Paws for a while

Sunday morn lie in
Bored puppies ate cardboard box
“Get up, Mum and Dad!”

Release of the hounds
Eight paws pounce and faces licked
Trampolining fun

“Get up, Mum and Dad!
There’s a shredded box to clear
and we need walkies.”


Squeeze Me, Please

It’s amusing to muse
as the poetry flows
Appealing to peal
as I ring out my prose
Enchanting to chant
as the mantras I call
Alluding to lewd
as inhibitions fall
Amazing to maze
sometimes twisting and turning
Licensing senses
as I feel the yearning
To riddle or rid
the thoughts tumbling round
Playing with wordplay
as feet leave the ground

Grateful for Grae
(although he’s absurd)
Appreciate his precious
encouraging word
Shower him, to show
for a special birthday
I present this present
and whisk him away
to a castle to cast
away all of his stress
Swearing to wear
my sexiest dress
Squeezing closer to Squeeze
on an Atlantic shore
with a doggerel dog
and another one who is rather scruffy and eats poo,
but who we adore nonetheless.

Happy (early) Birthday!

Let’s get this road trip on the road.

Passion Killers

Tonight, you’re mine completely
Apart from the puppies and cat
But there’s nought I can do about that
I’d kiss you passionately
But I’ve just seen the dogs lick you on the lips
And no doubt you saw them do the same to me
Just after tea
Don’t worry, it was kinda funny
And I kept my mouth closed
Here comes kitty
She’s just been scratching in her litter
and now she’s on your lap
All good; no mishap
Sweetheart, tonight you’re mine completely
What flavour bubble bath?

Shooting Star (Haiku series)

Descent from darkness
To the pits of true despair
She breathes in the flames

Further still, she falls
Past the hellish gatekeeper
To the ebony void

Event horizon
Universe in collision
Spins out of control

Mind becomes devoid
At the point of no return
Needs no time, nor space

Twirling faster still
She traverses the wormhole
As the light beckons

Gathering her thoughts
A shooting star emission
She is born again

The First

Herewith, a sonnet my aim is to write
To fill his heart with joy and love to keep
Instead of laying by his side this night
While he, with gentle snoring, falls asleep

Perhaps this is the only way to reach
His mind, his heart, his soul, his flirty wink
For others find a way his words to leech
His blood-like ink upon their page to drink

A picture tells a thousand words, ’tis said
Yet I a challenge make to this cliche
With pictures, ne’er an agile mind is fed
Only with odes to breathe in deep he’ll play

Heed well these words if you would wish to be
The one for whom the first love’s poetry

Bonkers! SlamComp Poetry Competition


Write a poem with ‘I think the world is going bonkers today’ as the first line and maybe also as a refrain – you know that it has to be done!

I think the world is going bonkers today
Throwing a wobbly, spinning in its grave
Screaming, “Stop me, I want to get off!”
Whilst holding itself aloft – in space

Aloft in the space in the loft in space
Just above the cosmic master bedroom
Stops to start to stare at the space below the stairs
Which holds the loft aloft

Streaks straight down the banister
Airlifts up the stairlift till it’s lost in the loft in space
Stares at the stars who laugh as the stairs
Start to strain systematically

There’s a weight on the world
Driving a wedge under the door of the cosmic master bedroom
Just below the loft in space
I think the world is going bonkers today
Lost and spaced

Girlfriends on holiday eat supper with the polizia


Great title for a poem, don’t you think?

I was accredited with winning second place in the Andover Poetry Competition with this poem today! Yay! It was a front page announcement! Yay!

Oh! Hang on… I didn’t enter the Andover Poetry Competition. How can this be?

I did what anybody else whose other half is a poet would do… blamed him for entering one of his own poems in my name; it’s just the kind of title he’d give to a poem, and just the kind of thing he’d do! Had he actually done this, he would have scored a hat-trick, as two of his poems won first and third places.

The website said that the winning poems are to be recited at the acceptance night this Thursday. What was I to do with only two days to go? Well, I wrote a poem called ‘Girlfriends on holiday eat supper with the polizia’ in my lunch hour, of course. There’s nothing like a tight deadline!

The actual winner is a friend of mine. I’ve emailed her my poem in the hope that she’ll be happy for me to recite it in the open mic section on Thursday.

Congratulations to Graeme Sandford, my gorgeous soon-to-be-published poet partner, and the beautiful Sandra Gordon, whose poem title inspired this…

Girlfriends on holiday eat supper with the polizia

Men in uniform are a weakness of mine
Street corner hooker, bursting with red wine
Tuscan Chianti kisses*, a wink of an eye
Are sent their way; one thing I’m not is shy

Hunger in their loins, I see them looking
Draped around a lamp post, they see me hooking
They laugh, thinking I’m just a drunken tourist
Legs akimbo and my manner boorish

Comrades-in-arms walking down the street
Swaying gently, with no shoes on their feet
Holding themselves up as they holler, “Felizia!
We’re going to have supper with the hunky polizia”

I undrape myself and join the girlfriend conga
Free supper is relief, as we’ve run out of wonga
They’ve hunger in their loins, but I’ve hunger in my belly
And I crave for seeded crackers and some hot pepper jelly

I get antipasti bunny in a curried stew
Bruschetta, mozzarella; that’s Welsh rarebit to you
Pizza Margherita – Margherita? Now you’re talkin’!
This sure beats the streets and the barefoot walkin’

Spaghetti, amoretti – arrows courtesy of cupid
We’re filling up fast, this is getting kinda stupid
Feast of seven fishes with linguine in clam sauce
I don’t think it’s on the menu, but I’m eating like-a da horse

I am sated, I am slumped, I can scoff no mo
Until I’m handed an espresso and some gelato
I’m sobering up now, feel my senses returning
Look around me, feel my face and my heart start burning

A few weeks on, no longer Brit abroad
I’m munching on salami, ‘cause I’m feeling bored
So I start to book again, when my girlfriends shout, “Felizia!
We can’t go back to Italy, remember the polizia!”

I don’t.

*Tuscan Chianti kisses – If this looks familiar, it’s because it’s the second time I’ve used it this week; see recent haiku 🙂