There will always be a Ning land
Where all the Nings can live
For a Ning is such a sociable thing
And its friendship it loves to give.
The Nings all sing and laugh with joy
They are such a happy lot
And as they are neither girl nor boy
They are blessed with what they’ve got.
Fibonacci Poem #2
At the beginning
(Which is the right place)
With one word, then one again, then two;
Then the sequence goes: three words, five words; eight words, thirteen, twenty-one.
The line with twenty-one words in is probably the longest line as it gets silly after that – in my opinion.
One of the amazingly beautiful places that I see as I visit Oxford’s loveliness.
Sat in the warmth
Of a Mercedes Sprinter
Darkness out there
To the nIghttime clinging
And all around a birds’ chorus singing
Another week is starting for me
Work to do (the hours adore me)
Travel here and travel there
Reach destinations everywhere
Travelling through time
(But, only an hour each and every hour)
And Monday through Friday
Keep on trucking on the Queen’s own highway
Mile after mile
And still I smile
I earn the pennies
To play a while
And as jobs go
I like the work
And hasn’t driven me berserk…
When sleep is what is needed
And sleep it just won’t come
I lay awake for hours
And wish my mind was numb
But, thoughts keep digging at me
Ideas wild and clear
Begging my attention
It’s insomnia, I fear.
The hours tick by like weeks
The minutes seem to drag
I have to be up for work by five
And in the day I’ll flag
And feel like a nap by two
When I should be driving home
I’ll fight the urge, resist it,
No need, when driving, to roam.
I wish I had a switch
On a timer
To give me the sleep
That I am so desperately needing
But, I haven’t and so just lay here
Writing this poem
Should try this.
‘This’ being a Fibonacci poem,
Which follows the sequence of numbers like ‘this’
Until the lines become increasingly long and unwieldy – though it frees our musing –
Confusing us with a seemingly never ending increase in word numbers that will ultimately cause your fragile brain to finally explode!
Typewriter Poetry Try #2
I write tripe, too
Poor poetry, I write
I put it to you, poet
A sad dash-dash-dash
Glad all falls flash
Fads, a al Dada,
A hall as glad as a flag
Ada’s Salad as Al has a gas.
Still say ‘you must be kidding!’
Typewriter Poetry Try #1 is HERE
The levity of a poem about Gravity
Can only be increased by its brevity
So before it gets dull
Like a weekend in Hull
I’ll end it before it reaches such depravity.