Category Archives: Poetry

We are going to Looe.

We are going to Looe.

Excited, we are,

by the fact

that we are toodling

off to Looe, today.

So excited, that I

am word-doodling

about it.

We shall see gulls,

boats, the Banjo Pier,

because all of those things,

when in Looe,

are here.

Walking the lanes,

popping in shops,

stop for a coffee,

Looe is the tops.

And, when all’s said and done,

our day out in Looe

is guaranteed fun.


A Poem AboutTime.

A Poem AboutTime.

It’s about time

that I wrote

this poem.

Not that this poem

is aboutTime;

or about Tim,even.

In fact, is at is about

very little indeed –

and, so, I am just

wasting your Tim

and mine.

St-ro-be, St-ra-fe / Str-obe, Str-afe

St-ro-be, St-ra-fe / Str-obe, Str-afe

Strobed and strafed

by the light of the Sun

as we travel past trees

that hold nests for the birds;

and, by the way,

‘strafe’ and ‘strobe’

being both six-letter words,

can be equally divided in half

and by thirds.

Round Are Way

Round Are Way

“I’m not from round here;

you can tell by my accent.

I’m not from round here;

you can tell by the way I talk.

I’m not from round here;

I’m from somewhere else.

I’m not from round here;

but, I live here, so get over it.

“A Poetry Competition!”

“A Poetry Competition!”

“A Poetry Competition?

There’s no Conpetition

like a Poetry Competition –

go find a rhyme

in your own sweet time

and enter it before

or after

the submission date.

Then, await the fate

of your words so fine…

but, be careful

to write every line

just right –

then you could win;

leastways, you might.”

“Unexpected Poem in the Bagging Area!”

“Unexpected Poem in the Bagging Area!”

“Unexpected poem in the bagging area!

Please wait for assistance.”

I hesitate.

Then wait.

Debate whether to grab it and go,

or await my fate.

Too late, I realise that I tried to scan it through as a carrot.

“Who’s a naughty poetry boy, then!”

commented a passing parrot.



I am.

It’s not as if I couldn’t afford it,

and I don’t really need it;

I just wanted to read it,

and applaud it.

Now I’m off to jail;

“For poetry shop-lifting!”

I wail.

That will teach me.

Poem in a Doorway

Poem in a Doorway

This poem woke up in a doorway this morning;

it had little in the way of a plan,

so it just sat there yawning;

until a passing poetry critic

hurled some abuse – non analytic –

along the lines of: ‘You smell!’

and not ‘All is well

that ends well.’

as a man once said;

I remember that

as I am not stupid,

though I may whiff a bit.

A kindly word

in deed

is what I need;

but, I am either invisible

or derisible.

This poem woke up in a doorway

this morning.