Tag Archives: Poetry

An Introduction to Poetry.

“Good morning,

please sit down;

don’t cry;

try not to frown –

it’s only poetry.

Rhyme is no crime!

This you will believe

given time

and a positive introduction

to the classics.

Listen with open ears

and an open mind,

and you might find

that poetry is not that bad after all –

and once you are hooked…”


A Drabble

Not this one (Margaret Drabble)

One Zero Zero.

In binary, only four;

in normal numbers,

a whole lot more.

Five score.

Ten decades.

A century, after which the memory , decayed, fades.

A tenth of a millennium,

the blink of an eye.

Time, like numbers, passing quickly by;

one hundred Dalmatians, give or take;

the calories consumed

by just looking at a cake;

Bob Hope, reached a hundred not done

but, never went into a room 101;

there might be a hundred ways

to leave your lover,

not all of them for the good;

And can you name the bear who lives at 100, Acre Wood?

Cheesy Socks

Cheesy Socks

Are cheesy socks

a thing to you?

When removing them

do you go ‘phewwwwww?’

Does one sock smell

of ripe Emmental;

and the other of Stilton or worse?

Would a gas-mask be useful

In dealing with a pair;

whilst, on standby,

a recovery nurse.

The aroma so heady

of a stinky sock,

will leave you unsteady

and a nostril unblock;

if you find you’ve a pair

that reek of Boursin de Pied

it’s best that you incinerate them

for a year and a day.

Saturday Evening Haiku

Saturday Evening Haiku

It is much too soon

For Saturday evening

Haikus, isn’t it?

Cornish Weather Haiku

Rains fall in Cornwall,

Yet another real soaking;

But, the plants love it.


Don’t be affear’d;

my Bard is worse than my bite;

from first night to twelfth,

and beyond

a pond of flesh?

Pray, tarry not-

“Who writes this rot?”

I cans’t not tell

If all is well

that endeth such –

It is all too much a do.

Let loose the dogs

of Waterloo,

and if you

are waiting,

nothing will come.

Up On The Roof.

There is a gull up on the roof;

I don’t know what he is doing there;

he could be loitering with intent,

though I have no proof;

he could be sight-seeing

(he can see the Cheesewring from there);

he could be resting,

or ‘pining for the fjords!’

though that is highly unlikely.

He could be a she

how does one tell?

All I know is…

that there is a gull up on the roof,

and all is well.