Monthly Archives: January 2018

Left-Hand Typing Poetry 2.

A desert trade

A far star fades

A cast retreats

Cats eat

Deer wear eats fast

Stare stare tears

Fears are created

Crates create a feast

West East

Adze fads

Stars are treats.

A Dropped Pound

I dropped a pound

Upon the ground

It rolled away

(It being round – ish)

I looked quite hard;

It could not be found.

I walked away

Without a sound;

An unprofitable day,

I’ll be bound.

In the dim and distant future

Someone shall find that coin;

But, I won’t be there waiting

To tell them that it’s ‘moin!’

‘Slice’ @baffled

The Art House Cafe

178 Above Bar St, Southampton SO14 7DW

023 8023 8582 @TheArtHouseCafe

‘Slice’ @baffled #HaikuChallenge #Haiku

Slice of Carrot Cake;

Mug of hot Cappuccino;

And good company.

Left-Hand Typing Poetry.

Are we trees

Are we trews

Are we

Are we a free stew

Are we a few

Dare we

We were

We are

We trace areas

Free we care

Far we see

Are we scared

Are we

We are a carefree face

A fad

A sad café

We are a façade

A free card

We erred

We are deferred.

‘Amazing’ @baffled

‘Amazing’ @baffled #HaikuChallenge #Haiku

Amateur aardvarks

Azure as your antelope

Ingots of pure blue.


“It’s National Bubble Wrap Appreciation Day, today!”

“Everybody go ‘Way-Yay!’ “

For is there anything better

Than the popping of bubbles;

To soothe the nerves

And help you forget all your troubles?

Is there?

Well, there probably is;

But, let’s not take away

Bubble Wrap’s finest quality;

For, when it comes to air filled pockets of pleasure,

Bubble Wrap causes jollity.


Touchéd by an Angel

Once, a long time ago –

You could say ‘once upon a time’

But, that would just be plain silly –


Once upon a time,

I was touchéd by an angel; sorry, touched, by an angel.

No physical contact was made

Nor a metaphysical contact – whatever that is.

Anyway, I mustn’t dye grass – even though Blurgrass is a funky thing, it often upsets the landlord.

So, this angel, that I mentioned earlier,

Had a halo

And shining hair

That was curlier

Than any hair that I had ever seen.

Of angels she must have been the queen;

All calmly facing me, quite serene;

And I said “You must be an angel, ‘cause I’ve fallen from Heaven for you.”

And she said “That made no sense, whatsoever;

You haven’t a clue.”

And I replied, with a little simile “Yo, Angel, are you winging it – ‘cause, like, you got no style in clothes.”

I could tell she was foxed

By the frown that arose.

“Touché, there, dude! I appreciate your banter;

But, the boss wants me back soon – and he ain’t no Santa.

He works hard every day

9 to 5 ain’t His thing –

We call him Numero Uno, The Daddy, El King.”

Then she flew off

In a blaze of bright light,

And I was left there slack-jawed;

But, it had been a good night.