Category Archives: NaPoWriMo

#NaPoWriMo 2016 – April 1st-31st approaches


#NaPoWriMo – April 1st-31st, 2016 approaches

Soon it will be the first of April
And I feel such a fool
I will try and write with skill
But, I’m just a numb tool
What for the month?
What shall I do?
I know it’s all poetry
But, I haven’t a clue.
Words! Words?
With spaces between?
And a soupçon of punctuation
Punctually placed do you mean?
May trickle and falter;
I will write one solitary word
And ‘that’ I’ll have to alter
It won’t be the write word
Not right at all
Did I mention
That I’m an April Rite Fool?
On paper I have a foolproof plan
To write every day in April’s month – A sort of poetry flan
But, when it comes to practicing what I preach
I might have to learn a lesson that may be out of reach.
Rhymes, times thirty-one
How shall I structure the days?
Let me count the ways:
In couplets, like nut cutlets?
Haiku? Or in a Limerick’s five-line fun?
Sonnets, seriously severe?
Or in Badriomaku, whose form is quite unclear?
Sestina or Haibun?
Villanelle or Pantoum?
There are more variations than elephants in this room.
Perhaps I should just choose one every April day
And just write poems in that format…
What do you say?

It Takes ‘One’ To Have A Conversation – #NaPoWriMo


“Something cheery!”
Is the cry from my soul
“Give the bleak stuff a miss;
Nobody wants your miserable poems…
Or your depressing tales of woe and lakes that be gone!”

“Haha!” I retort. “That was a convoluted pun worthy of…
… me.”
I consider this a victory of sorts
“And another thing…”
I await the conclusion to this
“…your ‘funny’ poems and stories are
funny ‘peculiar’ and not that funny ‘haha!’ ”
I just consider this
“Have you finished?” I ask –
After a while (it is not the best response; but; I’ll have to make do with the lame duck that it is.
“I could say more; but, you are already unsure what to reply – you are that sort of guy!”
True. Yet, I felt that I needed to respond in a more positive way – but, what to say?
“La la la. Are you ‘rebooting?’ Seems like you’ve slipped into a coma. There’s a definite aroma of defeat in your ‘feet!’ ”
“Very droll!” I counter. “And I suppose that ‘you’ are such a ‘witty’ and unutterably ‘smart-mouthed, wise-cracking, purveyor of repartee, that you are not ‘me!’ ”
“Was that a question? You ended it with an exclamation mark. Your grammar is awful.”
She’s been dead for sixty-five years.”
“No, not your grandma!”
“Do you mean my ‘Nan?’ Thirty-five years.”
“I suppose you are an orphan.”
“Was that ‘rhetorical?’ ”
“Might have been.”
“You’re just playing with me now.”
“You are playing with yourself.”
“So, what are you going to do about it?”
“Give myself a stiff telling off.”
“As if that will work!”
“Worth a try.”
“Whatever! Bored now. Gonna leave you to your pond life of a life. Goodbye!”
“Ciao! And good riddance!”
“Don’t you worry, I’ll be back!”
“Thanks for the cheery note, Arnie!”
“Blah! Blah! Blah!”

They part – to be continued.

A Tale of Jack Hughes


Jack Hughes queues
In shoe-shops;
He looses shoes.

He gets the blues
He never knows
Which shoes to choose.

He accrues shoes;
He doesn’t always loose both shoes
They are also his muse;
He was on The News
About his shoes
(Of different hues)
Upon which he wrote haikus
One of which was:

‘I do love my shoes;
Be they in ones, or in twos;
Yellows, reds or blues.’


Well, a man ‘has’ to pay his dues.

“Twenty is Heaven!” #NaPoWriMo


“Twenty is Heaven?”

No, you fool; I said ‘twenty-seven!’
‘You’ are on a holidaze in Devon;
With a soupçon of clotted Cornwall.

“What is that all about?”

Just words; do you ever doubt
That I will throw them at you,
Befeduzzle your brain
Once again?

“I have noticed,” quoth he.
“That ‘that’ is what you…

Yes, I am predictable, in a…

” ‘Predictable’ sort of way?”


“Which is why I juggled with the potential (though improbable) possibility that you were to the mind of statementising that ‘Twenty’ was ‘Heaven!’ ”

Ooh! Get you! Had a dictionary for brekkies? Or two?

“Just being like you – though why I should want to try that, twenty-seven knows!”

Touché once more, mon amis.

” ‘Moan at me?’ ”


And Now… The Twenty-Sixth! #NaPoWriMo


Twenty-six is unlucky
But, it has not the bad reputation
Of thirteen.
Except in some people’s heads
And they (we) are the ‘weird ones’
– Allegedly.

Apart from that
Nothing ‘ever’
Has ‘ever’ happened
On the twenty-sixth
Of any month

And, further to that,
No-one has ‘ever’
‘Ever’ written a poem,
Or sung a song based upon,
On any ‘twenty-sixth’
Of ‘any’ month-
Also ‘allegedly.’

“Twenty-six green bottles…”
“On the twenty-sixth day of Christmas…”
“Only… twenty-six hours from…”
“Into the Valley of Death rode the twenty-six…”
See what I mean?

So, shall I poemicise the number twenty-six;
Enhance its reputation, the shortfall fix;
Or should I leave the Status Quo (like Alan in 1982, I think)
I am poised to write the rhymes, upon the brink
Of correcting the failing;
“No!” I hear you wailing;
“Don’t do it!”
But, I can’t stop myself, avoid, the bit
Where the words sort themselves into poetry
I shall not
It would only be wrot
What I writ!

Wouldn’t it?

5 x 5 = – #NaPoWriMo


Five square…
Five squared, is what I meant
But, not what I wrote.

And that equals…
Twenty-five, is the answer
But, not the question.

Does that equate?
“To what? The Equator?”
That is just the Earth’s belt
Not the sum of two numbers multiplied.

Are you stupid or something?
“Can you expand on the ‘something’ option?”
It’s a simple choice
And I know which one it is.

And five squared is…
“The sum of all Evil?”
It is twenty-five,
As is negative five squared!


Never mind;
We’ll start again at one plus one
“No! I’m done with the Math!”
“Whatever! I’m done with all this Edumacation.”
And I think it’s done with you.
“And is this supposed to be a poem?”
Ah! You got me there!
“And you think I’m dumb.”

Happy BardDay or Not HappyBardDay? #NaPoWriMo

Happy Bardday
To you
Born in the sixteenth
Died in the seventeenth
Both on the twenty-third
Of the fourth
Known as The Bard
Life was hard
But, he wrote the waves
And the plays

The thing is
That we still revere
His Lear
The last breath
Of Macbeth
His version of
The recently re-interred
Richard third,
And Hamlet, Henry Vee,
Benedict, Beatrice, witches three
And so much more that truth be told
I’ll still be learning them when I grow old.

Will: I tried forsooth to write as best I could / The die was cast, the cast did die; they would.

And, so, I exit stage left pursued by bears.

And a hey-nonny-no

I go!