Tag Archives: #morning

Just another Monday morning Haiku (as if there weren’t enough of them in the literary world already)

Monday stretches on,

many hours of the day left,

but the morn… passes.

Monday Morn Haiku

Monday Morn is born

from the last remainderings

of a Sunday night.

Four o’clock a.m. Haiku

It is not quite four –

it will be, in a minute –

so, time for a nap?

Saturday Morning

It’s Saturday


and if I don’t get a shift on

I shall be looking at Saturday


from a close-to perspective.

Hence these few words

worth a couple of pence –

if that –

and little in the way of wisdom.


Well, it is Saturday


but only just.

On a Saturday Morning

People walking,

people cycling,

people walking dogs –

no dogs cycling;

people driving,

delivering, thriving


people taking the air

here, there, everywhere;

it’s cool, it’s cold,

some young, some old

some in between –

if you know what I mean;

breeze is fresh upon my face,

I have to set an eager pace,

to warm my soul,

keep my body whole.

“Is it still morning?”

“Is it still morning?”

“Is it still morning?”

I ask myself;

I look at the shelf

to see the clock;

but, the clock’s not there,

and neither’s the shelf!

“Oh,no!” I cry;

then I cry

tears of sorrow

no clock today

it was there yesterday

will it be back tomorrow?

Then I cry

tears of joy;

I remember,

that a friend did borrow

that clock of mine

to tell the time

and help this rhyme

be particularly fine.

But, as to the whereabouts of the shelf…?

I woke up this morning…


I woke up this morning

Da dada da da!

And poured the milk

Da dada da da!

Of human kindness

Da dada da da!

Upon my breakfast cereal killer

Da dada da da!

He wasn’t that pleased

Da dada da da!

With milk poured on his head

Da dada da da

He made me a promise

Da dada da da!

That I’d soon be dead

Da dada da da!

So, all in all, not the best start to the day.

Stating the blooming obvious on a Sunday (#Haiku)


Stating the blooming obvious on a Sunday.

As it’s a Sunday
I have a little write time…
But, nothing happens.

No words flow at all;
And thoughts are far from working;
This means nothing writ.

So my apologies
For this blank piece of paper;
Better luck next time.


Not thith exact moth

Not thith exact moth

Be he moth
Or be he myth
There’th not another moth
Ath big ath thith!

PEth – Rothie the Cat brought in a moth through the window thith morning and had great delight in chathing it around the bathroom while I got ready for work. Before I could rethcue it, Rothie took it back out of the window. That’th nature.

PPEth – it wathn’t a huge moth (there are bigger) but what’th a potht without a bit of exaggeration.


The Poet in the Morning


It is indeed an early poet
that catches the dawn
And just a jealous type
That pours corn
Upon the head of one
Whose feet are seeking the paths
Of writeousness.