Monthly Archives: November 2019

Some people, nowadays…

Some people, nowadays…

Some people, nowadays, consider that the dinosaurs were a rather uncivilised lot.

However, recent research has shown that the dinosaurs dined out a lot back almost sixty-five million years ago – thus proving that they had a certain degree of civilisation.

The research didn’t provide the information of where ‘exactly’ they dined out, but it probably wasn’t a Harvester.

You are the audience

You are the audience

You…

are the audience;

and

I

am the poet

(If you are, at any stage of my act, amused – please show it –

if you have any overripe fruit

I ask you, please,

‘not’ to

throw it),

and we should get on fine.

These poems,

that I am about to perform,

are all mine;

unless they stink,

in which case, ‘Wordsworth’ wrote them in indelible ink.

I begin this evening’s performance

with a poem that has an overlong title;

but considerably few ‘actual’ words in it.

This poem is called, ‘What chance have you got, when the world gives you lemons, and oranges are the only fruit?’

Vitamin C

means

‘little’

to me.

And here I do the universal gesture for ‘my current poem has finished’ (puts arms to side like a poorly Harrier Jump Jet), please be clapping or raucously ‘cheering’ but only for two point four seconds, as I have a schedule to keep to’.

Thank you.

My second poem… of twenty – just joking! – is called, ‘Whither did you come from, my love; and was there a stork or a gooseberry bush involved?’

I looked upon your face,

and paused;

three hours later, sad to say,

I remembered what it was I’d caused,

found the remote control,

and pressed ‘play’ –

you were not at all impressed.

As I was walking to St. Ives…

As I was walking to St. Ives…

(As there was a very recent earthquake of 0.9 magnitude recorded near there).

As I was walking to St. Ives,

I counted up my remaining lives;

(from the original nine,

six were left;

of three of them,

I was bereft?

then the ground shook,

the earth moved;

you could tell by my look

that I never approved;

I met a man

with his entourage;

he had a plan

and he spoke it large,

“We’re leaving town,

it might fall down;

I normally smile;

but, look at this frown!”

I turned, and joined

his motley crew;

“We are going to Redruth.”

were words he said,

“Woo-hoo!” I replied.

But, secretly, I cringed a little bit inside.

War 4

War 4

The moans of the dead

lay all about me,

for they were truly dead –

even those still dying.

The pitiful wail

of a thousand corpses

accompanied their souls skyward;

or departed in opposition.

The reek of fatality,

futility,

assailed my senses;

climbed over my fallen defences

and conquered my undefended keep:

now, and forever, shall I weep.

RAF Blues (2)

RAF Blues (2)

One morning, at an undisclosed RAF base located somewhere in Southern England, around about the year 1941

“Scrambled eggs at eleven o’clock!”

“Oh, Cookie, you are a one!”

“With toasty bandits?”

“Of course!” smiled Cookie. “No eggy soldiers for the boys in blue.”

“Isn’t that the police?” queried Corky.

“Okay, the boys in RAF blue!” corrected Cookie. “The boys that treasure correctness of detail over actual literal fluidity.”

“That’ll be us!” we all agreed.

The Body In The Library

The Body in the Library

(Yet another poem that tries to fit the title of an Agatha Christie novel in to it)

The Bodleian Library,

in Oxford,

has quite a few books

in crannies

and nooks;

when

I

went there

I was

the

Odd body in the library.

In the quiet of a Sunday morning

In the quiet of a Sunday morning

Silently, I set the fire aglow;

catch up on the washing-up;

fetch a brew for my beloved

(who still sleeps);

and pander to the dogs’ needs

(Rosie the cat has already had her ears scratched).

The chill air gains a hint of warmth,

and all seems calm.

Soon, there are walks to be taken,

and pottering to be done;

but, that is soon,

not now;

and for this minute

I breathe in

and my heart is content.