Poem of 2024
Table Tennis
ping
pong
ping
pong
ping
pong
ping
pong
ping
pong
ping
pong ping
pong
ping
pong
ping
pong
ping
pong
ping
pong
ping
pong
ping
pong
ping
pong
ping
pong
ping
pong
ping
pong
ping
🏆
https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=Z8V5GfFeUDs&pp=ygUOcGluZyBwb25nIHNvbmc%3D
🙃🏆🙃
ping
pong
ping
pong
ping
pong
ping
pong
ping
pong
ping
pong ping
pong
ping
pong
ping
pong
ping
pong
ping
pong
ping
pong
ping
pong
ping
pong
ping
pong
ping
pong
ping
pong
ping
🏆
https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=Z8V5GfFeUDs&pp=ygUOcGluZyBwb25nIHNvbmc%3D
🙃🏆🙃
Got The Bastard!
I pack my poet's compass in my bag
and travel off to hunt a poem out.
It will be difficult, I have no doubt.
They hide, don't sit on hillsides with a flag;
they scuttle sideways, like a shelly crab,
and could be anywhere on land or sea,
in anybody, any galaxy,
elusive like the Scarlet Pimpernel.
I seek one here, I seek one there. It's hell!
But then I find I've caught one. Suddenly.
📝🙃
I pack my poet's compass in my bag
and travel off to hunt a poem out.
It will be difficult, I have no doubt.
They hide, don't sit on hillsides with a flag;
they scuttle sideways, like a shelly crab,
and could be anywhere on land or sea,
in anybody, any galaxy,
elusive like the Scarlet Pimpernel.
I seek one here, I seek one there. It's hell!
But then I find I've caught one. Suddenly.
📝🙃
Today
my day started well enough today
headaches gone and I could see
the calendar on the wall clearly
I sat up thought I would have tea
I put in the bread on the toaster
flicked my coffee table with a duster
toaster popped and out flew
my toasted bread to the floor
debating on the five seconds norm
to pick or not to pick
and pick I did, bread still warm
spread with marmalade and ate
it did taste a little minty
with a hint of socks lint
so I had biscuits from a tin
and threw the bread into the bin
my day started well enough today
headaches gone and I could see
the calendar on the wall clearly
I sat up thought I would have tea
I put in the bread on the toaster
flicked my coffee table with a duster
toaster popped and out flew
my toasted bread to the floor
debating on the five seconds norm
to pick or not to pick
and pick I did, bread still warm
spread with marmalade and ate
it did taste a little minty
with a hint of socks lint
so I had biscuits from a tin
and threw the bread into the bin
Undefined
I hold a pencil in my hand
and wait for all the words to flow,
but I tonight don’t understand
just why ideas fail to grow.
A shadow flits across my mind,
intrusive, causing writer's block,
a nagging niggle, undefined,
that makes of poetry a mock.
To leave it there or dig it out?
I can't decide which course to take.
Eventually, there'll be no doubt.
I let it be and let it ache.
📝
I hold a pencil in my hand
and wait for all the words to flow,
but I tonight don’t understand
just why ideas fail to grow.
A shadow flits across my mind,
intrusive, causing writer's block,
a nagging niggle, undefined,
that makes of poetry a mock.
To leave it there or dig it out?
I can't decide which course to take.
Eventually, there'll be no doubt.
I let it be and let it ache.
📝
Rosie Lee
I ask myself: ‘Wherever would I be
without my lovely darling, Rosie Lee?’
This little poem would undoubtedly
get stuck and never form, not come to see
the shining light of day upon the page,
that whitest space which is the poem’s stage,
would never with an audience engage,
remaining trapped within its mental cage,
still screaming, screaming, screaming to be born,
but unfulfilled, frustrated and forlorn
forever after it would stay, to mourn
the life it never had, tired sad and worn.
But thankfully I have my Rosie Lee
and she's inspired the poem's words in me.
☕🙃☕
I ask myself: ‘Wherever would I be
without my lovely darling, Rosie Lee?’
This little poem would undoubtedly
get stuck and never form, not come to see
the shining light of day upon the page,
that whitest space which is the poem’s stage,
would never with an audience engage,
remaining trapped within its mental cage,
still screaming, screaming, screaming to be born,
but unfulfilled, frustrated and forlorn
forever after it would stay, to mourn
the life it never had, tired sad and worn.
But thankfully I have my Rosie Lee
and she's inspired the poem's words in me.
☕🙃☕
Surely
Surely the bug lives in the garden
surely at night it does not creep
surely it's bug eyes does not sleep
I'm left wondering if it weeps
Surely it smells of bug perfume
surely it farts on petals of blooms
surely it doesn't land on balloons
I'm left thinking if it ever groom
Surely it's colours glow in the sun
surely the shadows gives it shade
surely it likes flying freely around
I'm left thinking if it's likes bread
I think I will have my tea now
the bug just flew out the window
☕🐞🫖
Surely the bug lives in the garden
surely at night it does not creep
surely it's bug eyes does not sleep
I'm left wondering if it weeps
Surely it smells of bug perfume
surely it farts on petals of blooms
surely it doesn't land on balloons
I'm left thinking if it ever groom
Surely it's colours glow in the sun
surely the shadows gives it shade
surely it likes flying freely around
I'm left thinking if it's likes bread
I think I will have my tea now
the bug just flew out the window
☕🐞🫖
Tea Time☕
Old Mother Hubbard👵
went to the cupboard
to get her poor doggy🐕 a bone🦴
but when she got there
the cupboard was bare,
so poor little doggy🐕 had none.☹️
‘Well, I'll be buggered!’😠
thought old Mother Hubbard,👵
‘We seem to have ran out of food!’
She picked up a knife,👵🔪
dog ran for its life,🔪🐕
not wanting to end up stewed.🍲🐕
Around and around
with a leap and a bound
Ma Hubbard chased after the mutt,👵🔪🐕
but doggy was faster⚡🐕⚡
averting disaster😬
of having its doggy throat cut,🔪🐕🩸
and then, with a bark,🐕
it thought, ‘F*ck this for a lark!’🐕
and got its arse right out the door,🚪
then ran down the street,🛣️
on quick-moving feet,🐕🐾🐾⚡
and never was seen no more.❓
🙃🐕🙃
Old Mother Hubbard👵
went to the cupboard
to get her poor doggy🐕 a bone🦴
but when she got there
the cupboard was bare,
so poor little doggy🐕 had none.☹️
‘Well, I'll be buggered!’😠
thought old Mother Hubbard,👵
‘We seem to have ran out of food!’
She picked up a knife,👵🔪
dog ran for its life,🔪🐕
not wanting to end up stewed.🍲🐕
Around and around
with a leap and a bound
Ma Hubbard chased after the mutt,👵🔪🐕
but doggy was faster⚡🐕⚡
averting disaster😬
of having its doggy throat cut,🔪🐕🩸
and then, with a bark,🐕
it thought, ‘F*ck this for a lark!’🐕
and got its arse right out the door,🚪
then ran down the street,🛣️
on quick-moving feet,🐕🐾🐾⚡
and never was seen no more.❓
🙃🐕🙃
Peanuts
I bought a jar of peanut butter
why is the bottle so tight
why does it makes me bitter
denying me its crunchy delight
why do they spread on bread with salty embrace
why do they leave that sweet aftertaste
why do they give such pleasant cheer
who invented peanut butter
why do they get paired with jelly
why only jelly and not chocolate drip
or marzipan or smidges of pork belly
maybe be a little minty chocolate chips
I bought a jar of peanut butter
why is the bottle so tight
why does it makes me bitter
denying me its crunchy delight
why do they spread on bread with salty embrace
why do they leave that sweet aftertaste
why do they give such pleasant cheer
who invented peanut butter
why do they get paired with jelly
why only jelly and not chocolate drip
or marzipan or smidges of pork belly
maybe be a little minty chocolate chips
Eventually
My Muse has gone to sleep it seems,
just like I surely should,
and she is having pleasant dreams,
I only wish I could,
but now I have my rhyme to write,
and I must work alone,
to struggle through the lonely night,
each word like blood from stone.
I see them drip upon the page,
I have to wring them out,
this rhyme will take a f*cking age,
of that I have no doubt ...
... then when a hundred years have passed
I see the rising sun
and I can go to bed at last,
for now my rhyme is done.
☀️📝
My Muse has gone to sleep it seems,
just like I surely should,
and she is having pleasant dreams,
I only wish I could,
but now I have my rhyme to write,
and I must work alone,
to struggle through the lonely night,
each word like blood from stone.
I see them drip upon the page,
I have to wring them out,
this rhyme will take a f*cking age,
of that I have no doubt ...
... then when a hundred years have passed
I see the rising sun
and I can go to bed at last,
for now my rhyme is done.
☀️📝
I ♥️ A Ballad
A simple form will do tonight
to get me to the end
of fifty words I have to write:
the ballad form's my friend.
It's rhythm comes so easily
it takes no work at all,
and if I'm rhyming cheesily
the cheese I hope is small
and doesn't stink so very much
you have to hold your nose
because I've lost my writer's touch –
we all do, I suppose –
but Keats and Shelley battled on
when words had ran away
and though tonight my words have gone
my poem's done today.
📝
A simple form will do tonight
to get me to the end
of fifty words I have to write:
the ballad form's my friend.
It's rhythm comes so easily
it takes no work at all,
and if I'm rhyming cheesily
the cheese I hope is small
and doesn't stink so very much
you have to hold your nose
because I've lost my writer's touch –
we all do, I suppose –
but Keats and Shelley battled on
when words had ran away
and though tonight my words have gone
my poem's done today.
📝
A Muse
I am not amused I said
to the worm peeping out
its eyes flat on its head
a couple of hair on its snout
my mango all bruised and tender
with a trail of grainy poo
led by the little intruder
who lost its way to the loo
A Muse it was i wasn't amused
worms in my fruits
all squished together, bruised
I think I will look for the nuts
I am not amused I said
to the worm peeping out
its eyes flat on its head
a couple of hair on its snout
my mango all bruised and tender
with a trail of grainy poo
led by the little intruder
who lost its way to the loo
A Muse it was i wasn't amused
worms in my fruits
all squished together, bruised
I think I will look for the nuts
Who's Walking Whom, Here?
The Hound and I have walked a million miles,
it sometimes seems –my feet are all worn out! –
but can I keep this milage up? I doubt
that very much, but all the painful trials
are worth it for the million laughs and smiles
we have while tramping by the wave-tossed sea,
no fences facing us as feeling happyfree
we wander where our feet should roam
until we turn our weary steps for home.
I sometimes think the Hound is walking me.
🙃🐕
Nimbus
the nimbus swells
in the grey sky
as if there magic dwells
just passing softly by
nimbus gathers for a clap
a few white showers
like a nature's trap
held tightly in the snow
I drifted into sleep
imagining the cold white powder
covering me closely and deep
in a wistful dream under tropical sky
the nimbus swells
in the grey sky
as if there magic dwells
just passing softly by
nimbus gathers for a clap
a few white showers
like a nature's trap
held tightly in the snow
I drifted into sleep
imagining the cold white powder
covering me closely and deep
in a wistful dream under tropical sky
Shelly's Method
This poem is a Shelly Snail
that bears its house upon its back,
so when sometimes it feels the lack
of inspiration then it stops its tale.
It goes inside its house instead
and makes itself a cup of tea
and drinks it up. Then presently
the Muse returns inside its head
so snailing on it makes its way
and though it moves at snailing pace
it knows that it will win the race
again – my poem's done! Hooray!
🐌
