Category Archives: Poetry

Saturday Haiku/Tanka/Senryu Combo.

I have to write them,

Haikus, that is, and yet, no,

I shall not do that!

But, who has power,

who can honestly say, no,

when a Haiku calls?

I know I cannot,

I have to write the three lines,

because, I have to.

Not that I am weak,

but, every week day is

a Haiku day, no?

Go on, try it out;

seventeen syllables, then…

create your Haiku –

or add a couple of lines

and it becomes a Tanka.

Or make it funny,

and, by definition, you,

have a Senryu.

Thank You

‘Thank you for the food we eat’

said a banner read in Merrymeet;

‘Thank you for the cheese and chives’

said a poster posted in St. Ives;

‘Thank you for the bread and sup’

said a post-it note that I picked up.

‘Thanks for nothing’ I replied,

with hunger pangs,

and then I died.

The Poetry Knight

The Poetry Knight

rode in upon his steed,

then he was gone;

the people sighed,

they had a need,

for poems,

yes, a need indeed.

The Poetry Knight

he hadn’t stopped,

not one small verse

had he dropped

into the laps

of the people;

perhaps he had,

forgotten to stop,

“Begorra! Egad!”

the people shouted,

the people cried,

one of the people was very old

and died (of natural causes –

it’s sad to say,

that things like that

happen every day).

The Poetry Knight

was, by now, far away,

and little did he have to say;

upon the subject,

he was as mute

as the mutest swan,

who was one day here,

the next day

gone.

Zorba’s Podyn

Zorba, a ficticious Greek character, was visiting his local hostelry one evening, with the dubious intention of the imbibing of their drinks, and the bending of some Greek comestibles at their recently organised ‘Night of the Greek’ – or ‘Greek Night’.

Zorba was very impressed by the authenticity of the Gyros and the frizziness of the fries, but, afterwards, when he asked for ‘Podyn!’ he was answered by some blank expressions.

“Podyn?” they asked. “We have Chocolate Cake, Cherry and Chocolate Cake, Chocolate Fudge Cale, Cherry and Chocolate Fudge Cake, or Balaclavas.”

“Don’t you mean, ‘Baklavas’ “ queried Zorba.

“We wish!” they replied. “Bit of a mix-up with the order. Although…”

“Yes…?”

“With a scoop of ice-cream…”

“Worth a try?”

“No, not really, the fluff ruins the ice-cream.”

Zorba decided to give that ‘Podyn’ a miss, opting for the Chocolate Fudge Cake.

All in all he gave the evening a 8.5 out of 10.

Poetry Soup

Stir it up a bit,

see what seasoning it needs,

add some of this,

and a pinch of that,

bring it to the simmer,

not the boil,

watch (and listen) carefully.

When you guess

that it might be ready…

dish it up,

and serve with crusty bread rolls,

and short straws.

Await the compliments

that will inevitably

fail

to come your way.

Check recipe.

Mark out of 10.

2.4?

Replace recipe in the safe,

and throw away the key.

In the future,

stick to Limericks.

To See the Sea

She went to sea

to see the sea,

and whilst she was there

she saw me;

she turned around

and headed home

no more to sail,

no more to roam.

The Poet Tree

I fell out of the Poet Tree,

then the Poet Tree fell out of me.

Granville’s Anvil.

Granville, sat with his anvil,

at the back of the orchestra pit,

waiting for his moment,

the time when his chime would fit.

Bear With

‘Bear With’

Bear with…

bear with…

bear with…

bear with…

bear with a sore head

was walking through the woods

one day,

when he (or she, or other)

decided that a nap

would be the thing

to take away the pain

from the bear’s brain.

The bear with…

the bear with…

bear with…

excuse me, it’s buffering…

the bear with…

a sore head

went into a deep sleep

and dreamt of berries,

and beers–

sorry, and bears,

other bears,

that he

(or she, or other)

had known.

When the bear with…

bear with…

bear… bear…

bear… withasoreheadwoke–

oops!

When. The. Bear. Awoke. It.

Told. A. Joke.

But, there was no one there

to laugh,

except a passing giraffe

that bore a passing resemblance to…

a wild (or just slightly livid) boar.

The giraffe did not laugh at the joke

until much later,

when the ‘G’ had worked out

the pun in the punch line.

Such is the way of comedy.

Add it to my Bucket List?

Do I need a Bucket Hat?

Would wearing one

be something

that I should add to my Bucket List?

If you insist, Hive Mind,

then it could be a thing

for me to buy.

To wear?

I swear

that I

may watch all seasons fall by

before I

do share

such headwear

with a head

where my treasured memories are stored.

But, should I get one?

That question, I know,

shall not go away,

nor ever care to be ignored.