Category Archives: Poetry



I am inept.

Correct me if you think I’m wrong;

deflect me with a charming song,

which I can sing along


Do, so, if you wish,

and place me, a mere morsel,

upon a silver dish.


A Poet’s ‘Hello!’

A Poet’s ‘Hello!’

“Hello, Everyone!”

they cried in unison;

for is that not how poets cry?


They cry alone,

and on paper

about the how, wherefore and why.

“Knock! Knock!”

“Knock! Knock!”

“Knock! Knock!”

“Is this some kind of a joke?

“Is this some kind of a joke who?”


“I’ll start again. Knock! Knock!”

“Why fo you keep saying that?”

“Why aren’t you responding in the correct manner?”

“Because this is silly. You are not standing outside of my door – and, I have a doorbell.”

“Ring! Ring!”

“You don’t have to do the noises, a bell will ring all by itself.”

“If it were here.”

“If it were here – which it isn’t.

“And there was anybody to ring it.”

“Which there isn’t.”

“You do realise that you are doing both voices in this dialogue, don’t you?”

“I am?”


“Oh. That’s a bit weird.”

“Just a bit.”

“Anyway… knock! Knock!”

SFX “Slap!”

Chasing Butterflies

Click below to see the words with a picture – G:)

I’m chasing butterflies,

though it’s not allowed,

under the auspices

of a wandering cloud.


Who to pay?

Who to pay?

It’s not the monkey

it’s the organ-grinder,

not the ferryman,

but the coffee-grinder;

not the celebrity,

but the celebrity-minder,

that you have to pay.

But, don’t!

They won’t thank you


Will & Ben: Renaissance Men – a Horf?

Will & Ben: Renaissance Men – a horf?

Ben: My horʃ, my horʃ, my kingdom for a horʃ?

Will: It’s a horse, Ben; ‘a horse, a horse, my kingdom for a horse.’

Ben: Thou art so old fashioned, Will. How will anyone be able to read this rubbish?

Will: I’m not letting you trick me into admitting it is ‘rubbish’, Ben; I think that a lot of people are quietly pleased that I am keeping the old mother tongue alive.

Ben: Quietly indeed, Will – my mother’s tongue and my father’s eyes hath I – in this box, durst thou wan’t to see them, again, Will?

Will: Nay, good Ben, I have neither the eyes nor the stomach to spy upon them a second time – once was once more than enough.

(A pause)

Ben: ‘the sound of one hand clapping frightens no chickens’.

Will: One of yours, Ben?

Ben: A line that I have recently quilled for my ‘Every Man in His Humour’. I quite like it’s understated relevancy, Will.

Will: A palpable hit with the unwashed molasses, Ben, palpable in truth for a distance of feet.

Ben: ‘Two feet makes a distance much further than three.’ I shall use that one day.

Will (aside): Use it ‘and’ abuse it, I am sure. The fool shall speak it well, be that it is in your own voice.

Ben: Charming!

Green Tissues

Green Tissues

These… are white tissues.

These, on the other hand,

are green tissues –

sorry, it is green ‘issues’

that I am supposed to speak upon;

they are the big tissues of the day

sorry, ‘issues’, I should say;