Monthly Archives: October 2020

The Octogenarian’s Rusty Bicycling Club.

‘Grandad was the oldest, at 89, and ‘Nipper’ the newest member of the O.R.B.C. at 80 years, three months and two days – that’s if you didn’t take into count their trusty ‘steeds’, born of a time when Queen Victoria was still fondly remembered from her 1885 visit to Nottingham for the state opening of the Raleigh Bicycle Company.

They rode in single file along the country lanes in the colours of the lead cyclist of the Tour de France, their fluorescent yellow garb could be seen from space, and, on night-rides the crimson and white of their lights closely rivalled the Blackpool illuminations.

Often, you would hear their cycling songs long before they came into sight; one such is printed below,

‘Sturmey-Archer, Sturmey-Archer,

you can change gear when you like,

unless you are blessed

with a fixed wheel on your bike!’

“More Cowbell!”

“More Cowbell!” Is the phrase that came to my mind;
it’s a thing about ‘less is more’ I think you’ll find.

This Poem is Vegan.

I borrowed the title

from a poem I saw,

it was called ‘This Poem is,

well, what do you think

it was called, ‘… This Poem is…

About to Explode!’?

(Which title I have now ear-marked for later).

Anyway, what makes this poem,

as oposed to that poem,

(which I am not, oposed to it, I mean)

what makes this poem,

different from that Vegan poem?

And, BTW (by the way)

can I just say here,

that I ask questions,

yet I very rarely answer them.

But, in this case,

the other poem was

a ‘good’ poem,

whereas this one…

is not.

Happy now?

Saturday Haiku/Tanka/Senryu Combo.

I have to write them,

Haikus, that is, and yet, no,

I shall not do that!

But, who has power,

who can honestly say, no,

when a Haiku calls?

I know I cannot,

I have to write the three lines,

because, I have to.

Not that I am weak,

but, every week day is

a Haiku day, no?

Go on, try it out;

seventeen syllables, then…

create your Haiku –

or add a couple of lines

and it becomes a Tanka.

Or make it funny,

and, by definition, you,

have a Senryu.

Thank You

‘Thank you for the food we eat’

said a banner read in Merrymeet;

‘Thank you for the cheese and chives’

said a poster posted in St. Ives;

‘Thank you for the bread and sup’

said a post-it note that I picked up.

‘Thanks for nothing’ I replied,

with hunger pangs,

and then I died.

The Poetry Knight

The Poetry Knight

rode in upon his steed,

then he was gone;

the people sighed,

they had a need,

for poems,

yes, a need indeed.

The Poetry Knight

he hadn’t stopped,

not one small verse

had he dropped

into the laps

of the people;

perhaps he had,

forgotten to stop,

“Begorra! Egad!”

the people shouted,

the people cried,

one of the people was very old

and died (of natural causes –

it’s sad to say,

that things like that

happen every day).

The Poetry Knight

was, by now, far away,

and little did he have to say;

upon the subject,

he was as mute

as the mutest swan,

who was one day here,

the next day


Zorba’s Podyn

Zorba, a ficticious Greek character, was visiting his local hostelry one evening, with the dubious intention of the imbibing of their drinks, and the bending of some Greek comestibles at their recently organised ‘Night of the Greek’ – or ‘Greek Night’.

Zorba was very impressed by the authenticity of the Gyros and the frizziness of the fries, but, afterwards, when he asked for ‘Podyn!’ he was answered by some blank expressions.

“Podyn?” they asked. “We have Chocolate Cake, Cherry and Chocolate Cake, Chocolate Fudge Cale, Cherry and Chocolate Fudge Cake, or Balaclavas.”

“Don’t you mean, ‘Baklavas’ “ queried Zorba.

“We wish!” they replied. “Bit of a mix-up with the order. Although…”


“With a scoop of ice-cream…”

“Worth a try?”

“No, not really, the fluff ruins the ice-cream.”

Zorba decided to give that ‘Podyn’ a miss, opting for the Chocolate Fudge Cake.

All in all he gave the evening a 8.5 out of 10.

Poetry Soup

Stir it up a bit,

see what seasoning it needs,

add some of this,

and a pinch of that,

bring it to the simmer,

not the boil,

watch (and listen) carefully.

When you guess

that it might be ready…

dish it up,

and serve with crusty bread rolls,

and short straws.

Await the compliments

that will inevitably


to come your way.

Check recipe.

Mark out of 10.


Replace recipe in the safe,

and throw away the key.

In the future,

stick to Limericks.

To See the Sea

She went to sea

to see the sea,

and whilst she was there

she saw me;

she turned around

and headed home

no more to sail,

no more to roam.

The Poet Tree

I fell out of the Poet Tree,

then the Poet Tree fell out of me.