Monthly Archives: May 2022

As the man looks back upon the boy that I became.

Well, as titles go…

And it’s great to get a title that is impressive;

but, follow that with a mind re-gressive!

And, what do you then have?

Little in the way of content,

and I am never content

with that state of affairs.

My next poem (was going to be shorter)

My next poem

was going to be short –

or so I thought;

but, it has a mind of its own,

And wanted to roam,

here, there, and, well,

everywhere.

Luckily, I took the reins,

and kept it to under 12 lines.

Line 10: this poem was going to be about life, the universe, and everything you can see,

Line 11: sadly, we ran out of lines.

This is a new poem… (for performance)

This is a new poem…

so I need the piece of paper

that it is writ upon…

or ‘written’ upon – if you prefer.

It isn’t my best,

it isn’t my worst,

it comes somewhere in between,

it’s not my last, (I hope)

and definitely not my first

poem.

But, it does exist.

And it’s been added to my poem list…

at the bottom;

awaiting the next

to appear,

as it’s often ‘Last in,

first out!’

around here.

A Penguin (up a tree) – revisited

I saw a penguin up a tree

it was, I think, an Emporee;

it’s hard to tell quite what you’ve found

when looking up so high

from the viewpoint of the ground.

I could have been mistaken,

I often always am;

but, I’m fairly pretty certain that a penguin,

up a tree,

is a penguin in a jam.

Bird on a wire

I often aspire

To be a bird on a wire;

calling out, to those about,

warnings of floods and of fire,

and advising them

to fly elsewhere,

or higher.

How high is a horse?

As they measure horses in hands,

I have decided that I

shall measure my hands

in terms of horses.

My hands, therefore,

are 1.97 horses long,

and 1.14horses wide –

depending on the size of the horse,

of course.

Sunday (written on a Monday)

Sunday awoke sullenly – then faded badly.

I wake up in bed with a dog on my head

I wake up in bed

with a dog on my head

who wished me good morning,

and a desire to be fed,

“Hello!’ says me,

and ‘Hello!’ says Min,

and, ‘Good morning!’

‘Good morning!’

with a lick and a grin.

I spied a little sparrow

I spied a little sparrow

standing on the edge of my wheelbarrow,

in the garden

‘I beg your pardon!’ I said,

as the sparrow flew off.

The Seven Ages of Man vs. The Four Stages of a Butterfly.

Which is great as a title goes;

but, what can ‘I’ write upon the subject?

Who knows?

I am no leopardopterist,

and certainly no Shakespeare;

my words are too pedantic

to compare,

if I said I was,

I should grow a long nose.