One Minute Rhyme Mark XXXIV : Inventory Blues

hieroglyphic headache
the numbers taunt and tease
and their cold dark certainty
does nothing to appease
my mind can’t be an abacus
it’s wired a different way
the beans they just won’t bake themselves
so there’s no poetry today

5-7-5 (take one-hundred-and-sixteen : harvest festival)

the harvest has come
a table of tinned carrots
for the old folk’s home

the whoops a daisy ditty

say whoops a daisy once
say whoops a daisy twice
and if you say it in your bed
then you’ll have said it thrice

and if you’ve whoops a daisyed
not one time but three
then you’re a whoops a daisy queen
like whoops a daisy me

5-7-5 (take one-hundred-and-fifteen : an orchid)

all the petals fall
wither away one by one
and become but dust

One Minute Rhyme Mark XXXIII : Relativity

to the tiny silverfish
and other things that crawl
we are not gods nor monsters
if they consider us at all
merely an annoyance
to avoid and keep away
as we are but awkward mountains
that may squash them all one day

Untitled

There’s method to my missive
which cannot be defined
by pouring over every word
or walking every line
I’m saving it for the very end
the death bed of my verse
a last gasp quote unquotable
simple short and terse
not hidden like some treasure
in metaphors profound
or in some bush of vagueness
to beat around and round
no grand designer message
world changing bard like rhyme
to decipher like enigma
and waste your precious time
my message is a simple one
and it’s time to be is due
oh bugger! I’ve forgotten it
now I’ll have to start anew.

Memory Tries

memory is but
a mean artist
its impressions
unable to colour
your beauty
nor the brush strokes
of fantasy could
texture completely
that smile you saved
for me.

One Minute Rhyme Mark XXXII : Inflight Catalogue

every watch shows ten past ten
although it’s five to four
or five to three on London time
so it’s late in Singapore
but in the inflight magazine
the bright young things don’t care
what hour of day you read them
whilst you’re up in the air
their frozen poses promise
as above the clouds you soar
a lifestyle free of duty
which with a Visa could be yours

5-7-5 (take one-hundred-and-fourteen : above Rotterdam)

over clouds unspoilt
thin air has my head spinning
or is it your smile?

One Minute Rhyme Mark XXXI : Underpass Arbour

A tree grows on the Edgeware Road
of whitewash and concrete
and in its branches up above
a silent bird can’t tweet
stone rabbits sit around the roots
unflustered by the strains
of city traffic whipping by
and the rattle of the trains