I’ve got my Monday socks on,
on a Friday:
I’m a rebel,
I’m a rebel.
I told you it was Friday,
when it’s really Saturday:
I’m a rebel,
I’m a rebel.
In actual fact
it’s a Monday
I’m a rebel,
I’m a rebel.
and I’m not wearing any socks –
I’m a rebel,
I’m a rebel,
I’m a fib-telling,
non-sock-wearing,
little rebel.
PS in case you are confused, it ‘is’ Monday, and I ‘am’ wearing socks – so, not too much of a rebel.
G:)
Monday comes at no request
I tried to stop it
I did my best
I tried to keep the weekend going
for one more day;
but nothing I could do
nothing I could say
would keep that day at bay…
would keep that day away.
If every day
was a Saturday
or a Sunday,
and there was no imminent Monday –
how would that work?
.
Would we Groundhog Day
the weekend?
Rewind and repeat
until the very end of time?
.
How would ‘that’ work?
.
Would we learn the piano,
foreign languages,
how to ski,
actually be?
.
Would we make a difference?
To only have it reset,
before a Monday morning’s wet dawning
ever dampened our dreams?
.
Groundhog Weekend?
06:00 comes yet again;
reality numbs
(and though there is rain),
“At least we’ve still got the weekend, Babe.”
.
©️graemesandford.com
Tuesday is here,
until it’s gone
(see Lynyrd Skynyrd’s ‘Tuesday’s Gone’ for more on that last part),
and it followed closely on the heels of Monday
(see Shakespeare’s ‘Hamlet’ for more on that),
precursoring Wednesday
(precursoring is a made-up word)
and claiming to be ‘Hump Day’
(see a camel for details about ‘humps’).
So, should we worry about what the day is called,
or where it lays in the ‘seven’?
(or ‘eight’ – see The Beatles about ‘eight’).
Well, I may have a lot of questions;
but, answers?
What do you think?
Posted in Poetry
Tagged #Humpday, #Monday, #poetry. #poem, #silly, #Tuesday, #Wednesday, @Days, words
I’m getting lazy
as the day is wearing on,
and my syllables suck.
A Monday after-
noon Haiku just doesn’t fit
the format neatly.
A Monday haiku
has less chance of being fun
than a Friday one.
Don’t awaken the Kraken,
at least, not on a Monday morn;
he’ll be grouchy
and God-forsaken,
like the day that he was born;
and he won’t thank you
for your early call,
he’ll pop you in a pot,
and eat you up,
your family and friends,
yes, one and all,
which is far more likely than not,
so, don’t awaken the Kraken,
Monday Morning Platform Poem #2
Later today
After catching a mouse
(Not a crab)
So, shorter time
To write my rhyme
The train is due quite soon
I will have to be brief
For time is a thief
And I have little with which to dwell upon.
The sky, still grey,
Heralds a day
Full of derring-do;
Of what is to come
I am dumb
The future is orangey-blue.
So with left but a second
This is not what I reckoned
“Hasty, lacks content!”
You might say.
But, what is, has to be
As I said near the start
The train’s coming for me
It is here now
So, alas, I depart.
Bon Voyage!
Posted in Monday, Monday Morning, Platform Poetry, poem, Poetry, Train
Tagged #Monday, #MondayMorning, #Platform, #train, Poem, Poetry
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