The net is a world wide web wonder
Where many fine stories are born
Not to mention the sparks of ideas
In amongst all the HD-shot porn
Imagine you’ve landed on Saturn
Prompts a site with a sciencey slant
Your oxygen’s low, and your heart rate is slow
and your co-pilot’s cat is your aunt
I can’t write today
The keyboard is dirty and
Needs a proper clean
I can’t write today
The bed isn’t made and looks
Three quick moments of inspiration. I hope you enjoy them.
Gold – for my parents who celebrated fifty years of marriage over the weekend
Silver – because…well silver’s just lovely
Bronze – for a friend I lost a quarter of a century ago
My cat just brought me a gooseberry
There must be a reason I guess
His switch to fruitarian is news to me
But it’s a change from the rats I confess
His penchant for moles has been certain
Or at least for a while I was sure
But does this now bring down the curtain
On his chapter of swift vermin cure?
I spy with my little eye something beginning with…
How’s that going to work? You’re stuck in traffic all alone, dimwit. You need at least one additional person for a satisfactory game of I-Spy. Preferably someone older than two unless you want another round of I spy with my little eye something beginning with…tree. At least five year olds make it interesting by spying things you can’t actually see.
“No dad! You can’t see chlorine when we’re swimming.”
I’d very much like an idea
A nugget of wisdom or gold
Two blokes on a train?
Two frogs in a drain?
Or a mystical vision foretold?
I really would like an idea
Something meaty on which I could chew
In a literary sense
As I mean no offense
To those with a veganist view
A little bit of Christmas fun from two years ago. There might be a sequel this year, you never know…
Up on the mountain near Woodstock’s dark cave
A few jumps to the left if you’re young and you’re brave
Is a lesser known place, a less obvious space
Where the odd buck or goat disappears without trace
Inside is a creature who’d give you a fright
His body is red and his eyes black as night
His snout shoots out smoke…
…and his roar is no joke
He’s Dai the Red Dragon (well known to Welsh folk)
In three weeks time it will be Christmas day.
This means I have twenty-one days to summon up some Christmas cheer and get into the spirit of things.
It’s a tough ask.
Perhaps I should use my first faltering step into the not-covered-by-haiku world of poetry to highlight the particular Christmas issue I face.
Ladies and gentleman, may I present Santa: A Cinquain.
Acid filled raindrops and ears grown on kittens
Bright copper rivers and fingerless mittens
Suspect brown packages tied up with string
These are my favourite dystopian things
Oh my gorgeous girl
Sleep sound while I fret and dread
Your first broken heart