Tag Archives: #poetry. #poem

No, seriously / a few good Monday Haikus / will do the bizness

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?

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.

The Four Aviators

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.

The Bracken Wakes

When walking the moors,

the one thing that you really don’t want to happen

is for the Bracken to wake.

Having a Rainstorm (a Haiku)

Leaking from above,

falling damp meets rising damp;

I soak it all up.

Too soon

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

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 (spider)

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.

The leave thieves

“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?”

“He is a stranger—“

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.