Monthly Archives: August 2020

Watching Dry Paint

I spend

a lot of time

watching dry paint –

this is not something

for those with faint heart;

apart from the tediousness,

it is less a hobby,

and more, a calling;

though, falling asleep is pretty galling

when you have just got into

a good dry paint perusal,

(often termed as a ‘dry-paint-refusal’)

and your falling whilst watching the finished final coat,

is something upon which hardened paint-watchers

will inevitably gloat.

Frugal Dougal, the Poet at The Bugle.

Frugal Dougal,

the poet at The Bugle,

was finding it hard to rhyme;

he’d tried ‘saints’ with ‘quince’

which made himself wince –

we all know that’s not a good rhyme –

and he hasn’t tried Poeting since.

Spring Collection (for any day)

The weather yesterday reminded me of this poem:

Grey upon Grey.’

Grey upon grey,

the next layer,

even greyer,

than the one before,

a mixture twixt mizzle and mist,

with heighth, and width, and depth,

all eager to show… nothing,

to hide all,

and live for the moment

in total concealment,

avoiding avidly prying eyes

and random inquisitive glances.


Including the word ‘random’ in my poetry also lead me to this one:

Another Flower.’

I saw another


and another,

in a hedgerow

but, not in a row,

randomly spread

out and about;

they caught my eye;

the colourous shades

made an impression,

so I,

made a digression,

and took

a closer look.


And, even more random, is this:

Random Fandom’

Random Fandom

is a thing…

that poets seldom get;

but, once, and,

maybe not even then,


was admired from afar,

considered a star,

given a ‘Hussah!’



have never forgotten the moment…

when I made that up.


this ‘random’ occurrence happened to me just over a year ago (when I was just over a year younger): I give you:

Charles Darwin is alive and well (and living in Cornwall)’

I saw Charles Darwin

in Liskeard, today;

he was the front-seat passenger

in a random Chevrolet;

he was looking good

for all of his years;

with an even longer white beard

and those tufts in his ears.


Not including the word ‘random’, but ‘random’ would be a very good word to describe this next poem, here is:

‘Poetry to goetry’

Some people like their poetry

to eat in,

they don’t want to take it away,

‘No way, José!’

they say,

‘If we can’t sit down and enjoy it,

we’ll leave it for another day!’


I am the master of my own density.

I have a propensity
for density,
worth to my girth,
and now my extremes
have set up tug-of-war teams
to add some more weight to the mirth.

I have a frying pan

I have a frying pan,

made in Japan,

by a man,

whose name was Syd,

it’s what he did.

Of Ireland and Iceland (and Greenland, too)

Ireland was full of ice,

whilst Iceland was full of ire;

although, Greenland wasn’t full of ire,

or ice –

which was nice.

The Eye of the Little Yellow Caterpillar

There’s a very hungry caterpillar

to the north of Kathmandu,

he seems a little idle in the sun;

to his mates he’s known as Larry,

to his mum he’s Laurence 2,

after twinning, with his brother,

Laurence 1.