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.
By the Book (sic)
Bardly Writ
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Tag Archives: Poetry
A combination of things have brought us here today, and ‘So…’ I say, ‘let us break bread together, until every morsel is broken’.
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 Haiku
“Nadelik Lowen!”
I called to all the people.
“Kynnyav yw!” they cried.
The Keen of a Buzzard
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.
4 and 20 Black and White Birds Baked in a Pie – Recorded Audio from my phone (and a translation).
I saw a pie in a magazine a cookery magazine so I bought that mag I carried home the magazine and a 5p bag I saw that in the pie recipe there there are four and 20 black and white birds I stopped and I did stare black and white birds baked in a pie oh no no no no no why when the pie seems to be opened the birds will begin to sing there’s a thing I still think it’s cruelty to bake for and 20 black and white birds in a pie I have to write and ask the magazine why
—//—
I saw a pie in a magazine
a cookery magazine,
so I bought that mag,
I carried home the magazine in a 5p bag;
I saw that in the pie recipe there were four and twenty black and white birds—
I stopped and I did stare…
‘black and white birds baked in a pie!’
Oh, no, no, no, no, no, why?
When the pie seems to be opened,
the birds will begin to sing – there’s a thing.
I think it’s cruelty to bake four and twenty black and white birds in a pie –
I just have to write and ask the magazine why.
As I was going to…
And you thought I wouldn’t go there…
again.
As I was going to…
St. Ive
I thought,
perhaps,
when I get there
I’ll never leave;
but, who’s to say
whether I’ll stay,
I change my mind
most every day –
as is my wont –
so who’d be surprised,
if maybe I don’t.
As I was going to…
As I was going to…
Steve’s,
I took a wrong turning,
and went to St. Ives,
where I met a man
who had had many many wives
(None of them his own –
the naughty man)
and each wife
had a bone to pick,
and each bone was
a quarter inch thick,
and each quarter inch
wasn’t really that thick…
Man, wives, bones, thicks…
How many people we’re going to Steve’s?
Lockdown Rap – #PureNonsense
Lockdown shockdown
Breakdown shakedown
Fake crown – hat!
Lookdown shookdown
Makefrown takedown
Wakedown – cat!
Boreddown nowfrown
lookdown sockdown
clowndown – that!
Sleeper (Cryptic Messages)
Undercover,
I rehearse the lines
that will take me to the stage;
character assassination
is not my thing,
but under the duvet
I will know
if it is Christmas
or not.
Soft Landings
I was after a soft landing,
when I fell from on high;
I didn’t want to die,
in a painful way.
I prayed for a soft landing,
as I fell through the air;
I prayed for twenty mattresses,
arranged… just there.
