I don’t really know
how a sardine feels;
or any fish,
if truth be told;
but I’m sure they’re fine
whilst swimming around;
but, when crammed in a tin,
like… well, tightly,
I bet they’re not so happy.
Lockdown, Day 1
Diary entry:
Stocked up with lots of food,
should be a doddle.
Lockdown, Day 2
Diary entry:
Ran out of chocolate eggs,
damn this cruel lockdown.
Lockdown, Day 153
Diary entry:
I ate my left foot, today;
it was less than nice.
Lockdown, Day 413
Diary entry:
just a whoosh of tumbleweed,
and all blank pages
I’ve never been there,
and I know not what
there is there;
so if you are to visit,
is it safe?
I don’t know.
Are you as stray as a waif?
Can you cope with the unknown?
Should you go accompanied upon the piano,
or sole mio alone?
But, if you do go,
please report back,
whether it is, ‘hurrah! hooray!’
or, ‘alas! alack!’
Mrs Pearsons Cottage
is an enigma,
wrapped inside a conundrum,
coated with an oriental mystery sauce.
Posted in Poetry
Mrs Pearsons Cottage (Revisited)
is the cottage
where all the Mrs Pearsons go,
if there’s ever a missing person,
by the name of Mrs Pearson;
that, is where she’s sure to go.
For Mrs Pearson Cottage (2018 version) clink link below.
Posted in Poetry
Just a few small words put in a certain order can make a haiku.
(as exampled below)
Just a few small words
put in a certain order
can make a haiku.
I was paranoid
about a polar bear,
I took a Polaroid
but he wasn’t there,
he broke my camera,
I was quite annoyed,
and I was taken into care.
Once, I was a dinosaur,
then I was petrified,
I couldn’t bear
to have you by my side,
I was afraid,
then, of a meteor,
I thought it laughed,
I could not be sure.
And now, The Chorus:
All those things
happened in the past,
when I was younger,
and we had a blast.
All those things
happened long ago,
when I was a dinosaur,
and a cameraman…
traipsing in the snow.
Will: I sent Ben out, yesterday, in order to get me a new quill for my writings. I carefully wrote my requirement down on a scrap of parchment for him – he has the dull memory of a golden fish – and off he went. When he returneth, he had purchased for me, forsooth, a brand new, second-hand quilt – at a considerable cost – I asked Ben for an explanation. He said that, in the market, he had read my list – of 1 item – and thought that I had written ‘quilt’. He, is a dullard. And I suppose that I am now to be known as ‘Wilt’ Shakespeare.
Posted in Poetry
Tagged #BenJonson, #Elizabethans, #literature, #poetry. #poem, #RenaissanceMen, #Tudors, #willandben, #WilliamShakespeare
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