Monthly Archives: July 2017

Beige,

May just be a stage

That you

Are going through.

Do you like the blank page?

Do you suffer silently at other’s road rage?

Are you happy with your just-about-living wage?

Is your favourite item the sandpaper in your Budgie’s cage?

Of the four seasons, do you always choose Sage?

And do you wince when you hear Sweet’s ‘Teenage Rampage’?
Or ‘Beige’ may just ‘sum you up’ – 

You may be the oatmeal in an squirrel’s acorn cup.

“Sorry to be a boar, my deer

But, I’m not quite sure

Why I am here.

My purpose in life is not this, I am certain;

And, yet, I am stuck in a rut;

Bring on the final curtain.”
“You may be a boar; good hog

But, do not fret;

After the curtain

There will be an encore;

And that I’m sure

Will be the end of standing out here and getting wet

Any more.”

t.a. houseman presents… his poem: a monday is just like a sunday
a monday

is just like a sunday

in so many ways…

(eventually thinks of one)

ah, yes; four of it’s six letters are exactly the same –

so, it’s almost the same day;

with just a slightly different name.
discuss.

There is only one Tea in Dorset;

And none to speak of in sweet Cornwall;

There are three Teas in Totton,

Which is something that’s best forgotten;

And Totterington-Upon-T’-Tyne 

Would have loads of Teas, extraordinarily fine

If it even existed at all.
 

Wide awake at one o’clock

And still awake at two;

With active mind the ideas flock,

What is one to do?

Jane, Vega, Haiku and myself recently went to North Cornwall and visited Tintagel Castle. These are just some of the pictures taken – we had a lovely climb and a great day. 

G:)

#CastlesinCornwall

On the thirtieth day

Of the sixth month

Of the two-thousand and seventeenth year

(Of somebody’s calculation)

In the tenth hour’s

Second, third, forth and fifth minutes

I wrote this.
It may be out-dated;

But, it is easily dated

As to when it was written.
For those of you

With a need for detail,

This has a lot.

For those of you

With a need for retail,

Go shopping.

For those of you

Still reading this,

A round of applause.
G:)

I may not write any poetry today

I would like to; but, I may not have enough time;

Or any things to talk about…

And, anyway,

You won’t miss me 

Or my rhyme

For one day…
Will you?

“This poem is just the same as the last one.”
“Why?” you ask.
“Well…” I begin, “It uses the same words.”
“Yes?” 
“Just in a different order.”
“Oh.”
“And it’s written in English.”
“Sì.”
“Precisely. I never vary it at all. Ever! I even write it like it’s not a poem… when ‘inside’ it really is.”
“No. There is no ‘po-et-ry’ at all in the above.”
“True. But, that’s what I love about writing. It knocks on my door; I open the door; and ‘poetry’ stands there ‘inviting’.”
“I see. However, can I just say one thing to you…?”
“To me?”
“Sì! You are a spirit free; and what you do with your words is fine by me.”
“Really?”
“Nah! Just trying to support your fragile reality.”
“Cheeky!”

There was too much tension

To mention…

So, I won’t.
And, don’t think

That I may do so later;

I have never been a hesitater;

But, maybe there is a first time

For a mentional tensional rhyme

Or would that be a crime?