‘Twas the seventeenth day
of the month before May;
some say that it is called ‘April’.
The Sun was out
shining all about
as it does on a sunny day.
Where be the rain?
Where be the wind?
Where be the third thing in this list?
Anyway, it is much too nice a day
to be sat writing poems –
unless the twinkling of an idea beckons.
Ogden Nash’s ‘The Termite’
Ogden Nash’s ‘The Termite’ with audio
Some primal termite knocked on wood
And tasted it, and found it good!
And that is why your Cousin May
Fell through the parlor floor today.
Taken from PoemHunter.com
Flying high
in the sky
the jackdaw looked very small
the twig smaller still.
When they flew close
I could see
that they were of a normal size
and the twig was only one of the many
that the jackdaw had brought
to try and make a nest;
as had the rest of the jackdaws.
They were queued up
waiting to take their long, thin twigs
within the eaves of the old mansion.
Some of the birds
and some of the twigs
did fit in –
though there were many discarded twigs scattered upon the floor,
after the jackdaws did decide
that the twigs were too wide.
Fleur de Lit Poetry Café’s
‘April Fool’s Free Poetry Competition’
A funny poem?
A humorous rhyme?
Quirky?
Just plain silly?
Send your original poem -and your contact details – by email to:
funnypoem@graemesandford.com
or post it to:
Poetry Competition 1
Trenance,
Merrymeet,
Liskeard,
PL14 3LP
Rules: Free entry
Max no. of lines: 40.
Prize: Book Token to the value of £10
Closing date: 30th April at Midnight.
Winner to be advised by May 16th.
All decisions to be final – it’s all for fun.
NB If deemed suitably funny enough, may we possibly print your poem in a poetry Pamphlet? Yes 🔲 or No 🔲 please tick the appropriate box.
Letters #5
(I was supposed to write a poem about ‘Letters’.)
Green, salad-looking, fresh;
with leaves crisp and crunchy;
good friend to the tomato;
yearning for a dollop of Mayo
or Salad Cream,
maybe some light vinaigrette.
When your life’s course has run,
do you say,
Non, rien de rien, non, je ne regrette rien.
a la Edith Piaf?
St. Valentine
you are dear to me;
your day is the fourteenth day
of February;
you speak of love,
with cards, choccie hearts, and beauteous flowers;
yet, when all those are gone
there are still lots of hours
upon your day…
when we can talk
and just hold hands –
because it’s special being with someone
who understands.
Upon a canvas
to behold
is a Cornish Pasty,
ancient, old;
full of promise
that never came.
