“Shall we go Parranda, Miranda?”

“Shall we go Parranda, Miranda?”

“Shall we go Parranda, Miranda?”

asked Prospero, with a wry smile.

“Father, you are all a lather,

if you think we can spend a while

in doing so. The answer, it is, ‘No!’ “

The shorter the poem…

The shorter the poem,

the more people like them.

I saw…

I saw a Gull

on the way to Hull;

I saw a Ghoul

on the journey to Poole:

where I met a Loris

whose name was Doris;

and I heard a Yak

upon the way back.

I wish…

I wish I was a poet

a-swimming in the sea;

or do I mean a fish –

it’s all gone wrong for me.

“Don’t drink the water!”

Don’t drink the water

that lives in the sea,

there’s more life in one drop

than a mind’s eye can see.


Take a look at a picture

from a microscope slide,

and consider the creatures

that would wriggle inside…

if you drank the water –

what sort of home would you make?


So, ‘don’t drink the water!’

is the decision you should take,

“Don’t drink the water!”

It would be a mistake.


Be he moth,

or be he myth?

Be he without,

or be he with


The mightiest moth

that ever pledged a troth,

or upturned a trough,

was loathe to cough

as he’d had enough

of feeling rough;

and, being tough,

he carried aloft

a sturdy bough –

no one knows how –

and launched it at thou,

it hit thy brow,

made you go ‘Ow!’

and the moth took a bow

and flew away,

and no one knows

where he is now,

Peterborough? Or maybe Slough?

The be he moth

of Loughborough

or old Mos Cow.


“Rose has just tinted me.”

“Texted you!”

“No, definitely ‘tinted’. Look!”

“Oh, yes, that’s a look that many would be proud of—“


“— for their grandmothers.”

It’s too hot / too cold


It’s too hot for soup;

too cold for ice-cream –

how this has come about

I just do not know;

so, ‘Soup’s off!’

and the ice-cream has ‘melted, thawed,

and resolved itself into a dew’.



NB Thanks must go to W.S. for his line from Hamlet.


Every day

I get a little bigger –

when will it ever stop?

I love to swim in the sea,

enjoying every drop

of moisture that I touch.

Such is my way,

that I think that I may

live for ever,

outlasting all the creatures

of the sea,

and those of the land;

for they don’t seem to understand,

that they only add to their own demise

when they feed me;

then they respond with sheer surprise

at how I’ve grown.

If they don’t own my creation

and attend to my ending,

how will they ever survive?

Letting Go

I looked at the gauge:

I was getting low,

I needed to fill up,

still a long way to go;

time was tight

I had to head on

or else I just might

end up dwelling upon

what might have been

but never was,

and all because

I was holding on

instead of letting go.

Candlelit (Romantic Me)

My first thought

was to have

a candlelit meal.

Breakfast sprang to mind.

I ought

to have

avoided a £3 meal deal,

but, they say, that Love is blind.

I bought

into the idea

invested my hard earned

into £6 of food –

and fork handles

(which I thought would make her smile).

She, fraught,

considered the fare,

and I soon learned

(what I construed)

something about candles

as she went to powder her rose –

she’s been gone

an awful long while