Tag Archives: #Friday

Friday?!

Friday comes but once a week

for that we must be grateful;

to have it any less at all

it really would be hateful;

two Mondays, or an extra day of Tues,

would give us the most horrible,

start-of-week blues;

and Wednesday twice

would be a double hump day,

upon which occasion

what on Earth would people say?

“Hump Day, then Hump Day… again!”

It would be most inconvenient,

and really quite a pain.

Hump Day should be Dromedarian,

and not Bactrian, as any fool must know,

so keep the days just as they are;

do you wish for change? –

I say it’s best vote “No!”

A Wintry Friday ‘Blast from the Past!’

A poem for a cold and frosty (Friday) morning.

My fingers type

the words;

no hype,

just honest

to goodness

feelings.

Unlike,

in my fingers,

where I have none.

.

My brain

also

struggles

to keep the warmth

of creative thought alive;

but, there is a glimmer

from an unquenchable ember

that I have

deep in the heart of my being.

Friday, early, dark.

Before six a.m.

the Darkness believe in love,

Friday’s on my mind.

.

You can tell its pulse,

just by taking Friday’s wrist

and feeling the blips.

.

So, it’s still kicking,

raring to go, and…

let’s see what it brings.

Friday Frieze

Cold as it is,

It could be colder still,

and even colder than that;

Friday stands betwixt

Thursday and Saturday

like a colossus

(or a coldossus)

from architecture.

And, remember the old adage,

that buses always come in frieze.

On a Friday (extended)

On a Friday

What would you say

could be more wonderful

than writing poetry on a Friday?

Answers on a very large postcard.

.

No, seriously,

what could ever be better

than putting words together?

.

Obviously you have to be selective

with your word placements,

otherwise, dishclockpotatoes,

or cloth gaze mute paragraphs

might occur,

although…

Thursday Afternoon

With five syllables

and only two longer words:

Thursday Afternoon.

.

Monday and Tuesday,

Friday, Sunday, and today,

also fit the form.

.

But not Wed-nes-day,

and defo not Saturday,

or yesterday day.

On a Friday

What would you say

could be more wonderful

than writing poetry on a Friday?

Answers on a very large postcard.

I woke up (and it wasn’t Friday)

I woke up with that Friday Feeling,

and was then informed

that if wasn’t.

What? I replied.

But, it must be! I continued.

Saturday? I queried.

Where did Friday go?

I asked.

I missed Friday? I questioned my sanity.

Nooooooo! I exclaimed.

I wanted it to be Friday.

But, it isn’t!

I cried

Friday Fail

It’s Friday

and I have nothing to say,

write, or put up for sale –

Friday fail.

“It’s Friday!” – Revisited!

Named after Freya,

a Norse goddess of fame,

who partied hard at the weekends,

to give Friday its name,

Friday, gets off lightly,

compared to the other week days –

it fares only slightly worse

than Saturday or Sunday –

and Friday night is often held

up high

as part of the weekend,

and a fine time to fly.