A Monday Haiku
Just what ev’rybody needs,
while the day does last.
.
Other things also
might be useful for living:
air, water, coffee.
.
If you are counting,
you might realise something
that others might not.
.
Haikus take less time
than writing fancy sonnets,
like Will Shakespeare did.
What about a Monday Haiku?
It’s Early in the week,
so shouldn’t we all seek
a Haiku for the day…
but, maybe it would be better
if we just gave it a miss this time.
This is not a Haiku
This is not a love song
This is not a love song
This is not a Haiku –
Hash tag just saying.
Posted in Poetry
Tagged #Monday, #nonsense, #notahaiku, #poetry. #poem, #silly, Haiku
The four flew far,
the four flew high,
they traversed the place
that is called the sky;
.
and, like the crossing of an ocean,
they shall reach dry land,
if the wind in their sails,
lends a helping hand.
When walking the moors,
the one thing that you really don’t want to happen
is for the Bracken to wake.
Leaking from above,
falling damp meets rising damp;
I soak it all up.
Too soon,
much too soon.
.
Still too soon.
.
Yet again… too soon.
.
I just have to say it
again and again,
it’s too soon, by far,
too soon, whenever you are.
.
Give it time,
and it will be just right
for you to announce it,
but until then…
.
it’s still too,
much too,
all too,
too soon.
Well, what a lovely day, today is,
and it’s the only today that we’ve got,
it owns a bucket full of weather,
which is really rather a lot.
.
I’m out now in the rain,
and the wind, and the damp, and the cold,
it’s a bit of a joke, the weather,
one that’s never growing old.
.
There’s fog and mist and mizzle,
all for a soul to endure;
and, betwixt the frost and drizzle,
there’s another bucket more.
Kevnisen the spider
(known to his mates as Kev)
left home to join the priesthood,
taking residence in the church,
where he grew best friends with the Rev
and on Sundays
upon the rostrum he did perch.
“Thieves have stolen my leaves!”
exclaimed the tree.
“Every year, at this time,
the leave thieves are committing such crimes
as make me shudder to the core,
do they think I can just make more?”
Mrs. Shuttlecock from Badminton, Gloucestershire: He is a stranger—
Peacques: A stranger what?
Mrs. S: A stranger man than any I have seen these past years.
Peacques: A stranger invites danger, Mrs. Shuttlecock.
Mrs. S: Well, I think that we had better RSVP, Peacques.
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Graeme Sandford 