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

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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