Monthly Archives: December 2020

Potatoes and Poets

Poets like potatoes,

and potatoes like poets;

what is more,

a poet can be found in potatoes,

but not in a potato;

a potato, it should be said,

cannot be found in a poet.

It’s all just letters and words,

don’t you think?

Rosa Brupptley

Rosa was a stand-up.

Her rise to stardom was meteoric.

Her fall from grace catastrophic;

one minute she was riding the heights,

the next, she was plumbing…

plumbing the depths, that is.

“It is a buoy, your grace!”

After 9 months of plain sailing,

the master and his attendant crew entered the area of storms.

In that vast place,

their tiny wooden craft was sea-tossed,

and thrown from wave peak to wave trough innumerable times.

When, eventually, the craft had miraculously reached beyond,

they found themselves becalmed upon a mirrored ocean,

where there was not even a breeze.

Like the ship of the Ancient Mariner,

there was grave concern amongst the sailors;

and the relief felt from passing through the storm

was replaced by a dread of another kind.

Water rations grew scant, food was turning away from being edible, and all seemed about to be lost.

Until the master’s wife gave birth; which was a bit of a surprise, as no one had known she was pregnant.

“It is a buoy, your grace!”

“I am not, ‘your grace’, I am just the master of this vessel; but, I think that Grace will be a good name for our child.”

“It’s a buoy! You can’t call him Grace.”

“We can call him what we wish – Grace is a name that shall befit his style and grace.

And so it was that Grace was named, and grew to be the son that his father, Muriel, had always wanted.

A Poem from when writing a poem is not what my brain wants to do.

It’s hard, sometimes,

to craft the rhymes,

that make the words sing;

and, often, if I do write,

what I write is poor,

and lame, and not the same,

as what I write when I’m in the zone.

But, still, I will put my words together,

untether the process of creation,

and, perhaps, by writing,

I might start inviting inspiration.

Or, I can always wait,

for the seminal state

to return.

I may earn nothing

from what I do,

but worth is in the eye

of the beholder:

that is something you learn,

as you grow older.

There is always worth in words.

Once upon a Time… (extended)

Once upon a time…

some seventeen syllables

had an adventure…

They set out one day

to see if they could find them

a land, to unwind.

Once up on a time

some se ven teen syll a bles

had an ad vent ure

They travelled quite far;

until, one fine morn, they found…

Land of Confusion

a bles some vent had

ven an ure a se syll up

ad teen on time Once.

They travelled on.

Up and down they went,

until they reached a place called…

Land of Alphabets

a a ad an bles

had on Once se some syll teen

up ure time ven vent

They left that place, too.

Until, finally,

they crossed a deep valley to…

Land of Completion.

Once upon a time…

some seventeen syllables

had an adventure…

They had all got back

where it was good to be – home,

and happy again.

Once upon a Time…

Once upon a time…

some seventeen syllables

had an adventure…

A combination of things have brought us here today, and ‘So…’ I say, ‘let us break bread together, until every morsel is broken’.

Don’t you just hate it,

when the title of a poem

promises so much,

offers so much,

and, then,

gives you so little?

Boxing Day Haiku

‘Twas gone Christmas Day,

and there were, all through the house,

left-over tidings.

Christmas Day Haiku / Tanka

I wanted to write

A Haiku for Christmas Day;

but, there weren’t enough–

Christmas Day Haiku Tanka

I wanted to write

A Haiku for Christmas Day;

but, there weren’t enough–

syllables; so, change of plan

i wrote a Tanka instead.

Christmas Day Haiku

I wanted to write

A Haiku for Christmas Day;

but, there weren’t enough–

PS Have a great day wherever and whatever you are. G:) ❤️