Showing posts from June, 2022

Poems for Covid 3

Still no sympathy!
I couldn't believe it.
I coated my cat in coughs.
Deployed him to the neighbourhood

Poems for Covid 2

They've all forgotten to care.
I'm a mere inconvenience.
I should have done this during the early days.
The glorious times.
The times of sympathy.

Poems for Covid 1

I felt like the only person on Earth who hadn't had the pleasure of housing Covid.
I scooped up a fistful and dumped the dose directly in my mouth.
Formed a line with some leftovers and snorted that too.
I was all in.


I gave Kenneth a pat on the arse.
"Let's blow this joint, Kenneth"
I said to Kenneth.
Kenneth carried me on his shoulders.
We looked mighty.

Creative Mind

I attempt to be more creative.
Use bigger words.
I remove my hair,
Give the brain room to breathe.
But then I decide I don't want to do that.
Thank you.


Dice roll
The game is afoot.
A vixen
Wendy watches
From a nearby tree.
Occupants unaware.

Upside Down

A very sad man
Started walking on his hands
So that people might think he was happy
I expect


Dan Flannel bought a shirt.
A nice little cotton number.
He stitched that on the back and made out he was a professional footballer.

The Big Strike

The government appeared on TV.
They encouraged the country's entire workforce to go on strike at the same time.
This plan would hopefully get it out of their system and minimise disruption,
A vile little journalist who dared ask questions was told.
Staff could be seen in the background,
Shuffling around bottles of wine,
Loading doylies with cake.

Man Who Ate Things

Ikea Shelving was always forgetting his phone.
To solve this he ate it.
But then he couldn't figure it how to charge the damn thing.
So he ate a changer.
Of course this meant he couldn't plug it in.
So he ate a socket.
This continued for quite some time,
Eventually culminating in him eating his house and the local power cables.

The Hungry Cat

Fat cat went on a diet.
Became known as thin cat.
Ate the family's pet bird to celebrate.


A woman who goes by the name Jill Watford,
Made her way to a bakery.
On arrival she bought some bread.
By the time she got home,
Somehow owing to the exceedingly hot weather, you see,
The bread had turned to toast.


I was handed the perfect stone.
I looked out across the flat sea.
What if I failed?
My fears swelled.
I did stretches to ease the tension.
Warmed up the old throwing arm.
Cocked it back.
And away!
The rock flew from my grip.
Repelled by the water.
A bounce!
A bounce!
A bounce!
A bounce!
"Yes," I cried, "I am worthy!"


I squeezed into a train with the rest of the city dwellers.
It dragged us sardines to Brighton.
I grabbed chips and hurled myself towards the sea.
The so called beach hurt my toes.
I collapsed and baked in the sun.
Waves would have crashed against the shore.
But there were no waves.
Steven helped himself to the chips.

Pick & Mix

Sweets called to me.
I picked and mixed.
Mined for them like gold.
£50 later I was content.
I could live happily for 10 minutes.


Malcolm spent his days posing by Shakespeare.
Hair swept back,
Jacket fluttering in the wind,
Leg cocked,
Shades on,
One hand on his knee,
Another in his pocket.
By night he'd scurry home.
Scan the internet for new pictures.

The Door

Five tall men,
Walked beneath a low hanging doorway.
Four hit their heads.
The fifth noticed this.
Went along with it anyway.

Friendship Vote

We held votes to determine how many friends we had.
Things went downhill fast.
No one escaped a few negatives.
I stared angrily at Roy.
I knew that guy couldn't be trusted.
He wouldn't even make eye contact with me.

End Times

The royal sausage rolls were turning rancid.
Steve couldn't bloody believe it.
All of that time and money sourcing royal intestines and the queen didn't even bother to show up for a tasting.
Hell, she'd barely even been on the bloody TV.
Steve was this close to folding up the bunting in disgrace.

The Big Party

One of her subjects was failing to celebrate.
The Queen could sense it.
Her guards were deployed.
Soon some poor little hermit heard rattling on his door.
They burst in, wind rushing through their silly fur hats.
They grabbed his office chair and launched him out from the sixth floor window.
Bunting snagged his limbs as he tumbled to the flag ridden street below.
Upon reaching his destination he looked a sight more patriotic.
Party fossils creaked over.
Applauded the new look.
Children danced around him.