Monthly Archives: October 2021

Anti-Acrostic Non-Poetry







There are no Rainbows

There are no Rainbows

under the sea.

I don’t know

if that’s true or not;

but, it seems a distinct possibility

to a person like me.

‘I saw a cloud today’

I saw a cloud today;

it was in the shape,

the shape …

of a cloud.

I think that’s allowed,

not to be in the shape of a dog,

or a dancing frog …

or France –

it was just a cloud-shaped cloud.

My Human

My human …

gives me food.

My human ….

gives me water.

My human …

gives me love …

and protection …

and a place to stay …

and so much more.

If your human

doesn’t give you all these things …

then they darn well oughta!

Lippery Sleeves

“Watch out for the lippery sleeves!”

I called, to a cyclist bycling sigh.

He took no notice, not a bittle lit,

his fycra lashed,

his spedals pan

and then he went tass over it.

Oblique House

Charles Dickens was once said to have said,

‘Thank you for my meal, Catherine.’

However, this was not


he is remembered for.

Bleak House, one of his finest novels,

originally serialised in 1852/3,

tells a tale – as do all the rest

of his works –

and is of matters that matter.

There is a lot of legal jargon and

Inspector Bucket is brought in to investigate.

There may be more; but, perhaps,

you should read it and find out if that is the case.

Old red telephone box

I found an old red telephone box

by the side of the road;

I entered in –

it was working –

so I thought I’d give it a go;

I was calling occupants of random various houses.

The people that answered,

I didn’t know them at all,

and I didn’t know their spouses;

well, I spoke to them for a few seconds,

and wished them a happy day;

told them I was on my way;

I was calling occupants,

which I know is not that funny;

I don’t know why you laughed;

I was calling occupants …

of interplanetary craft.

Old man (in the street today)

I saw an old man

walking down the street today;

he was a little unsteady

on his feet today;

he was going round the road

to see a mate,

to have a chat

about this and that.


I saw an old man

walking down the street today;

he was a little unsteady

on his feet today,


Last Poem

They do say

that you are

only as daft

as your last poem.


Or, if that poem is unfinished,

your last poetic outing

in draft.


But, how will I know

when I have written my last poem?


Or can I choose

to go forward

to Hell

from this place of dwell

when I have written

a particularly daft one,

or even a sensible one –

though what are the chances of that …

Uther Pendragon Kellaly

Uther Pendragon Kellaly,

father of Arthur …

and the inventor

of tiny little guitars …