Counting Magpies
One for nada,
Two for nowt,
Three for a shrug,
And four for a doubt,
Five for zero,
Six for oh,
Seven for knowing there’s nothing to know.
Counting Magpies
Category: Short Pieces
Part-Time Poet
Part-Time Poet
I’m only a poet on Tuesdays –
For most of the week, it’s ignored.
When all of the rest
Of my life is distressed,
That’s all I can really afford.
I’m only a poet on Tuesdays,
I’m only an artist in brief.
By Wednesday, it’s gone
As the week presses on,
And my words are all buried beneath.
Flexi-Time
Flexi-Time
The time upon a clock is always wrong,
For any two will not concur –
Some dole their endless stock of seconds long,
While others scatter theirs a-blur.
So never trust upon a clock:
’Twill gain a tick but lose a tock.
Childless Genes
Childless Genes
I am the product of four-billion years-worth
Of winners and breeders, and fighters and choosers.
But now they shall wither, extinguished forever –
For billions they flourished, yet still wound up losers.
But hold on, my genes are my sister’s, my brother’s –
They’ll swim through the side streams, these spawny succeeders.
For they are the product of four billion years-worth
Of fighters and choosers, and winners and breeders.
Seismic Sirens
Seismic Sirens
“A senior Iranian cleric says women who wear revealing clothing and behave promiscuously are to blame for earthquakes.”
– Geology Now
It only takes an ankle,
Or the merest hint of wrist,
And oh, calamities abound !
These wenches shock the very ground !
The seething earth they rankle
With each rendezvous and tryst.
It only takes a look or pout
To make the boiling magma spout.
Capital Notion
Capital Notion
They’re funny things, these Proper Nouns,
They’re Folks and Brands and Months and Towns,
And once achieved, each Noun then gives
Us just-as-Proper Adjectives.
Breathless
Breathless
And a great stillness then knew me,
As a lightness of thought did rock me then.
I thought how the Lord had come to me;
Alas, it was but lack of oxygen.
The Battle for Midweek
The Battle For Midweek
What can I say ? He’s just this guy
Who had his dreams, but not the will to make them fly –
And so he settled more and more for less and less, and by-the-by
He never did achieve that very much – he didn’t even try.
Each Word is a Species
Each Word is a Species
Un·in·ter·es·ted – so dictionaries claim
Has meaning specific, restricted by rules;
Dis·in·ter·es·ted – it now means the same
To ev’ryday users of linguistic tools.
So Dis has migrated to Un’s patch of speak;
Is language more poverished ? Meaning dis-hanced ?
Nat’ral selection defavours the weak,
But look how im·par·tial is grabbing its chance.
A Great British Tradition
A Great British Tradition
The banks all held a holiday, with ev’ryone invited:
These pin-striped bowler-hatted gents were thoroughly delighted
To paddle in the briny sea with crowds of day-trip workers,
And hike the green and pleasant hills and join the mansion-lurkers.
They greeted bakers, plumbers, teachers, ev’ryone from ev’ry measure –
Watched the doctors, taxmen, postmen, ev’ryone about their leisure.
’Cept for those, of course, who had no need for such a lazy day,
Because these reckless banker shits had stolen all their jobs away.
Rhyming Couplets 