Author Archives: Words from a Lentil Institution

Thursday Throwback – You are the audience – from over three years ago!

You are the audience


are the audience;



am the poet

(If you are, at any stage of my act, amused – please show it –

if you have any overripe fruit

I ask you, please,

‘not’ to

throw it),

and we should get on fine.

These poems,

that I am about to perform,

are all mine;

unless they stink,

in which case, ‘Wordsworth’ wrote them in indelible ink.

I begin this evening’s performance

with a poem that has an overlong title;

but considerably few ‘actual’ words in it.

This poem is called, ‘What chance have you got, when the world gives you lemons, and oranges are the only fruit?’

Vitamin C



to me.

And here I do the universal gesture for ‘my current poem has finished’ (puts arms to side like a poorly Harrier Jump Jet), please be clapping or raucously ‘cheering’ but only for two point four seconds, as I have a schedule to keep to’.

Thank you.

My second poem… of twenty – just joking! – is called, ‘Whither did you come from, my love; and was there a stork or a gooseberry bush involved?’

I looked upon your face,

and paused;

three hours later, sad to say,

I remembered what it was I’d caused,

found the remote control,

and pressed ‘play’ –

you were not at all impressed.

A Poem for much later

This is a poem for later;

so, please don’t read it now,

it’s still hot from the Poetry Oven,

and has to cool somehow.


I’d leave it in the garden,

but the birds will peck it’s face;

and I could pop it into orbit,

it’s cold in outer space.


In the freezer there’s no room,

and frozen words are naff;

they thaw out and lose all shape,

like a circular giraffe.


No, they can cool quite slowly

at room temperature

(minus 1!)

and the poem should be ready for reading

by August when there’s sun.

Cluedo Poem

It wasn’t flustered Colonel Mustard,

and it wasn’t Professor Plum;

It definitely wasn’t Miss Scarlett,

she’d a letter from her mum;


The Reverend Green was at the scene,

holding up a dagger;

but he said he’d been learning Macbeth,

and practising his stagger;


Mr. Black, had a lack

of motive, or so he said;

and little Miss Orchid…

was laying in the Library,

reading books upon the undead.


Mrs. Peacock shaking from the shock

of finding no murder, did howl;

much in the manner of a banshee,

or a visiting migrant owl.



I thought that it was Mrs White

with a blancmange

in the hall

But, it turns out

that I was in the wrong house,

and there hadn’t been a murder at all.

Thursday’s Terrible Haiku

Now, let’s get this straight,

Thursday’s Haiku not be great,

due to lack of space.

Which comes first, the poem or the title?

Well, there’s a question

that needs answering,

or maybe it doesn’t.


I tried to answer,

‘The poem!’

‘No, the title!’

and then I realised,

that in my case,

neither one

nor t’other

was obliged to be there at the beginning.


Winning was never about coming first.

Position yourself anywhere,

and you can still be a winner.


In this instance,

the title was there before anything else –

and I am still awaiting

anything resembling a poem

to follow.

A Sonnet

The cold it seeps into my soul

It drains my life and leaves a hole

For where I was alive to speak

I am no longer strong but weak.


If only I could rally round

And put my self on firmer ground

Lift a limb and wave for help

A full grown man, no untried whelp.


And, lo, behold, a sign I see

A calling calling out to me

A stranger heeds my need and so

I lift my eyes and forwards go.


Is life so built, can truth be known

By claiming breath is free to own.

It’s been a while since I wrote a sonnet

It’s been a long while,

and there’s a reason for that

I don’t write sonnets;

well, I don’t write that many,

no more than one a leap year.

Maud came into the garden, where…

Maud came into the garden, where there were only a few remaining black bats to see.

‘Oh, I do so hate arriving into the garden before the black bats have all gone – I should have awaited the call.’ Maud mulled over her errorsome ways for a while.

Unseen, a fellow walked into the garden from the far side – it was a man in a black hat. He stopped and awaited the departure of the last black bat, and called out, ‘Come into the garden, Maud, the black bats have flown.’

Maud considered leaving then coming back into the garden, but she just couldn’t be bothered with all that nonsense. She waited a few moments, then walked forwards, towards where the man in the black hat was standing.

‘Here I am!’ she called gently.

The man in the black hat turned, swooped his hat from his head, and bowed as low as low could be. ‘Welcome, Maud.’ he announced her presence with such gusto that her smile gained some authenticity. ‘Well, welcome to you, too, sir’. Maud gestured for the man with the black hat to regain an upright stance.

‘All black bats have departed, your safety is assured, my lady Maud.’ he announced with a flourish of hat that saw it returned to its perch atop his head.

It was going to be one of ‘those’ days, though Maud.

Thank you

Thank you

for reading this poem,

I know that you

didn’t have to

(having better things to do)

but you read it anyway.

And, I must just say

thank you

to you

and you

and you three over there.

Thank you.

mis Hwevrer

Kynsa mis Hwevrer,

Nowydh an mis. y fydh erg.

Pur dhrog! Dress up warm.


Kynsa = first

mis = month

mis Hwevrer = February

Nowydh = new

an mis = the month

y fydh ergh = there will be snow

Pur dhrog! = very bad.