to grab them,
Without conscience, or giving a hoot.
I’d have big eyes, as bright as a sunrise,
But what would drive me right round the twist,
Would be turning my head right round on my neck,
Like the girl in The Exorcist.

I could be dumb as they come as a donkey,
Carrying kids on my back on the beach.
I’d be covered all over in sticky hand prints,
As they pet me, and excitedly screech.
I would hate wearing kiss-me-quick hats.
Made to stop running, and forced to trot.
Instead of a donkey, some would call me an ass,
And Americans would kiss me a lot.

As an hysterical laughing hyena,
I would kick my legs high in the air,
And lay on back and wriggle,
While you tickle me under there.
Our pack will run off with your chickens,
That we’ve sniffed out with our strong noses.
And, as payment for your kindness,
We’ll leave you something good for your roses.

I hope you have plenty of nose pegs,
In case I come back as a skunk.
One whiff of me, and your tiny nose,
Will seem as big as an elephants trunk.
My spray will create an atmosphere,
So thick you could cut with a knife.
And I’ll be aiming my spray at everyone,
Who has pissed me off in this life.

Being a chameleon would be handy.
Like being the invisible man.
Changing my colour to suit my mood,
And blending in where I can.
No need to go hunting for food.
For me, it’s an easy job.
Just sit there, patiently waiting,
For it to jump foolishly into my gob.

I can’t come back as a dodo,
And start a frantic media attack,
The dodo had sense when he went away,
Knowing he wouldn’t be back.
That was a good career move.
He had ambition, and drive.
That dodo is much more famous now,
Than he ever was when alive.

I may have once been a scorpion.
I remember a sting in my tail.
I can see the faces of my victims,
And still hear them weep and wail.
I think that I enjoyed it,
Causing suffering, and pain.
But since I’ve already tried it,
There will be nothing new to gain.

What’s the point of being a lemming?
Seems like a waste of time to me.
Just when I’d got the hang of it,
I’d have to throw myself into the sea.
If I chose to come back as a lemming,
And then found my decision was wrong,
The one good thing about it, is,
That I won’t be a lemming for long.

I’ve seen the fun squirrels have while playing,
Scampering, he runs and struts.
I could climb a tree at the speed of light,
And I do have a thing about nuts.
Looking at things more closely,
On a one, to ten scale,
I’d basically just be vermin,
But with a much prettier tail.

Not many creatures are home owners,
So it could be handy being a snail.
With my own apartment strapped to my back,
Visitors follow my slimy trail.
I can pick up and move to anywhere,
And still have an equal chance.
Unless I made the fatal mistake,
Of moving myself to France.

Pandas are so cute and cuddly.
I would love to look like that.
With black eyes, my bags would look normal.
I’d carry no guilt about being fat.
Also, I love Chinese food,
But where I would come unstuck,
They do an awful lot of mating,
But, with very little luck.

There’s no surprise in being a hamster,
Kept in a cage made out of steel.
To stop me from going stir-crazy,
I’d go berserk on my squeaky wheel.
When they feed me bits of cucumber,
Through the bars, aimed at my snout,
I’ll stuff it all into my pouches,
To make my neck bulge out.

I’ve never had a liking for snakes,
It’s the way they slither, and hiss.
They sink their fangs through skin, to the bone,
And give you a deadly kiss.
But if I have to come back as a viper,
A python, or an adder,
Can I at least win at the board game,
And not fall down the bloody ladder?

Likewise, I don’t like spiders.
They make my skin itch and crawl.
They walk uninvited into my house,
And leave cobwebs over the wall.
I’ve always wanted to be leggy,
So eight legs would be a prize.
But I couldn’t stand the diet of spiders,
I’d have to eat dust, and houseflies.

A tortoise seems appropriate,
Since I never came out of my shell.
I like to hibernate during winter.
We walk at the same speed as well.
Though, I do find lettuce very boring,
I’d rather have a steak,
With wine instead of water,
And a big, rich creamy cake.

I could enjoy the freedom of the sky,
If I came back as a tit.
If I found I didn’t like where I was,
I could do a moonlight flit.
But freedom doesn’t last forever,
There’d have to be tit-for-tat.
As soon as I land to peck at a worm,
I’d be swallowed up by some fat cat.

I have a prickly sense of humour,
So a hedgehog would suit me just fine,
Until it comes to crossing the road,
And I see your headlights shine.
I’d try to move out of your way, of course,
But there’d still be a sickening splat,
As car wheels leave me like an ironing board,
In the gutter, all squashed and flat.

Imagine me as an ostrich.
From the things I’ve seen, and heard,
I’d finally be achieving my ambition,
Of being a really tasty bird.
But, have you seen all the crap on the beaches,
Destroying the beauty of the land?
Tell me, what self respecting ostrich,
Would bury her hear in That sand!

Being an ant is not for me.
I can’t work as part of a team.
Carrying twice my body weight,
Is definitely not my dream.
I wouldn’t make a good soldier,
And as for being the queen,
Giving birth to millions of babies,
Is totally not my scene.

A sloth would suit me much better.
I could idle away the hours,
Hanging upside down from my favourite tree,
Smelling the evening flowers.
But what about my hey fever?
As pollen shoots up my nose,
I’d sneeze so hard and violently,
And my eyes would run like a hose.

For a while, I could be a busy bee,
Flying with a buzz and a hum.
And anyone who annoys me,
I could sting them on the bum.
I’d make after jar of honey,
For people to spread on their bread.
It would be so addictively sweet and sugary,
You’d have no teeth left in your head.

Perhaps I should take up boxing,
And try being a kangaroo.
I’d fight in the Australian outback,
And kick me a hunter, or two.
With my pouch full of babies,
I’d jump and bound about,
Longing for the future day,
When the little devils move out.

The life of a duck doesn’t appeal to me,
Living on a polluted pond.
Waiting for death from a hunters gun,
To send me into the beyond.
My feathers plucked roughly from my skin,
My body sent to the meat packers.
If the thought of all that doesn’t drive me insane,
It will drive me at least a bit quackers!

I can’t decide about being a moth.
Part of me thinks it’s a shame,
That I would end up burned, and crispy,
When lured into the magnetic flame.
But, at least I’d be able to fly,
With my fragile, gossamer wings.
I could smash my head into a window,
And bounce off as if I’m on springs.

Think of the fun I could have as a maggot,
Causing screams of horror, and disgust,
As I dine on all your leftovers,
That I find rotting in the dust.
Then, some awful fisherman,
Would set me up as bait,
And feed me to the fishes,
To fill his dinner plate.

I’ve never been that maternal,
So perhaps a cuckoo would suit me best.
Laying my eggs and abandoning them,
In someone else’s nest.
Free from responsibility,
Until I suffer the frightening shock,
Of having my wings clipped forever,
And being stuffed inside a clock.

As an indestructible cockroach,
I’d be held in high esteem.
My subordinates would adore me,
As the head of the harem.
I would live rent free in someone’s home.
They would curse me, scream, and shout,
Try every poison invented,
But it aint me who’d be moving out.

Sometimes, I feel prehistoric.
Should I then be a crocodile?
Chasing, and frightening swimmers,
Even catching one once in a while.
After a frantic death roll,
I’d wedge him under a rock for my tea.
Then spend the rest of my life avoiding,
My enemy, Crocodile Dundee.

As a sunny bright yellow canary,
I would loudly twitter and sing,
And move with rhythm to my hearts content,
Back and forwards on my swing.
What of that bad old putty-tat?
That naughty boy, Sylvester?
My mistress keeps him in his place,
Cos he’s not allowed to pester.

I’ve now run out of animals,
To be when I reborn.
All except for that mythical beast,
The magical unicorn.
My horn would come to the sharpest point,
My white hair would shine through the mist.
I would be the most perfect unicorn,
What a shame they don’t really exist.

Since I’m having no luck choosing an animal,
To be when I return home,
Perhaps I should try something inanimate,
Like a bearded garden gnome.
Maybe a vegetable would be easier,
Or a tree surrounded by plants.
I could be a shoe, or a handbag.
Even Tom Jones underpants.

Anything but a woman,
With crippling monthly cramps.
Trying desperately to wrestle a man,
From all the other tramps.
Hours of applying make-up,
And spraying lacquer on my hair.
Breaking my neck in high-heeled shoes,
And wearing butt-freezing underwear.

Struggling daily to stay in shape,
Sweating for hours at the gym.
afraid to eat more than a salad.
It’s compulsory to keep slim.
Exfoliating, and moisturising,
Trying to save my skin.
Rubbing the cream in the right direction,
To prevent a double chin.

But, despite all the dedication,
The wishing, the praying, the pleas,
Gravity will have its way in the end,
And my boobs will sag to my knees.
The tops of my arms will wobble,
I’ll have varicose veins galore.
My thighs will be covered in cellulite,
And my bottom will sweep the floor.

Don’t get me started on child birth.
After months on not seeing my toes,
I have to push out a baby through a hole,
No bigger than one side of my nose.
Morning sickness, and frantic mood swings,
Swollen ankles, fatigue, and stress.
It’s too late to regret nine months ago,
When I should have said no, not yes.

If there’s anything to reincarnation,
I’m not sure that I want to come back.
Since as a human, or an animal,
I will never get the knack.
What are my chances of being an angel,
Watching over the scared, and the weak?
Oh no. I’m simply not pure enough,
To give the guidance, and comfort they seek.

Looks like I’m at your mercy, Lord.
The decision is yours alone.
All I ask, is that you show mercy,
As you judge from your heavenly throne.
If I must be reincarnated,
I beg you to hear my plea.
Whether animal, mineral, or vegetable,
Please, don’t send me back as me!

If There’s Anything To Reincarnation, is protected by copyright, and remains the property of the author, Amanda Jay Clark.

Author of Rhyme "N" Reason

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