Tag Archives: #january

February is the longest month


is longer than


(by one letter),


is the longest month of all,



the shortest.

I thought

that you might like to know –


‘January is the longest month’

‘January is the longest month’

said somebody.

It wasn’t me.


I know that,

‘May is the shortest month’,

‘April the cruelest!’

And all the others

must have their own talents.


But, to keep things in balance,

I shall stir controversy,

by proposing, that,

‘June is the kindest’,

or so it seems to me.

My Last Poem



Those who know me

Know my name

Even though it is eminently forgettable

To them

I need ‘no’ introduction.

Those who are ‘somewhat’


By me

Please be assured

That it doesn’t get any clearer

Anytime soon


I must just say that…

‘This’ is my ‘last’ poem

My last ‘ever’ poem

The last ‘ever’ poem that


Shall ‘ever’ write

Maybe the last ‘ever’ poem that ‘you’ will ‘ever’ hear

‘Who’ knows?

(Which is a rhetorical question if ‘ever’ I heard one)

And smoothly leads me on to the next question; which is…

Who cares?

(Also rhetorical)

And finally…

Who dares?


(Which is just plain silly).


After the threat of snow,

When the days had turned ‘so’ cold,

Today was mild;

it seemed as though the good Lord had smiled,

and although the sun never shone from dusk till dawn
I was not forlorn

“No! from ‘dawn to dusk,’ ” you cry!

“A basic schoolboy error you have made!”

I turned, dismayed, to look at my observant reader;

He stood there smugly smirking

“I don’t think that ‘this’ poem’s working.” He continued.

“You’ve lost the little talent that you probably once had!”

Well, I thought, that’s gratitude.

A platitude then crossed my mind:

‘who laughs last laughs longest’

which was fine as attitudes to platitudes go;

then I thought of another:

‘a shallow grave conceals little’

Which I had made up on the spur

Of the moment;

then wished that I hadn’t.

I hid for a while

Behind a wall

Of silence

Which was, in reality, not actually

A wall,

At all.

When I came out from behind the metaphor

I found that ‘he’ had gone –

And the sun still never shone.

“That’s rubbish!”

Came an old, familiar voice;

I had no choice

I shot him in his foot;

Put my creative drive in gear

And got the “Hello, fair maiden!”

Out of there.

Later, I fell into a deep stream

Of consciousness

Was drowned


And never lived to write another poem.

“Hurrah!” he cried.


Only words

Have no fear

Dear reader

These are only words.