Tag Archives: April

April The Twenty-Third

April The Twenty-Third

April The Twenty-Third:

Shakespeare was born;

Shakespeare died;

people laughed,

people cried;

some came in,

others went outside;

many went to seek,

whilst a few did hide;

Haven’t you heard

that April Twenty-Third

is, was, and shall be…

or not –

depending on how you look at things.

Advertisements

April The Twenty-Second

April The Twenty-Second

The 22nd day of April –

I knew there would be a catch,

there is always a catch:

catch, match, hatch, dispatch:

a batch of rhyming things – how weird;

but, then again, quite the norm.

although I don’t have to inform

that

I am in form.

Formed from the clay of prehistoric pre-hysteric swamps,

I am only just a man

who can

(when the mood takes him)

rhyme a frying pan

with a partisan.

Then again, most people can

do that –

it’s just that they choose not to.

April The Twentieth

April The Twentieth

April The Twentieth?

20p for a cup of tea?

It was a long time ago,

four shillings to me;

four bob;

and before that it was cheaper still –

2d, tuppence for a cuppa,

6d, sixpence for a fish supper,

a farthing for a pint of grog,

And April wasn’t called April then,

it was ‘Springe!’

but it had to be changed;

it broke a hinge

and was soon rearranged.

So, what can today teach us?

Answers. Postcard. Please.

April The Nineteenth – a Two-Minute Write

April The Nineteenth – a Two-Minute Write

Oh, April, when will you be gone?

You seem to go on and on, and on;

Endless days, all in a row;

is your time not up,

should you not just go?

Or am I wishing my time away?

Will I be happy between the first

and thirty-first of May;

or will I be frittering those days away, and away?

April the Nineteenth;

but, a speck of sand in my beach of life –

or a tiny grain in my newt egg-timer, which seems a little more

apt for this kind of rhymer.

April The Eighteenth #SoC write.

April The Eighteenth #SoC write.

April The Eighteenth

I feel an April Fool;

all my ideas have run out,

and there are still many days to go.

No. There is nothing left in the pot

of mind;

leastways nothing that I can find.

Why doesn’t the Eighteenth

signify something… anything?

No. There is nothing.

Not one single, solitary crumb

left upon the plate.

How I hate

to be bereft,

with everything gone,

and nothing left.

April The Sixteenth

April The Sixteenth

April – fourth month;

Sixteenth – sixteenth day;

Is there more to say?

What, possibly, could I write,

that would be of in-ter-est?

Perhaps, I’ll let it be,

give the day a rest.

Oh, by the way,

April the Sixteenth,

this year,

fell on a Tuesday.

Last year it was a Monday.

Next year…?

Well, it’s a Leap Year,

so it’s anyone’s guess.

Choice of seven.

April The Fifteenth

April The Fifteenth

April the Fifteenth

has finally arrived –

and what shall we do with it,

or upon it?

On other April the Fifteenths (there have been many)

many, unmemorable, things may have been done – but, what, I know not.

It’s the sort of day where you could fly a kite –

I might, if I had one –

or get blown over like a tree;

unwise things are also available – as you can see.

Winds are from the East,

so travelling West would be for the best, I think; but, I also know not.

Staying inside,

trying to play

seek and hide

is a thing –

but a bit boring

when you are on your own.

So, perhaps,

I shall just consign this April the Fifteenth

to the ‘forgettable’ bin

with all the other April the Fifteenth,

and all the other days.