Tag Archives: #poetry. #poem

The darkling thrush (with a nod to Hardy)

I read a poem about a darkling thrush,

I read it quickly – I was in a rush;

I read it the once, then I read it the twice,

I very nearly read it the thrice;

but, what, I ask, is a darkling thrush?

Does it exist? I suppose it must;

because Hardy wrote about one once,

and knowing that

makes me no dunce;

but, what, I here will ask again,

is a darkling thrush?

The Snow Leopard

Hidden, out of sight,

out of mind,

you might find

a Snow Leopard;

or the feline

might evade your eyes;

the surprise if you see one

might depend on whether

or not

you are to be

its tea.

When the Triffid came to tea

It was a Thursday, at a half past three,

when the Triffid came to tea;

I’d baked a cake, and made some scones.

It wasn’t all that hungry,

as it had already eaten,

and sucked on some bones;

so it just had a – single – scone.


‘Jam first, and ‘then’ the cream!’

I softly admonished.


‘Sorry.’ clacked the Triffid,

somewhat astonished;

‘I’ve just come from Devon;

and there they put the cream on first;

your rules they really make me numb.’

Then, it downed a barrel of cider,

to quench a thirst.


‘Not to worry.’ I calmly replied,

‘Anything else to eat?

There must be a little room left inside.’


‘I do eat meat.’ the Triffid clacked,

‘That’s something that your table lacked.’


‘Sorry, no, we have not meat,

no piggy’s oink,

no baa lamb’s bleat;

no meat at all,

for Vegans are we.’


And so

the Triffid

ate us,

for its tea.

Sleeping Murder

It’s a title,

of a book,

when asleep,

I took a look,

I committed a crime

in slumbers deep;

and now I have

a rhyme to keep.


In the dead of night,

a shot was heard;

birds took flight

at, ‘Bang!’ the word,

and ‘Thud!’ the body

as it hit the ground.


And there was where

the detective found

a chalk outline upon the floor,

but no sign of a body,

just an open door.


And an ‘open door mystery’

Is not the same

as a ‘locked-room’ one;

and without a body,

who needs a smoking gun?

Wednesday Woke

I woke up Wednesday –

it had been snoring

in the corner

for quite a few days now –

and set it to task.


“What do I do?”

asked Wednesday.


After all these centuries

Wednesday was still a little lacking

in the intelligence department.


“Just be.” I replied,

“Make the weekdays

seem like they are nearly done,

and nod your head

towards the oncoming weekend.”


“Oh, is that it?

I could have stayed in bed.”

Wednesday really was a washout

when it came to geeing up things –

a ‘hump day’ indeed.

Who are you?

Who are you?

Do I know you?

Have we met before?


What is it that you bring to the table?

Or do you have an agenda?


Fill your bags with freebies;

leave your courtesies at the door;

assume a manner that is less about others

and more about yourself;

take, then take again,

and give no thing in return.


Who are you?

I know so little about you;

and, yet, I know so much.


Oh, me! Oh, my!

I think I can fly;

no I can’t,

and so I’m dead.

Disyllable (or Dissyllable) Poem

Enough, spoken Sentence;

forego chatter,

consign natter binwards;

refrain nonsense,

obtain conscience,

exist within avoid.



Today is the day, Teddy Bears,

that the World needs more Poetry,

just like every other day

that there is,

or was,

or will be.

So, write a Poem,

wear a trilby,

create some verse,

or whatever will be

will be.

Afternoon Haiku

Spring has now arrived,

snowdrops all accounted for,

let loose the sunshine.


“Where’s the afternoon?

The title says ‘Afternoon’?

This is about ‘Spring!’ “


“Ah, yes.” I reply;

“I wrote this this afternoon.

and so that is why.”


“Bloomin’ cheek!” you cry.

“All you ever do is this;

it’s not good enough!”


“I am a Poet,

that lives by his wits, no more.”






(The critic had left).