Tag Archives: #poetry. #poem

Where would we e without the letter—

Utterflies, Ees,

Ugs, Eetles, and Irds?

Where would we e

without the letter—?

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)


Too close to bunions

to foot the bell

(or fit the bill)

with banana skin

and onion peel


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.

So, what’s another poem to you?

I don’t do ‘real’,



It’s not for me –

it might not be be for you.

Anyway, I just say

what comes to mind,

and find that




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


Never ever alone

with a clone.

With a clone

you are never alone.