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,

yesterday.

.

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

and…

calm.