Monthly Archives: November 2019

The Thin King

The Thin King

The man was a rake –

well, as thin as a rake –

he was also a king.

He stood looking at the cuboid cardboard package that had been delivered to the palace;

he stood there,

thin king,

outside of the box.

Sudoku Haiku

Sudoku Haiku

Top row: nine, three, six;

middle row: seven, four, five;

bottom row: one, eight… ?


You need to place all

the numbers from one to nine

in the right places.

“I am the last leaf on the tree.”

“I am the last leaf on the tree”

The last leaf on the tree,

that’s me;

the others left home,

forgot about me;

never write, never call –

once the tree was family,

once the tree was all.

I am the


leaf on the tree.

Excuse me a minute…

Excuse me a minute…

Excuse me a minute,

I’m on my phone

(as you can probably see)

I know it’s rude

but, I shall atone;

I’m just writing down an idea

that just this very moment

came to me;

it’s amazingly good,

at least,


think so;

well, I’m me.

so I would.

And, I know, that


would hate


to lose what may prove to be

the best idea

that I’ve had to date…

Oh, no,

it’s gone,

I was just a little too late.

In Hannafore

In Hannafore

I’m in Hannafore.

“What for?” you ask.

To practice my semaphore,

whilst wearing my new pinafore,

that I’ve never worn before,

at least, not before dawn before.

Then I’m off to Looe.

“What there to do?” you ask.

To do what a man just has to do;

he has to see a sea-going gull, or two,

or maybe a couple of thousand –

there are countless, to be sure;

and I’m sure I counted seventeen,

and there were many, many more.

Later, I went back to Hannafore,

to practice my semaphore,

whilst still wearing my new pinafore,

as I had so recently done before.

Out from the pyramid

Out from the pyramid

Out from the pyramid

the mummy came;

with her curse, her crozier,

her unpronounceable name:

Queen Nefertarititiakhenatenamunra…

the Third,

who wished she’d been called Susan,


or Thora…


How can I be the Bard a’Looe?

How can I be the Bard a’Looe?

How can I be

the Bard a’Looe,

when I am

unknown to you?

My poems writ,

and posted here,

never seem to


they sink like bricks

in Cornish mud,

I think they shine,

perhaps they’re dud;

maybe my words

are trite and weak,

and it is sad

that I try to seek

the position

that I do…

I only want to be

the Bard a’Looe.

Who originally put the poem-poem on the woolly hat?

Who originally put the poem-poem on the woolly hat?


Was it you?


Although you’re a star,

you are too young by far!

It was someone

a long time ago.

Perhaps, it was done as a joke,

by a lady, or a bloke?

Who knows?

I don’t.

Do you?

The Horse Flies

The Horse Flies

No, not the horse with wings –

Peggy-Sue, I think it is –

but those annoying little flies that shout so much

that they almost lose their voices.

How tedious it is,

to have


trotting around your house

in the middle of Summer –

what a bumper crop

they usually are.

The Outcry

The Outcry

Narrator: There was a great outcry..

OMNES: Out!!!!!

Narr: Sorry… there was a great cry of ‘Out!!!!!’

OMNES: (silence, then a varied whining) We’ve already done it.

Narr: Hmmm. Soon, they were clutching at straws.

OMNES: What!!!!!

Narr: Sorry, they were soon to be found clutching their handbags at Straws’ Discothèque.

OMNES: A handbag!!!!!

Narr: One? Between the lot of you? Oh, well, whatever.