Utterflies, Ees,
Ugs, Eetles, and Irds?
Where would we e
without the letter—?
By the Book (sic)
Bardly Writ
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Tag Archives: #poetry. #poem
Our Triffid’s gone
Our Triffid, it’s gone!
Or it may be hiding;
we dare not go and see,
we do not go and look –
or perhaps it’s just a mythical creature
I read of in a book.
Courtroom llamas
As much as I dislike courtroom llamas,
I must admit that they are fascinating creatures; twelve angry men , or women, or a mix of the two, couldn’t convict me otherwise.
But, when it comes to Alpacas… I get confused.
Is it the ears? Or the shape of the head? Is one taller, or shorter, than the other? Do they come from differing parts of Peru… or Timbuktu?
I have a case of amnesia, when it comes to learning which is which and how and why.
I can’t remember, no matter how little I try.
I hope that they know which they are – and get confused when they try and work out whether I am man
or mouse.
Banonions (Revisited – for Veganuary)
Banonions
Too close to bunions
to foot the bell
(or fit the bill)
with banana skin
and onion peel
removed,
bananas none too ripe,
onions are great,
ignore the hype;
and cook with skill
in a skillet, until…
… ready;
then eat
with a friend named Freddie –
what a treat!
NB don’t eat Freddie, it’s not that Vegan –
ask our mentor, Peter Egan.
Posted in Poetry
Tagged #Bananas, #Banonions, #Onions, #PeterEgan, #poetry. #poem, #Vegan, #Veganuary
So, what’s another poem to you?
I don’t do ‘real’,
‘proper’
poetry.
It’s not for me –
it might not be be for you.
Anyway, I just say
what comes to mind,
and find that
‘that’
is
‘my’
poetry voice.
It’s your choice
as to whether you read it,
heed it,
feed it to the hungry poetry fishes,
whose wishes are
to consume words dangling
upon the lines that I lower their way,
or cast adrift
in their general direction –
a selection of which
are just like those written above;
or would you rather I wrote
a sonnet of love?
The Four Haiku of the Apocalypse
1. Pestilence
I bring you sickness,
plagues of all shape and size-
do you feel unwell?
2. War
Battles that you hate,
pointless death to one and all,
and for what purpose?
3. Famine
Not a morsel there,
in your empty cupboard bare –
eat of the thin air.
4. Death
Well, it’s at an end,
and what a relief, my friend;
off to Hell you go!
The Poetry Well
The poetry? Well…
I pulled up the bucket,
from the depths of the well,
but the bucket was empty,
from it’s weight
I could tell
that there wasn’t a poem,
in it at all,
so I began to caterwaul,
and, well…
I’ll try again in a day or two,
until then, I bid you “Adieu!”
“Hey! Where are the Poems, Dude?”
“Hey! Where are the Poems, Dude?”
I know,
there seems to be a non-glut
of my poetry lately;
but, it’s there for a reason –
‘tis the season to be jolly,
prancing around with a sprig of holly,
loitering under the mistletoe,
wrapping last-minute presence of mind,
with recycled tarpaulins.
Actually, I don’t know why
the Poetry Well seems to be dry,
perhaps I filled too many buckets,
and now there is a need to replenish the source-code (mental note ‘Ode to a Source-Code’ –
and then rejoin my journey
upon the Geode less unravelled.
“Excuse me? Does any of this make sense?”
No, not really – it’s just one of those
stream-of-consciousness writes
I suppose.
Anyway, my New Yurt’s resolution
might be to relight the poetry 🔥
and give you what you most desire …
a decent poem from me.
Well, maybe not quite your
most desirous thing –
but, who knows
what the future will bring?
Three sheets to the wind
I threw three sheets of paper
into the air;
they were swiftly carried away.
to, I don’t know where,
but, away,
away from me,
perhaps to sea,
to seek a land
where they could live,
and give hope
to those who had none.
If only I had remembered to write upon those three sheets,
Before they had gone.
You’re never alone with a clone
You’re never alone
with a clone …
with a clone
you are never alone …
never ever alone
alone
Never ever alone
with a clone.
With a clone
you are never alone.
Graeme Sandford 