Monthly Archives: February 2018

He was a cold fish

He was a cold fish

So he made a wish

He wished for a pair of gloves

With which to keep his fingers warm

And a scarf

Because he’d never had a scarf before

And maybe a hat

With a feather in it’s band

A woolly jumper and leg-warmers

Possibly some thermal underthings

And thick-knit socks

Like the fishermen wore

But, most of all

He wished he could live somewhere warm

And not need all of those clothes.

He was a cold fish

And a gold fish

And he never got his wish.


The Queen Bee is Dead!

They buried Queen Bee

With Pomp and Ceremony

In a grave

By the bridge

At the crossing.

Though they were

At a loss

What to emboss

On the headstone

To commemorate her passing.


Rejection is not a ‘failure’ but a step on a path to a destination – and the pathway is paved and unpaved, rough and smooth, straight and meandering; and we keep upon it because we are writers.

When I was younger…

I was hit on the head

by a tree when I was younger…

… and alive.

Now, I am no older,

and dead.

It’s no fun being hit on the head

by a tree in the wood,

and being dead for good

It happened one day, that…

The Sun shone hot

The Sun shone bright

Though, strange to say,

It was the middle of the night.

The Sun shone large

The Sun shone small

And then, one day,

It never shone at all.

Nor the day after that.

Nor the next one, too;

Where had the Sun gone?

What a to do?

Carpe Me (Diem)

I’m not the brightest star

in the midnight sky;

Nor am I

the fluffiest cloud

pottering by;

I’m neither too quiet

nor a fraction too loud;

I’m moderate, medium;

neither humble, nor proud;

Middling of the road,

half on half off;

And not frog-prince or toad,

pauper or toff.

I’m extremely limited

never first nor last,

top or the bottom;

travelling neither

too slow or arriving too fast;

I’m me (carpe) diem

I’m not this thing or that;

And I always know for certain

just where I am at.

“Greetings, Earthling!”

“Good morning!”

“Good day?”

“Good afternoon?”

Oh, woe is me

If I “Good afternoon!” a minute too soon;

Or “Good morning!” a moment too late;

And I don’t do “Hello, mate!”

“How do?” Seems rural;

And ‘what’ is its plural

“How doos?”

These things have been sent to confuse

And, me, they doos – sorry, they ‘do’.