Category Archives: SouthamptonWriMos

Haiku: ‘Twenty-One’ – ‘Streams of Consciousness’ by Graeme Sandford


“Twenty-one, today!”
“So, what? It’s sunny, that’s all!”
“It’s the date, Sunshine!!”

“Whoopy-do! Bo-ring!”
“Oh, you are a wet weekend!”
“I certainly am.”

So I walked away.
Thought about the August day;
And what I could do.

I’ll write a poem;
Paint the town a shade of red;
Spend the day in bed.

Go fishing in France;
Learn to waltz and then just dance;
Speak Italian,

Bake a big sponge cake;
Fly – how far; what route to take;
Or walk – it’s safer.

Ride a unicycle;
Or, fall off one in terror;
Cry ‘Wolf!’ In error.

But, where to begin?
If I proceed… will I win?
Turn around and… spin!

I’ll head off this way.
Along ‘this’ route this fine day;
It looks quite okay.

But, I was so wrong.
I fell and sang a sad songs-
In a minor key.

For such is my life;
To try and fall with much strife;
Which is just a rhyme.

Wind-chimes woke me up.
Their soft twinkling melodies
Lit fires in my heart

“There’s nobody here!”
“Nobody but us Chickens!”
“Chickens! Run away!”

And a poem writ,
Is a poem to be shared –
That’s true, isn’t it?

Can a Limerick
Fit itself inside a haiku?
It’s a task to do.

‘Lad’ ‘Crewe’ What to do!’
Talking to girls, smiles and curls;
What would a do-do?

A worthy effort
If I do say so myself –
And you can try it.

Not Shakespeare, granted;
But, Will, he may have approved
Of the fine concept.

And before I go;
I would just like to ask here;
Why is it so cold?

It’s August in name;
But, I could be in Russia,
Where August is cool.

I hope and I pray
That these haiku aren’t too much;
Shall I go away?

Haiku: ‘Nineteen’ (not-much) by Graeme Sandford


Nineteen, they do say,
Is a number of great state;
And… is today’s date.

‘N, N, N, Nineteen!’
Their average age was not…
It was twenty-two!

That is about it!
Nineteen is not really hot
In the number world.

Before is ‘eighteen’,
And after it is ‘twenty’
‘It’ is just ‘nineteen’.

No ‘Nineteen Wonders’
Nor ‘Nineteen Days of Christmas’
It’s not much at all.

One times ‘nineteen’ is…
And nineteen times one? Also…
Which is a poor show.

Three sixes are not;
And neither are six sevens;
It’s no ‘forty-two!’

Not a borrower
Nor a lender, give or take;
Nor step on a rake.

It is unlucky
In much the same way as is…
One-hundred and four.

It has little scope
When it comes down to our coins;
Twenty-pence is ‘more!’

It is that sad age
When a teenager is just
‘Almost’ an ‘unteen!’

It’s on a dart board,
At the bottom, by the three,
There; almost unseen.

It’s a number, yes,
On a twenty-four-hour clock
Sharing with seven.

It’s not the number
Of the cloud set for heaven
(‘Nine’ or ‘Eleven’).

It is just ‘nineteen’-
No ‘deadly sins’ hid within;
No ‘nineteen’ witches.

It is not at all
A number that’s likely to
Leave us in stitches.

‘Twenty-one shillings
Do make up one old ‘Guinea’
Two less than that is…

‘Nineteen!’ And the time
Of the Nineteenth Century
Was a while ago.

So, as for nineteen…
I haven’t a clue at all
What to write – do you?

Wal-kus 8 – 10 by Vega


Wal-ku 8 (Gulls & Buoys) by Vega


“Down by the river

That flows out to the sea, is…

Poetical ‘me,’ “


Wal-ku 9 (Park & Lark) by Vega


‘Distant doggies bark,

When I’m walking in the park;

Can I play with them?”



Wal-ku 10 (Hello & Goodbye!) By Vega


“I’m ‘no’ Cockerpoo!

I’m ‘Vega the Labradoodle –

Writer of Haikus!’ “


Haiku: ‘Twelve’ by Graeme Sandford

Christmas: Day One dawns...
A bird of some kind... with 'tree!'
What is going on?

Day Two... What's in store?
More birds (but, no more 'pear' trees)
NB: Get Bird Seed.

Day Three: More wildfowl!
Now getting beyond a joke;
What next, I wonder.

Day Four: Learning French;
Having to build aviary;
Need some counseling!

Day Five: Delivery;
By two security men
In armoured vehicle!

Day Six: Pawned the rings;
Bought a good set of ear muffs;
Honking, Squawking birds!

Day Seven: Enough!
What can I do with these swans?
I can't eat the things?

Day Eight: What! For real?
It's like that old Christmas song
I'm not taking this!

Day Nine: All sorted.
Restraining Order granted;
Refused the Dancers!

Day Ten: Went to beach.
Left a note on my front door:
'Not today, thank you!'

Day Eleven: Birds gone.
They flew, waddled, swam, were sold;
And, 'peace' now returns.

Day Twelve: Knock at door!
"You ungrateful little sh..."
"Sorry, just moved in."

Walk-erick 1 (on walkies – poetry & wit) by Vega



I’m Vega, a black Labradoodle,

I’m a puppy and I use my noodle,

If you want a Limerick,

I can write you one quick;

Here it is, done! I’m ‘no’ slouch Po-doodle!




Haiku: ‘Three’ by Graeme Sandford


“I, Richard the Third,

Was true born King of England:

You call me ‘Crookback!’

Which is, I do think,

A little unfair: you see,

The Tudors, they lied!


I was a good king;

And Henry Tudor had ‘luck’

Not ‘God’ on his side.”

Poets Die In Hot Cars

Poets die in hot cars;

While doggerels lay exhausted in the heat of the midday sun

Lacking fluid and needing the shadow

Of Autum-te-dum leaves.

The sweat of a writer’s brow trickles between lashes

And splashes of colour lighten up an otherwise dull shade of grey.

Old tomes lie, unread, unnoticed and largely unwanted
when minute devices carry their weight lightly
Politely giving up their words at the press of a button
Although some would think of Shakespeare as Lamb dressed up like Milton.
Or Brie compared to Stilton.

Poems die in a bright non-blaze of apathy
Lounging in cupboards and drawers; spouting off about charges and wars
When all the people want is a quick laugh

Then another

Without too much bother
“Brother, can you spare the time to read a book?”
“A what?”
And so it goes
Where it will end
Nobody knows.
The written word is fading and blurred
And will be long forgotten
When all things have occurred
That are happening now.
Learning to read?
What is the need?