Like the first,
the last day of April
is a curious one.
They both bookend all the other days,
yet one is welcoming them,
whilst the other bids them a find ‘adieu!’
You, may not realise
that April held such a surprise
as it did –
it may have been carefully hid.
Or it might have been a month
of no newsworthy events at all –
maybe.
Call it what you will (still ‘April’ methinks)
April has been one that we will remember
long after…
thingummy…
has gone.
Posted in Poetry
Tagged #AprilTheThirtieth, #graemesandford, #poetry. #poem, April, NaPoWriMo
April The Twenty-Ninth
arrived with a plomb.
I was a lert;
others were, variously,
a droit, a fraid, or a miable.
Disregarding all that,
April The Twenty-Ninth was,
variously, wet, dry, stormy, calm,
an irritant, a balm,
hot, cold, young, old
and liable to amuse, confuse
and leave us all wondering how and why
a day like this could call itself anything other
than a day of ease…
or bother.
April The Twenty-Eighth
has been a day.
too far.
We drove in the car;
stopped off at a bar;
listened to Eleventh Earl of Mar
(by Genesis);
invented Radar (again);
travelled much too far;
drank a pint of cider vinegar from a jam jar;
boxed up some shopping in a Spar(
relayed our local road surface
in two-dimensional tar;
relocated to Zanzibar;
and then walked back to England
for a cup of char.
So, nothing out of the unusual.
April the Twenty-Seventh
arrived with a fanfare (or funfair)
of trumpets;
followed by tea and crumpets;
and, lastly, a soupçon of something sweet – just to keep it neat.
A day when chimneys weep,
and town criers cry;
when the cost of ascending mountain paths is particularly steep,
and a rugby ball can but try.
A day when swallows swallow swiftly,
and a toad will natter to a Jack of all trades;
when a bright colour fades,
and beige is just the study of brown.
A day that begins and ends,
with bits in the middle,
hey diddle diddle don’t play upon that violin;
beguine the piece from where you left off,
and, ‘soft, what light through yonder window breaks – it is Juliet’,
and, soon, she is the Moon.
April The Twenty-Fifth
A dull day,
then a bright day;
with both accompanied by a fresh breeze;
fresh enough to freeze
the bones from a dull man,
or a bright one.
Every day is like this,
or unlike this.
Differing in various ways,
it’s a daze.
April The Twenty-Fifth
a day just like the rest,
now, where did I put my old string vest?
April The Twenty-Fourth – A Travel Guide
April The Twenty-Fourth
“Set forth!”
And so we did.
With no idea where to.
we went North – wrong;
South, East, West;
all were the same,
none were the best;
so we tried all the points of the compass in-between;
directions we had;
you should have seen us,
lost at the scene of the crime;
four idiots in search of a rhyme.
April the Twenty-Fourth,
was not the day for us to set forth,
it showed us our worth,
as we trudged the earth;
at least we still had our mirth.
 | The Febrile Imaginin… on In the land of Yenom… |
 | Shaun Jex on In the land of Yenom… |
| The Febrile Imaginin… on I was… |
| Shaun Jex on I was… |
 | dessertflower5 on Who Am I? |
