These words are the property of clever people. I'm just trying to put them in order.

Month: April, 2017

A cup of tea

A cup of tea is a hazard,

It could spill on your leg and burn,

But it’s redeeming qualities are endless,

If you drink then you will learn


Saturday fight night

Saturday night,

And they’re out for a fight,

They’ve been drinking for hours,

So none are that bright,

They’ve ideas in their brains,

But no bulbs do they light,

What they would call left,

Is definitely not right,

So how will we know,

Just who wins the fight?


When things are up in limbo,

It’s like trying to guess the bingo,

We could sit here and try,

Or live life on the fly,

And let the wind just guide your wingos.

Each day

Each day we have is special,

It’s a box to open and explore,

Look inside,

To find a surprise,

And then wait to open more.

Not knowing

When there’s nothing to do but wait,

You can work yourself into a state,

As the time goes by,

You wish it would fly,

But clumsily along it skates.

All of a sudden

All of a sudden,

Many things can change,

Your left feeling upside down,

And you need to rearrange,

All the things you had,

Have fallen to the floor,

So now it’s time to look and see,

Just what you value more.


‘I’m falling apart!’

Yelled the castle,

As its bricks went tumbling down,

Then one by one,

With their water guns,

The children shot their sand-based construction right down.

Spelling be. 

Yacht is not yacked,

It’s a word that’s been hacked,

With some letters that just just don’t make sense.

But spelling is crude, which rhymes with food,

Perhaps not us, but the dictionary’s dense. 

Language is great, but it’s easy to hate,

When the rules are so hard to follow,

I feel for those learning,

A language that’s churning, 

Out more words each year to swallow. 

The abundance of words,

Whose spelling’s absurd,

Bizarre when you hear them spoken,

If thought faught what’s brought,

Whilst drinking some port,

It might decide that some words are just broken.

Thought puddle

Every day, the page looks different,

Sometimes ideas swim beneath the page,

I hook them out,

With a pencil, and shout,

‘Run free and be gone from your cage!’

Throat frog.

There’s a frog in my throat,

It’s hopping about,

And making me creak like a door,

But he says that he’s not moving out,

So I’ll have to just eat more.