Tag Archives: #poetry. #poem

Once upon a Time… (extended)

Once upon a time…

some seventeen syllables

had an adventure…

They set out one day

to see if they could find them

a land, to unwind.

Once up on a time

some se ven teen syll a bles

had an ad vent ure

They travelled quite far;

until, one fine morn, they found…

Land of Confusion

a bles some vent had

ven an ure a se syll up

ad teen on time Once.

They travelled on.

Up and down they went,

until they reached a place called…

Land of Alphabets

a a ad an bles

had on Once se some syll teen

up ure time ven vent

They left that place, too.

Until, finally,

they crossed a deep valley to…

Land of Completion.

Once upon a time…

some seventeen syllables

had an adventure…

They had all got back

where it was good to be – home,

and happy again.

Once upon a Time…

Once upon a time…

some seventeen syllables

had an adventure…

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?

Boxing Day Haiku

‘Twas gone Christmas Day,

and there were, all through the house,

left-over tidings.

It

I started writing the title,

then I was distracted by squirrels,

or a butterfly, or the like,

and when I came back,

my title to finish,

I had forgotten,

I had a lack

of knowledge

as to what it was;

the title,

nor the poem,

remained in my head;

and, now, the one word

that still stands true,

looks at me with a weary expression,

and I cannot answer it.

Like a River Under Troubled Bridges.

I am not what you might call

a proper poetical type;

ignore the hype,

poetry should be fun,

and I, for one, like what I do,

and do what I like when

I’m in your wardrobe –

sorry, a song sprang to mind –

see? It’s okay to be funny,

as long as you don’t want to be popular,

that is.

A Stab in the Dark

All the lights were off

and the cast were in the dark;

a shot rang out – Bang!

When the lights were put back on

Colonel Mustard had been stabbed.

When a Haiku Cries

You will know the sound

by the wailing and sobbing

of its syllables.

December will be magic again.

December will be,

as Kate sang,

magic again.

or,

December,

as Kate sang,

will be magic again.

or,

it won’t.

But, the future

has not yet been written,

and may go many ways.

So, 1980s Kate

may have been right,

may yet be right,

or…

well, let us wait and see.

Who knows which way the wind will blow?

More Than A Haiku

I have a feeling

that more than a Haiku will

be too much for some.