Lawnmower at the ready:
stood down;
shears and trimming tools:
returned to their racks;
plans to clear a path:
put on hold.
“We’re keeping the weeds
to feed the bees.”
By the Book (sic)
Bardly Writ
Recent Comments
Author Archives: Words from a Lentil Institution
“Pob-bob-bob!” said the gull.
“Pob-bob-Bob!” said the gull.
“Yes.” I replied, but it should be ‘Pob-bob-bob-bob!’ as I have ‘two’ dogs.
“Pob-bob-bob-bob!” said the gull, correcting its earlier error.
“Precisely!” I said, ‘“You’ll get it right next time.”
“Pobbbbbb!” said the gull, which really wasn’t a very nice thing to say at all.
Friday I’m In Haiku
When Friday is done
it is time for the weekend:
so let fun commence.
“I’m sorry, but we really do need some form of IDiot.”
I checked all pockets; fluff (or lint – I’m not sure of the difference); two sweets (still wrapped, possibly edible); some string; a few coins; a bus-ticket; a receipt; various other items of little use; but nothing that I could use to confirm who, or indeed ‘what’, I was.
They refused to allow my entrance. I foresaw my exit – and was soon unceremoniously ejected into the street.
Much later (some several years) I realised that all along I had had my library ticket tucked inside the cuff of my jacket.
Never mind, I shall remember it being there next time. If there is a next time. For whatever it was that I needed my ID for.
Edward de Leaf
Edward lived every day
as if it was his first,
or his last;
green of experience in his youth
he learnt all that could
until he became a wizened old fellow.
One day,
whilst wearing a coat of brown, trimmed with a motley yellow,
he fell to the ground,
and just lay there.
It all got a bit ‘Buntled!’
As I wendelled my weary way,
I was wary that, one day,
I might be steeply inclined
to walk up a hill;
but, still, I thought to myself,
that’s probably
not
going to happen today.
Two hours later, looking back
(and looking down)
I realised
how
it might feel
to be a clown,
or (more likely)
a cloud.
Wandering about wondering
it really shouldn’t be allowed.
The Black Sea Gull
From the Black Sea?
Or just a black seagull?
Who knows?
I know that I don’t.
But, mine is to ask the questions
that others have no interest in answering.
It’s what I do.
A seagull in time
A seagull in time saves nine,
so they say;
but, who ‘they’ are, is never mentioned.
and what are the ‘nine’ that are to be saved?
Ladies dancing?
I think not.
“Hey… Stack!”
“Hey… stack
don’t build it high
or it will topple
and make a me-e-e-ess;
build it
as high as it is wide
then it will stay up
and not fall over
over over over over!!
*Many ‘La la las’ may follow here.
Two Sentence Story
Two-Sentence Story (inspired by this image –
https://www.facebook.com/887954541249607/posts/4118104951567867/?d=n)
Stieg waited, the bright light of the flaming brand in his raised right hand clearly highlighting the predicament that stood solidly before him.
And all Josh could do was input, ‘Jump up’ time and time again – which action was tiring, and ultimately flawed in its inadequacy.
Posted in Poetry
