Tag Archives: Poem

So, what day is it? (Haiku) #NationalPoetryDay

So, what day is it?

National Poetry Day!

So, write a poem.

Triffid Haiku

This is my Triffid,

he’s house-trained and ev’rything;

but he spits a lot.

A combination of things have brought us here today, and ‘So…’ I say, ‘let us break bread together, until every morsel is broken’.

Don’t you just hate it,

when the title of a poem

promises so much,

offers so much,

and, then,

gives you so little?

The Keen of a Buzzard

I feel, that the certain sound of an uncertain keen would melt a heart of steel; and, I know that steel melts at approximately 395,000°F*, but I’m sure that the sound of that keening would definitely melt a heart of steel.

*actually steel melts at about 2,500°F – but, poetic licence always has priority over dumb facts.

As I was going to…

And you thought I wouldn’t go there…

again.

As I was going to…

St. Ive

I thought,

perhaps,

when I get there

I’ll never leave;

but, who’s to say

whether I’ll stay,

I change my mind

most every day –

as is my wont –

so who’d be surprised,

if maybe I don’t.

As I was going to…

As I was going to…

Steve’s,

I took a wrong turning,

and went to St. Ives,

where I met a man

who had had many many wives

(None of them his own –

the naughty man)

and each wife

had a bone to pick,

and each bone was

a quarter inch thick,

and each quarter inch

wasn’t really that thick…

Man, wives, bones, thicks…

How many people we’re going to Steve’s?

Lockdown Rap – #PureNonsense

Lockdown shockdown

Breakdown shakedown

Fake crown – hat!

Lookdown shookdown

Makefrown takedown

Wakedown – cat!

Boreddown nowfrown

lookdown sockdown

clowndown – that!

Sleeper (Cryptic Messages)

Undercover,

I rehearse the lines

that will take me to the stage;

character assassination

is not my thing,

but under the duvet

I will know

if it is Christmas

or not.

A poem for a cold and frosty (Friday) morning.

My fingers type

the words;

no hype,

just honest

to goodness

feelings.

Unlike,

in my fingers,

where I have none.

My brain

also

struggles

to keep the warmth

of creative thought alive;

but, there is a glimmer

from an unquenchable ember

that I have

deep in the heart of my being.

Soft Landings

I was after a soft landing,

when I fell from on high;

I didn’t want to die,

in a painful way.

I prayed for a soft landing,

as I fell through the air;

I prayed for twenty mattresses,

arranged… just there.