Ad Copy (a nonsense rhyme)

If you can carry a tune
you can play the gahoon
or so the wise men say
though if it’s more you
then try the kazoo
go out and buy one today.

5-7-5 (take two-hundred-and-eighty-one : diary)

I close my journal
I have nothing more to write
the last page was you

the challenge (part one)

Around the world in eighty ways
should keep me busy all my days
to try and think of crossing oceans
using various forms of locomotion

I’ll start I think upon a bike
then perhaps a mountain hike
to find a bobsleigh up a peak
and slide back down into the street

whereupon with little fuss
I jump aboard an omnibus
and at Woodside I’ll find a mule
to ride the ferry to Liverpool

there procure passage on a ship
up the gangplank I will skip
and hold court at the captain’s table
on roller skates if I am able

the cold Atlantic winds I’d brave
off to the new world on the waves
pondering in my easy chair
just what I’ll do when I get there

Naive Poem on Wednesday

how shall I know he is Death?
when my eyes have already dimmed
in presence of that final breath
how can I be sure it’s him?
who holds out his cold hand for mine
and leads me to oblivion’s keep
to extinguish thoughts for the rest of time
in dreamless endless sleep

All The Clocks Are Wrong

between one and two today
sixty minutes ran away
their intent to skip and play
through fields of summer flowers
but they’ll be back in six month’s time
and into all our clocks they’ll climb
if only then to fix this rhyme
and thus restore our hours.

Four Lines Waiting For Four More

what truth in darkness doth unfold
is not burned to ash in morning’s light?
as mysteries our dreams behold
should remain the property of night

5-7-5 (take two-hundred-and-eighty : la petite mort)

ev’ry little death
all those times you murdered me
I died with a smile

Cetacean Station (a nonsense rhyme)

at the whale weigh station
stands a boy called Ethelred
he could have been unready
but is well prepared instead
to deal with obese dolphins
pretending to be whales
who haven’t really got the right
to stand upon his scales.

Notes for a little love song

winter turned
yet still the snow remains
waiting to be washed away
by the scattered April rains
and in my seasons
I can only think of you
and how your kiss
inspires me to everything I do

5-7-5 (take two-hundred-and-seventy-nine : Saeculum obscurum)

is it mankind’s lot
to tolerate the darkness
for enlightenment?