Monthly Archives: August 2021

‘Been a while’ Haiku

It’s been quite a while

since I wrote you a Haiku;

so, here is one now.

The day we move to Cornwall

The day we moved to Cornwall

from Cornwall,

will be a day indeed;

moving ‘within’ the county

will be a bounty,

for us,

and just the thing we need.

Who died today?

Who died today?

No, not the celebrity, musician,

actor, politician,

monarch, rich man, racing star;

no, the poor individual,

the exploited animal,

the starving child,

that are not headline news:

they died today…

and who even knew?

The discarded Jester

The discarded Jester

began to fester;

the flies had a field day,

and the field flies – they also had a day,

a day, and a night,

and a knight passing by,

saw the discarded Jester

and asked him, ‘Do you want a job?’


‘As you can see, my liege

I am under siege

by flies and field flies, too;

I will gladly work for you.’

said the Jester, whose troubles

all seemed so far away,



And so began

the Jester’s career

working for Sir Far’n’ Near.

When the Seagulls stole my washboard.

When the seagulls stole my washboard

I just couldn’t play my tune;

I heard them laugh

as they flew away

by the light of the silvery moon.

Fred, the dead red squirrel

Fred, the dead red squirrel,

said to me one day

(from a dream, obviously),

‘I do miss the natter

of everyday chatter,

hazelnuts in batter,

and porridge oats.’

We have these sort of conversations,

in which I oft reply,

‘Dead Fred, you are in my head,

do you mind if we kept it sen-sibble?’

‘Not at all, old chum,’

(he sounded cheerful, but looked glum)

i’It’s all fine by me.’

and then he gave my inner ear

a quick nibble.

The geese police

The geese police never cease;

from Mevageesey to the isles of Greece,

they seek under stones,

they find no peace

always searching as the circles decrease.


And people have been heard

from near or far

to loudly comment

about how migreat they are.

Flippity-Floppety Flaherty

Flippity-Floppity Flaherty

he went from town to town,

‘Where I grew up,’ he used to say,

‘was neither up nor down.’

Ode to my Pen

Oh, pen!

Says who?

Says me,

that’s who!

No pen,

so touch-typed

upon my phone.

My pen is

out of ink

and, I think,

worse the wear

for its lack of drink.

Oh, pen!

says me,

once again.

A Pup in a Mug

A pup in a mug

or a hug in a cup?

What’s up?

Who’s down?

Smile or frown?

Tragedian or clown?

Country or town?

War or peace?

Let war cease!

Tension release