Tag Archives: #poetry. #poem

I couldn’t help but think…

I couldn’t help but think…

… that Quink ink

is not the thing to drink

when your ship’s about to sink.

I met her…

I met her…

I met her in a candy store*

and seven years after

I could say I’ve met her before;

actually I’ve met her

many times since then

and I can’t say

I’ve ever been happier

when every day

I’m happier still,

seven years on

a couple destined

like Will & Ben –

or Ben & Will*.

*Poetic Licence has been used here – I actually met Jane in an Art House (‘The’ Art House), and we actually call ourselves Oola and Bob (from the mythical Oolabob and Bobaloo).

This is my Forgettable Poem (with its throwaway words and unfathomable phrases)

This is my Forgettable Poem (with its throwaway words and unfathomable phrases)

I don’t expect you to admire my words

when the title has promised so little;

in fact I don’t wish to belittle myself.

But, and here is the but – there is always a ‘but’ –

I seem to churn out the Words

in orders absurds

caring not a jot

for the writing I’ve got,

when rhyme is not

allowed to hasten the plot,

and alliteration alleviating anonymous algorithms

always accentuates absolutely all

apocryphal and actual

(insert something beginning with ‘a’ here)

Subsequently,

a tame ending will always leave the reader

wanting less.

Saturday’s Sunrise Symphony.

Saturday’s Sunrise Symphony.

Like a Dawn Chorus,

but we joined in

and felt the weekend upon us.

Not that all who woke today

woke to a day of rest and recovery;

but, we do give thoughts to them.

Not everybody’s Saturday

is actually a Saturday.

If I died now…

If I died now…

If I died now,

this very minute,

who would finish off this poem

and put their heart and soul in it?

Or has this poem already been writ?

The Presents of a Lady

The Presents of a Lady

There is something extremely shady,

about the presents of a lady,

don’t you think?

And even if you do,

what is it to you,

where, and when, a lady

chooses to be?

And if she has

the presence of mind,

to wrap a gift within a box

for you to find…

what a treasure,

it shall prove to be.

“Merrymeet’s Got Latent!”

“Merrymeet’s Got Latent!”

Don’t fear rebuke, bring your uke!

Come along and sing a song,

– croon a tune!

Recite a poem (or two)

‘you know

it’s what

you want

to do.’

Be a star, strum your air guitar!

Operatic singers aria must!

Dancers twirling!

Magicians wandering!

Ventriloquists – gring your own dummy!

Fire-Eaters…? (all too sadly, no – due to risk of bringing (burning) the house down.