If life is a bit dull
in Yeovil or Hull
then write a Limerick
about Jethro Tull
and his agrarian invention of the seed drill.
Sorry, to disappoint you,
that was not that Limerick,
as you might well tell,
because I am like Billy, idle,
without a rebel yell,
crying for ‘More, more, more!’
There once was a boat made in Éire,
In the boatyard of a fine city, there;
a craft of two knots,
that was covered in spots,
like a slow boat with Chinese Malaria.
Ronan Keating gave up eating,
and only drank fine wine;
when six days passed
he drank his last
and pronounced the word ‘divine!’
My brother is a poetry fanatic
And as such we keep him locked in the attic;
at age six, he was struck with the curse
of quoting blank verse,
and becoming all amateurs dramatic.
There once was a Lady from Bracknell
Who ate two hundredweight of Mint Cracknel
She liked it so much
That she ate all she did touch;
But, soon heard the sound of her
death knell.
“A death knell!”
There was a big storm they named Dennis,
Which made it quite hard to play tennis:
When blowing a gale,
With wind, rain and hail,
it resembled a street walk in Venice.
Posted in Poetry
Tagged #limerick, #poetry. #poem, #StormDennis, #Storms, #Venice, Rain
This sequence of poems I have called, ‘The Diminishment of TRUTH’
“TRUTH Poem”
TRUTH
is wasted on the youth;
“Where is your proof?”
you ask.
“How uncouth!”
I respond,
“My truth
may not be your truth –
for I am long in the tooth
and you…
are young…
and inexperienced…
and have limbs that don’t creak.
The TRUTH,
of which I speak,
is for the older person,
the bolder person,
the ‘the days are getting colder’ person.
Him.
Or her.
Or them.
Or it.
Hmmmm.
Not sure about that bit –
I may have to edit
a lit-
A little bird once told me
that I was worth two bushes…
that was handy advice
at the time;
though I never wrote about it
in a rhyme.
I may have misremembered that…
it could have been a cat.
As T. S. Eliot once said:
‘A book is like the colour red’
or maybe it was something else
that he said.
Truth be told,
I’m growing old.
Older by the second,
and my truth is not
all that it shaped up to be…
am I fecund?
TRUTH is…
I hadn’t the foggiest what that word meant…
until I looked it up.
Does that make me a mug?
Or a cup?
–//–
“TRUTH Limerick”
There once was an abstract concept called TRUTH,
that was given to all in their youth
but, the the truth of it is
TRUTH is all bubbles and fizz,
and LIES are the gin and vermouth.
–//–
“TRUTH Haiku”
TRUTh is just a word…
National Poetry Day
proposed as a prompt.
–//–
“TRUTH Couplet”
A couplet were walking their dogma one day,
TRUtH be told, they never did, but they may.
–//–
“TRUTH in a Single-Line”
TRUTH is the luxury of youth.
And a ‘Parting Shot Across The Bows’:
TRUTH is…
everything;
and yet,
nothing at all.
Posted in Poetry
Tagged #Couplet, #infograe. #Poetry, #limerick, #nationalpoetryday, #NPD, #OneLiner, Haiku
There was an old woman who did,
though what she did she always kept hid,
she brushed under carpets,
bought fruit at fruit markets,
and she’d polish the bedsheets, God forbid.
Some more on this woman who did;
she secretly kept some things hid;
she was a spy for the Russians,
kept house for the Prussians;
she walked a thin line, yes, she did.
Furthermore, about this woman who did;
she was caught out when trying to bid
for some documents old,
that she wanted to hold
and pass to her contact, Leonid.
Finally, on this woman who did;
she was caught by a man in Madrid;
he was a double, you know
agent So-and-So-So;
who went by the code name of Syd.
There once was a bat, upside down
whose smile was perceived as a frown;
she now cries as she hangs,
people shy from her fangs
and call her a miserable clown.
There was a young man named Trelawny
Who could rarely stifle a yawn,
He tried and he tried,
Leant his head to one side,
Drank a glass of water,
Breathed in (and out) of a paper bag,
Then held his breath for a week
(Narrowly avoiding death)
Then realised that he didn’t have hiccoughs,
And just needed to get to bed earlier.
That silly young man named Trelawny.
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