Archive for the ‘My Poetry’ Category

Cats

Posted: April 30, 2015 in My Poetry
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  NaPoWriMo day thirty. NaPoWriMo  2015 has come to an end and here’s my final poem. As I enjoyed writing my poem about dogs I thought I’d also do one about their nemesis. This one’s called Cats. Bye bye NaPoWriMo. Until next year…

Cats 

Cats are devils in disguise.

They draw you in with big cat eyes.

They rub against you with their fur

and mesmerise you with their purr,

pretend to be your bestest friend

all to meet their evil end.

You think that it’s only you

they do all this stuff to,

then one day you meet

someone living in your street

who calls Kitty by another name

feeds and pets them just the same,

sits and strokes their silky fur

whilst listening to their gentle purr.

  NaPoWriMo day twenty nine. One more day to go. I have recently started a new book on how to form good habits, not exactly a literary classic I know but the subject interests me. Anyway, it prompted me to write today’s poem – well that and the fact that I have  wanted to write something with the phrase Moral Turpitude in it ever since seeing Beulah Balbricker accuse Ms Honeywell of it in the 1980’s film Porky’s. A terrible film I know but it made me laugh at the time. For the uninitiated, Ms Honeywell was played by Kim Cattrall. The poem is called Habit Forming Theory…

Habit Forming Theory

First,

get into the habit

of having a habit.

Second,

if the habit

is a bad habit,

stop the habit

and get a new habit. (more…)

  NaPoWriMo day twenty eight. After yesterday’s frivolity poem number twenty eight is much more sober and was inspired by Anzac day, the centenary of which took place on 25th April.

Gallipoli

Sunlight dances on bleached beaches.

We remember a time

when men were killed in their pursuit,

when penned in small coves they fell

over fallen comrades like sacrificial lambs.

Crowds bow their heads

shedding tears for their forebears,

disconnected lines on the family tree;

branches cut before flowering.

Young men, straight and tall

mark the passing of those lives against their own

and thank some unknown presence,

call it God, call it luck,

that they were not here a hundred years ago

  NaPoWriMo day twenty seven. For poem number twenty seven I have gone with today’s NaPoWriMo suggested prompt to write a hay(na)ku. The hay(na)ku is, apparently, a variant on the haiku. To quote NaPoWriMo “A hay(na)ku consists of a three-line stanza, where the first line has one word, the second line has two words, and the third line has three words. You can write just one, or chain several together into a longer poem” so here’s my take on it. This poem’s called Going Out.

Going Out

Soak

in bath,

shave legs smooth.

 

Clean

teeth, cream

face and body. (more…)

  NaPoWriMo day twenty six. Poem number twenty six is called Cracking Up…

Multi tasking’s

not working for me.

Too much to do

too little time to do it.

Waking in the night

with a thousand things

running through my head.

Lying there thinking

don’t think,

don’t think,

don’t think.

It will come to no good

if you keep thinking

about the things you

shouldn’t be thinking about.

Losing my grip on reality,

obsessed with minutiae

of ridiculous proportions.

Think I’m going crazy,

cracking up,

cracking up.

Yeah, I’m cracking up.

 

  NaPoWriMo day twenty five. Poem number twenty five is a Black Country/ Brummie version of poem number 24, it’s called New Babby. For my readers and followers outside of the UK, a Brummie is someone who comes from Birmingham and the Black Country is an area to the North West of Birmingham so called because it was once very heavily industrialised. We have very similar and unique dialects. Here it is, enjoy…

New Babby

Our Cheryl’s ‘ad a babby

A right bugger ‘e is too

‘e screams day and night

until ‘is face is big and blue.

Our Dad went up the wall

said he’d throw her out

when she sat ‘im down and told ‘im

that she was up the spout.

The lad who was responsible

legged it the same day

so Dad was left with Cheryl

and a babby on the way.

Still now that he’s born

we’ve grown to like the little sprog

Cheryl’s called ‘im Tyson

after Dad’s favourite dog.

  NaPoWriMo day twenty five. Here is poem number twenty four, it’s called New Baby…

Once they were a couple

who stayed out late and drank in bars

when the mood took them.

Once they slept late and whiled away weekends

pursuing hobbies that gave them pleasure enough.

Now they are parents.

Late nights are the time for feeding

and listening out for snuffles and tears.

Mornings are early and pleasure comes in the shape

of a small bundle lying helpless in their arms.

They talk of those days of couple-dom with fondness.

Yes it was fun but this, this is real

Once they were a couple,

now they are a family.