Tag Archives: Poets

Poetry is not the only orange fruit

It has been said

(though not out aloud)

that poets dislike the orange fruit,

and would rather muse upon the blue, red, green,

or yellow;

but, saying that

(still not out aloud),

the poet is a funny fellow,

who rhymes his words

like migrating birds

seeking far continents,

to use an image from above;

the poet is happier, by far,

when writing words of love –

Roses ‘are’ red,

violets are… well, violet, to be honest,

and oranges are…

… just unmentionable, towards the end of a poet’s life sentence.

*May Contain

This poem may contain

traces of irony,

a little Shelley,

no Keats, whatsoever,

and what beats a huge dollop of Byrony?

Or it may not.

It may be considered complete and utter rot –

by those in the know,

and connoisseurs of real poetry

might turn in their graves –

even if they are still alive and kicking,

leaving little or no room for sensible critiquing –

whatever that is.

Poetry property

I want to live in a poet’s house,

like a little field mouse

living in a…



I want to have an ‘upstairs’

and a reciprocal ‘downstairs’

connected by an Escher staircase,

which might

(or might not*)

take me from the one

to the other.


I want to live in a poet’s head

the wide-open spaces,

the crazy, made up places,

and the inmates…

oh, the inmates.


I want to live where secrets are spread,

where skies uphold dragons’ wings,

and seas can turn from blue to red;

where things are created by the thought of them

and stories lead to adventures and wonder

under those skies.

And there will always be something new

to be said

about the imminent pandemonium

of a poet’s head.



*It won’t

Potatoes and Poets

Poets like potatoes,

and potatoes like poets;

what is more,

a poet can be found in potatoes,

but not in a potato;

a potato, it should be said,

cannot be found in a poet.

It’s all just letters and words,

don’t you think?

Pressing the Mute Button on Poets.

When you are caught in the headlights

of an oncoming poet’s wittering,

it would be really useful

if you could just press the mute button

bringing calm to an, otherwise,

chaotic outpouring of poesy.

Then, you could concentrate on other things,

more important things,

and await what the future brings

without the inconvenience

of rhyming couplets

and Iambic Pentameters

doing your head in.

So, let’s all pray for the day

when the Poet Mute Button

comes our way.

“Can Poets Make a Difference?” #MakeADifferencePoetry

“Can Poets Make a Difference?”

What can a poet



Okay maybe we shouldn’t go down that road –

leave it less travelled,

as you might say –

as we poets are a sorry lot,


apologising for this,

asking forgiveness for that,

and writing less about the other,

than the avid reader would like.

“But, can a poet make a difference?”

I hear you ask once again –

persistent little critiquer, aren’t you?

A poet can make many things…


Or describe a few.

He can make a sow’s ear out of a purse,

a simile sound just like a… similar thing,

or something quite dissimilar.

He’s like a magician with words,

juggling them like a juggler juggles…

juggly things.


I hear you whisper.

Well, give him a selection of vowels and consonants,

and a poet can make a ‘difference’-

Just, not quite the one that you really want.

Poets are Dicks

Poets are Dicks

Poets are Dicks…

… and poems are written by Dicks…

… Harriet’s, Marys, or Toms;

some poets are hairy,

and, in their poems, rhyme ‘bombs’

with ‘proms’;

in order to shock;

some swear a lot,

and use the word ‘cock…

… a-doodle-do’,

I don’t,

because I’m not a Dick,

are you?

The Doctor’s Reply

The Doctor’s Reply

It just isn’t true

that doctors dislike poems –

they just hate poets.

A Poet’s ‘Hello!’

A Poet’s ‘Hello!’

“Hello, Everyone!”

they cried in unison;

for is that not how poets cry?


They cry alone,

and on paper

about the how, wherefore and why.

Recycle Poets! (Revisited – now in Haiku or Tanka version).

“Recycle Poets!”

Haiku Version

Recycle poets!

They’re biodegradable –

bury one and see.


Tanka Version

“Recycle poets!

They’re biodegradable –

bury one and see.

And if that doesn’t stop them

Then probably nothing will!”