Monthly Archives: April 2020

“Rain is a four-letter word.”

“Rain is a four-letter word.”

I say that,

firstly, because it is,

but, secondly (and most importantly)

because I (and the doggoes)

were drenched this morning,

whilst upon our walk.

Soggy doggoes,

and a very damp me,

were not how

we wanted to be.

But, we have returned home,

and dried off,

as best we can –

now we are

two warming-up doggoes,

and a less soaking man.

In Cornwall…

In Cornwall…

At half-past-two

the sky is blue

there’s not a cloud to see;

by half-past three

it rains on me,

and it also rains on you.

Which is the sort

of thing we get…

in Cornwall.

We go for a drive

down narrow lanes,

in our shiny motor car,

but the lane is only


wider than we are;

and then we have to factor

in the meeting of a tractor,

and reversing is all we seem to do,

Which is just the sort

of thing we get…

in Cornwall.

But, we love living here…

in Cornwall.

In Cornwall

we spend our nights and days,

for Cornwall

has its own special ways,

forever want to stay…

in Cornwall.

Moored in the U.S.A.

Queen Mary, speaking at Long Beach, the other day, declared that she was fed up, bored, tired of being just an outdated museum and café-cum-hotel.

‘In fact…’ she declared, “I am moored within the U.S.A.”

Bruce refuced to comment.

‘Shakespeare in Looe.’

‘Shakespeare in Looe.’

The Bard did advance from Liskeard

in a sort of 9-days dance – a la Will Kemp – stopping off upon occasion to compare things to other things.

Nowadays, he would have caught the train; but, then, he preferred to walk upon his ‘legges two’

‘Shall I compare thee to a five-bar gate?

Which is a useful item, at any rate.’

and the like.

With him was his trusty sidekick, Ben – a comedy duo they claimed to be, that went under the name of ‘Will & Ben: Renaissance Men.

‘I say, I say, I say’, quothed Will, ‘Is this a dagger that I see before me?’

‘No.’ answered Ben, ‘ ‘tis The Globe.’

‘ ‘The’ Globe?’ queriéd Will, ‘My wooden O?’

‘No.’ answered Ben, again, ‘ ‘tis just a public house going by the name of…‘ (SFX dramatic chords)

‘… The Globe.’

Ah, well, all’s ale that ends, well, you know what I mean, dear Ben.’

‘More than most; but, all in that only a little, my liege, my fool.’

‘Don’t knock what thou doesn’t understand, Ben.’

‘Knock? Knock? Spake thus Ben, bemusédly.

‘Who’s there?’ responded Will.

‘Ben, my Lord-loon, like as well you know it.

‘Ben, my Lord-loon who?’ asked Will.

‘Jonson! How many times must I remind you?

‘Thrice a hundred, more if there is a Tuesday in the week.’

And thus, with much ado, they arrived in Looe.

A Haiku Hiker

I found it stuck there,

lost, at the side of the road,

with no direction.

I asked it ‘“Where to?”

But, it just hadn’t a clue,

and started to cry.

“Don’t cry.” I told it.

“Haiku tend to lose their way –

where do you call home?”

“I come from nothing,

and I shall return there soon.”

it cried once again.

Sadly, beyond help,

the tearful little haiku

dissolved into mist.

Forgetting it not,

I have written these few lines,

In its memory.

In the morning, yawning, I set my mind to the making of a colourful wooden awning.

I had wood –

good wood,

it should be stated –

and felt the need

to created a wooden awning.

Yawning, from it being early


I decided to do it well,

lest I could be derided

for the amateur contrivance –

the neighbours would give me ‘hell-

o, what’s that then?’

To plan’s the thing

wherein I’ll catch the confidence

of the kingdom.

I bumped into a sloth

Today, whilst out walking,

I bumped into a sloth;

we were both quite shocked,

our worlds were literally rocked;

well, not ‘literally’ obviously;

but, truth be told,

It was brave

and I was bold

as we both ambled away

from each other




N.O.T.H.S. #SoCS @LindaGHill

See here! Please do. G:)


Not on the High Street

or the Fore Street

(in these parts)

although N.O.T.F.S.

doesn’t scan quite so well;

I can tell

by the double-glazed look

in your wooden eyes

that it comes

as no surprise,

when I waffle on

like this

as I do.

So, what

is not

on the High Street?

You or I?

Or us.

And, we are neither of us,

either to be found

upon a bus…

poetry tinged with the moment’s uncertainty,

may become less accessible

when the steep pavement of Time

is put in our way.

So, let us value

the day,

‘Carpe Diem the day!’

as the Latinos

might never say.

Three haiku about ‘Jungles’

“Welcome to the Jung

Jungle!” said Carl, smiling,

“It’s good to meet you.”

“Welcome to the Jung-

le, it get’s worse here ever-

y day… darn haiku!”

“Welcome to the Jung,

‘it is like a bean, a mung’ –

that last line was sung!”

The Butterfly Flea

“What is in it for me?”

said the Butterfly,

“And why are you calling I—

sorry, why are you calling me

a Butterflea Fly?

when I am obviously, a butterfly flea—

oh, now you’re confusing me…

I am

a butterfly;

but, really, I should be called

a flutterby,

do you see?”