“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!’ “

If I died now…

If I died now…

If I died now,

this very minute,

who would finish off this poem

and put their heart and soul in it?

Or has this poem already been writ?

The Presents of a Lady

The Presents of a Lady

There is something extremely shady,

about the presents of a lady,

don’t you think?

And even if you do,

what is it to you,

where, and when, a lady

chooses to be?

And if she has

the presence of mind,

to wrap a gift within a box

for you to find…

what a treasure,

it shall prove to be.

“Merrymeet’s Got Latent!”

“Merrymeet’s Got Latent!”

Don’t fear rebuke, bring your uke!

Come along and sing a song,

– croon a tune!

Recite a poem (or two)

‘you know

it’s what

you want

to do.’

Be a star, strum your air guitar!

Operatic singers aria must!

Dancers twirling!

Magicians wandering!

Ventriloquists – gring your own dummy!

Fire-Eaters…? (all too sadly, no – due to risk of bringing (burning) the house down.

At 3:51 in the morning

At 3:51 in the morning

At 3:51

I am not quite done with sleep,



to sleep –

I shall give it another go,..

you never know…

Butterbean Barley Buddha Bowl (#Vegan Poetry)

Butterbean Barley Buddha Bowl (#Vegan Poetry)

Would you like…

a Butterbean Barley Buddha Bowl?

I’d like to be able to say it.

There’s a lady on the seashore, she sells them.

That figures.

When is a poem not a poem?

When is a poem not a poem?

“When is a poem not a poem?”

Good question.

Yet, I have no good answer.

“When you read something

and it doesn’t aid digestion…?”


“When you don’t have the earworm swimming around your head like a serpentine simile…?”

That’s a fine image – maybe it’s then.

“On a Tuesday, at half-past three – that’s when it never happens for me…?”

That’s pretty precise – sounds quite concise.


I should say ‘yes!’ or ‘no!’ Truth is, I just don’t know.

“So what was the point of asking?”

What indeed, my friend, what indeed.



It was cold outside

but now I’m back

and the fire is on

and I’m warming up

and I have a cup of warmth

with which I shall defrost

and with sense returning to my fingers

I can pen a poem

which I shall call


even though

it’s more about

what is happening