This poem is one at the end,
all damage done by the others,
this poem can mend;
put right the wrongs,
as writing belongs
in the light
not the dark,
and a poem well written
will enthuse the spark
that lights the fire
for our literary joys to reach higher.
Seven pm,
evening beckons;
verisimilitude is a thing,
even if it underused,
not that we know its meaning,
probably something to do with
making these words look like a poem.
Posted in Poetry
Tagged #poetry. #poem, #Saturday, #SevenPM, #Verisimilitude, NaPoWriMo
5pm, and tea on the horizon,
or on the table,
and we are able
to sup and dine
on the fine wine
that is water,
and the tasty fare
that is whatever is there
before you.
Enjoy.
I want to write a poem bright
That feels so right and I just might
If I work hard and pen my best,
Rubbish discard, ride on the crest
Of a new wave and swim to shore,
I long to save the wild furore;
Yet the time calls, the here and now,
Amidst the squalls, survive somehow.
By this time
you might have realised
if you have been following these
that there is a series of unrelated poems
following each other
at hourly intervals.
Some are better than others.
This is one of the less better ones
(You might have realised that, too).
However, it does have a delicate finale;
being written in the rain – what a Charlie!
A Haiku (but really a Tanka)
.
Short and very sweet
the Haiku has become heat
where once there was cold.
Adding additional feet
can make this Tanka complete.
Noon!
And not a moment too soon,
or a moment too late;
exactly half way
through the day,
and, I’d just like to say,
‘Remember the date,
April the First,
Twenty, twenty-three,
and call me a fool
and a fool I will be.
.
So, on with the show,
the afternoon,
and then the night,
will leave the morning
out of sight.
A dozen more
will leave you reeling,
with a dizzy head,
and a loss of feeling.
.
Hopefully, you will survive,
I’ll see you on the other side.
Time for Elevenses
Eleven am
and time for Elevenses,
coffee and a biscuit,
or tea and a biscuit
(If you like the Devil’s brew)
or, as it’s a Saturday,
and we might be out
and about,
the possibility
of a piece of cake
to make the day seem special. ,
Of the six weak days
Monday is by far the worst –
barely limps along.
Having written some of these
in advance of the invention of cheese,
I would like to apologise
for the words before your eyes.
.
I often do silly,
and nonsense, and pun
(I can pun ‘til the cows become Homer)
and my day isn’t done
until the puns hit the Sun;
by which time they will have burnt to a frazzle,
and only their memories will live to bedazzle.
.
Now let us be sensible,
to fool all the time
would be quite reprehensible,
and ruin the rhyme,
which would be a crime.
Graeme Sandford 