Month: March 2017

start of a poem about a beekeeper

in a little wooden hut
in the middle of a wood
lived August
with his little dog
and bees
whenever he would sigh
and think life had passed him by
he’d remember
that they all did
as they pleased


Real Poets (final version)

real poets dress in ruffled shirts
with frock coats velvet long
I write in my underpants
which seems a little wrong.

real poets they have tragedy
in which each line is wrought
I think I’m quite a happy chap
with nae a darkened thought.

real poets all have fancy names
to hang their words upon
or multiple initials
whilst I have just the one.

real poets puff on opium
to let their minds fly free
or seek fairies in the absinthe
I like a cup of tea.

real poets suffer greatly
and have consumption too
death always hangs around them,
hmm, well I did just have the flu.

real poets finish poems
unless they die before
my words tend to fizzle out
when I haven’t any more