When I took the picture
I left plenty of room
for the poem
that would accompany it.
When I took the other picture
I left plenty of room
for the seagull
that would inhabit it.
I didn’t take any more pictures,
as I’d left plenty of room
for improvement.
When Wednesday creeps up on you
and takes you unawares,
you suddenly realise that
you are half way through the ‘weak’ days,
and heading towards the ‘strong’ ones.
“Wow!
“How did that happen?”
you might ask.
Well, perhaps you should have been paying
more attention.
Gull.
From wingtip to wingtip,
from beak to tail feathers,
from back to claw;
the gull is complete,
and ready to fly
into the yonder blue sky.
So, what day is it?
National Poetry Day!
So, write a poem.
Care
About
Rare
Earth.
“Children, children, children, children,
children, children, chil—‘ said the Queen bee.
‘What on earth is going on this morning?
I made up your sandwiches, filled you all a flask, and all I ask is a little peace and quiet – and it’s just chaos!
“It’s bedlam!” cried the Queen bee/
“Well, ma’am…” said one particularly brave worker bee, “it’s our beehive, you see.”
“And what is wrong with the beehive?”
“Well… it seems to be perched upon the top of somebody’s head!”
I tried to write a poem,
something, anything;
but, nothing could I write;
so, I went for a walk instead,
to consider the nothingness
in my head.
Don’t you just hate it,
when the title of a poem
promises so much,
offers so much,
and, then,
gives you so little?
“Nadelik Lowen!”
I called to all the people.
“Kynnyav yw!” they cried.
I feel, that the certain sound of an uncertain keen would melt a heart of steel; and, I know that steel melts at approximately 395,000°F*, but I’m sure that the sound of that keening would definitely melt a heart of steel.
*actually steel melts at about 2,500°F – but, poetic licence always has priority over dumb facts.
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Graeme Sandford 