Tag Archives: #Sad

A very short song about the plight of carrots and parsnips in water.

A very short song about the plight of carrots and parsnips in water.

It’s in standard tuning and uses the chords Gmaj / Cmaj / Gmaj, even though it is quite a sad song.

G is the Root Note (as is C)

If you use drop D tuning it sounds slightly like Nickleback.

Here it is:

Gmaj

Gmaj

Singing: carrots sink…

Cmaj Gmaj

and parsnips float.

You can let the final Gmaj on ‘float’ ring to extend the song for a few seconds more – or not, if you are stuck for time.

Enjoy

G:)

Advertisements

Sad Poem 😥

Sad Poem 😥

I’ve got a little dog,

I took it for a jog,

we ran into a bog

… and s

a

n

k

.

The happy / sad Bat Limerick

The happy / sad Bat Limerick

There once was a bat, upside down

whose smile was perceived as a frown;

she now cries as she hangs,

people shy from her fangs

and call her a miserable clown.

The Lonely Words in the Woods.

The Lonely Words in the Woods.

I must go down to the words today,

the lonely words in the wood;

the ones that just aren’t used enough;

and not because

they are no good;

but, because they are so shy;

and no one goes to visit them,

and if someone does, they cry.

The words all hide

amongst the trees,

they keep themselves unspoken;

solitude is the thing they crave,

a silence likened to the grave,

or a morning quite unbroken.

I must just go,

to see they’re safe,

check they haven’t wilted;

for they had worth

in better days

before their use was stilted.

I must go down to the words today,

the lonely words in the wood.

Poem in a Doorway

Poem in a Doorway

This poem woke up in a doorway this morning;

it had little in the way of a plan,

so it just sat there yawning;

until a passing poetry critic

hurled some abuse – non analytic –

along the lines of: ‘You smell!’

and not ‘All is well

that ends well.’

as a man once said;

I remember that

as I am not stupid,

though I may whiff a bit.

A kindly word

in deed

is what I need;

but, I am either invisible

or derisible.

This poem woke up in a doorway

this morning.

Metamorphacake

Metamorphacake

I awoke one day

to find

that I had turned into a cake.

Overnight, I had become various ingredients,

which were unceremoniously mixed, folded, beaten,

cooked in an oven

at a temperature unknown.

I awoke, and, later that day,

I was cut into slices

and eaten.

A Short Story

Once upon a time…

… there was a short story.

It wasn’t long at all;

and it wasn’t at all tall.

So short it was,

and set out so,

that it thought it was a poem;

but, it wasn’t.

It didn’t have much to say;

but, one day,

under the bluest of skies,

It left it’s home

and went off to seek fame and fortune.

Finding neither,

the short story settled down

with an extract from Coleridge’s Mariner,

and they lived happily ever after.