Wet Wednesday week,
It’s raining buckets again –
buckets, I have lots.
Wet Wednesday week,
It’s raining buckets again –
buckets, I have lots.
Alliterative,
and covered in sea salt sand,
from St. Ives, Cornwall.
Posted in Poetry
Tagged #poetry. #poem, Haiku, #StIves, Cornwall, Kernow, #Alliteration, #Beach
When the Romans came to Cornwall,
in the middle of the night,
they gave us guidance
to see the light;
to make the grade
and give no fight;
to worship Rome,
instead of Paig,
and construct straight roads—
in Cornwall? Vague!
When the Romans came to Cornwall,
in the first century AD,
they taught us to speak Latin
and how to be so cool;
but we were ‘proper’ Cornish,
and would be nobody’s fool.
When the Romans came to Cornwall,
they didn’t understand,
that we were Cornish full-time,
each and every man.
When the Romans came to Cornwall,
they didn’t stay that long,
they sailed away,
one fine day,
singing a mighty Cornish song.
When I took the picture
I left plenty of room
for the poem
that would accompany it.
When I took the other picture
I left plenty of room
for the seagull
that would inhabit it.
I didn’t take any more pictures,
as I’d left plenty of room
for improvement.
Poetry is all well and good,
when all is said and done,
and where there’s muck there’s brass,,
and words don’t come easy,
peasy.
Every poem has a silver lining,
and blue-sky thinking
can often provide
the basis for an airy poem.
When the sky is limiting,
and the birds fly through,
just to peck holes in your construction,
who is to say that a rhyme is a crime?
Who? said the owl of Oswestry.
If you had to write
a poem about clouds,
how would you begin?
Would you go outside
and look at the clouds,
or would you stay in?
Could you imagine the clouds
floating above your head?
Or would you you have to espy them
instead?
.
“I espy with my little eye,
something beginning with C!”
The A to Zeds,
that were in my heads,
were all written
with little thought.
I ought to have seen
that they lacked for nought;
like the finest wine
from the vineyard bought(
or the rarest word
so fanatically sought;
but, they just wrote themselves
with the words from my brainial shelves,
so that what you got
was not a lot.
Zodiax?!
It’s not a word
that I have ever seen
spelt like that;
however, I can work out
what
it relates to.
And, I have heard,
that of the twelve signs,
we are all one or another one.
I’m a Stradivarius,
what are you?
Posted in Poetry
Tagged #AtoZPrompts, #nonsense, #poetry. #poem, #silly, #Zocoac, #Zodiax
You can tell a lot
about a man,
from the thickness
of the mud
upon his van.
A is, for argument’s sake, Apple
B is for Bee,
C is for the Chive Mind
that thinks that D is for Dapple,
or Daffodil – which do you choose?
E is for Ever,
F is for Forever,
G is neither;
but G is for Grae, me.
And I love to bee by the sea.