I saw a stonechat the other day;
it went on and on and on,
until… I rolled if down the hill
that we were stood upon.
It may have kept chatting,
I know not;
but, it probably gathered no moss.
By the Book (sic)
Bardly Writ
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Monthly Archives: May 2018
The Harvester of Combinations.
I am a harvester of combinations.
No, not the undergarments –
that would be extremely silly.
I gather the combinations from safes and locks.
’What is the point?’
I hear you ask.
’Everybody must have a hobby.’
I reply, with a degree of certainty –
rather than the degree of uncertainty
that I normally assume.
’Weirdo!’ you throw in my direction,
with all the mockery that you can muster.
’I’m not a ’weirdo’ I’m a ’nerd’ ’
I attempt correction;
but, knock me down with a feather duster,
you have gone, and didn’f hear my response.
I sigh a sigh,
and,
by and by,
continue on.
Posted in Poetry
A Short and Sweet Spring Poem
We walked along a pretty street,
the scent of Spring around our feet,
and with the sight of verdant roses,
the aromas did assault our noses.
Posted in Poetry
Limerick – Old Lady from Fowey.
There was an old lady from Fowey*
Who wished she had been born a boy;
Tom as her name;
Playing the rough-tumble game;
But, as Cindy she was purely a toy.
*Fowey in Cornwall is pronounced ’Foy’.
”Plant a Banana!”
”Plant a banana!” she said to me.
Well, that’s what I thought she said – I was only half awake, and only half of that was listening.
”I shall!” I replied, with just a hint of Potassium and a modest soupçon of Irony on the side.
I did. And wasn’t surprised when it bloomed in the night; because, I wasn’t there to see such a sight.
”You fool!” she cried, tears in her eyes – I’d wound her up quite a bit.
”You’re a silly banana!” she said with a shake; then she split.
Posted in Poetry
“What on Earth is a Badriomaku?”
With a syllable count of 2-3-5-1-5-4-5, the Hungarian Badriomaku is interesting in that it gives you a structure that doesn’t fit any preconceived ideas.
“What on Earth is a Badriomaku?”
Today,
was Tuesday;
and the Sun shone down…
lots.
Tomorrow there’s rain;
and maybe storms;
well, we can but see.
When Haikus Rebel.
Don’t you just hate it
when a Haiku
just won’t fit the structure
and has too many syllables
to fit into three lines?
Unpronounceable, You – The Ballad of Caoimhe and Saoirse.
The Ballad of Caoimhe and Saoirse.
Caoimhe:
Unpronounceable,
that’s what you are to me,
unpronounceable,
Too many syllablesy
unpronounceable, you.
Saiorse:
Unpronounceable,
that’s what you are to me,
unpronounceable,
too much syllabilty,
you’re unpronounceable, too.
Both:
Unpronounceable, you.
Posted in Poetry
Limerick – Lady from Tring.
There was a young lady from Tring
who just didn’t rhyme with a thing;
she was rather upset,
so she phoned up a vet;
who examined her knees in Peking*.
*I know it’s now Beijing, but the vet often sees Peking Knees.
Not a Daffodil in Sight!
I didn’t wander lonely, I’m a clod;
just soil beneath unbroken sod,
I’ve never seen a cloud above,
tasted air, fallen in love;
I wait here with my senses numb,
down-trodden, hidden, non-sentient, dumb.
‘So, how can you write a poem?’ you ask.
I must admit, it was no easy task;
I started off with one small word;
then added all the rest you’ve heard.
Posted in Poetry
