Tag Archives: #ode

Ode to my Pen

Oh, pen!

Says who?

Says me,

that’s who!

No pen,

so touch-typed

upon my phone.

My pen is

out of ink

and, I think,

worse the wear

for its lack of drink.

Oh, pen!

says me,

once again.

Ode to O.O.O.

I’m sorry if you needed a prompt reply,

but I wasn’t here,

and that is why

no one spoke.


I left a notice upon the door,

but the door fell down,

and, now, upon the floor,

it reads, O.O.O.

not a smiley face,

but a frown.


So, if you want

a fast response,

a quick reply,

feedback at once,

you might be out of luck,

because I’m O.O. the O.

doesn’t life suck?

Ode to an Elevator (written between floors 7 and Q)

You, you lift me up…

then you bring me back down again…

with a bump!

I suppose it’s all that you can do,

within the confines of your remit,

and your aperture.

But, once, at least,

couldn’t you just transport me

to another, better, dimension,

where nice things happen a propos of nothing?

Ode to a Bark (aka a Bark Ode)

Oh, I think that, perhaps,

I read once,


under the rainbow,

that a dog will bark at many things –

bad poetry being one of them –

and it ‘has’ been found

that a hound

will utter a higher-pitched sound

when the fear they feel is real.

A deep growl and short bark combination

is likely to be less worry

and more fascination

with the interesting odour

that has recently crossed their neural radar,

‘Hark, hark, the dogs do bark,

beggars are coming to town…’

or some such nursery rhyme;

but, we mustn’t put the beggars down,

when they are out of luck

and no one gives a darn.

Oh, dogs, why do you bark

when all is quiet,

when I’m on a diet,

when there is a Thursday in the week?

Oh, why bark at the meek,

who seek solitude, safety,

and another word beginning with ‘s’.

Yes, I know that another dog has just barked

some forty miles away,

but that doesn’t mean to say

that you should reply.


Oh, why?


Ode to our Postcode

Ode to our Postcode

(PL14 3LP)

Our postcode ties us to Plymouth,

though we are firmly in CornwalL;

in wonderful Merrymeet

near to Fer Liskeryss town.

Free the Cornish!”, “This isn’t England!””

Narrow Lanes and trees on hedgerows;

a Proud people, living fields of glory.

Ode To A Type O

Ode To A Type O

Oh! Type O?

Is that normal;

I don’t mean to be formal;

but, is that alright?

It’s still red? Isn’t it?

It doesn’t glow at night,

or cause my brain to fluctuate

at an unnecessary rate

Oh? Type O!

Obvious, really.

Type Obvious, I am.

Ode to a Typo

Ode to a Typo

Oh, Typo,

I see you knot

and yet I know

that another will.

Oh, Typo,

alter my wurds

and change my jist

to something else.

Oh, Typo,

not a Typin –

a pin for ties –

unless you are from a Typin era.

Oh, Typo,

my editor has Fitz

when you she espies,

she has another size.

Ode to Tea

Ode to Tea

Oh, Tea!

I was informed

(and not by me)

that I haven’t done an Ode to Tea!

The reason, in all simplicity,

is Tea

has not done one

for me.

Ode to the Letter Ewe

Wish Ewe Were Here!

Wish Ewe Were Here!

Ode to the Letter Ewe

I owe you, Ewe
For all the sheepish looks;
For being able to count on Ewe;
And for Ewe not pulling the wool over my eyes.
I should make this a Ewelogy to Ewe
And not lambast Ewe
As I ram wont to do.
But, I won’t mint sauce my words
I shall put my poetry helmutt on
And opine upon the ovine in Ewe!

So, I say to you, Ewe,
“Your words have helped me rhyme
Time upon time
Ewe have flocked to my aid
When I needed a sheep pen
To write with
And an inkwell to sheep dip
That pen into.
I owe Ewe.

Thank Ewe.

Ode to My Old Area Telephone Code

Old Telephone (in case you are unsure)

Old Telephone (in case you are unsure)

Ode to my old Area Telephone Code

One seven oh three
When did you leave me?

You were here
For many a year
And now you’ve been gone
For many more

One seven oh three
Your replacement seems much less
Though its numbers number more
Two three eight

Southampton Code
Why did you have to go?