I’ve been thinking about my mum today. She died in 2018 of old age. I was doing the 100 things list where you think about a subject and try to write 100 words or sentences to do with the subject. Repetition is allowed. As you get towards the higher numbers you dig deep into yourContinue reading “A poem for mother.”
World turns. Sun burns. Night comes. But later. Day starts. Light bright. Longer now. Night is late. Spring comes. Nature wakes. Blossom soon. Lighter nights.
Why is there a man dressed in yellow, shouting. Why is he telling me everything he is doing as loudly as he can? I should just click on something to get a change of scene. Maybe a reaction vid or a car crash or a failing man. Yellow fellow claims he is eating a GhostContinue reading “A YouTube poem.”
Inspired by the night time ritual with my children. “A glass of milk, alone, is a splendid treat. A biscuit, solo, tastes oh so sweet. There must have been a time when milk and biscuit were sister and brother because when taken together they complement one another. Just before bed they can help you sleep.”Continue reading “Milk and a biscuit. A poem.”
This is a poem by the Irish comedian Spike Milligan. I first saw it in his book “The Little Pot Boiler”. This poem has always stuck in my mind after first reading it around 1977. Return to Sorrento “I must go down to the sea again; to the lonely sea and the sky; I leftContinue reading “Return to Sorrento. A poem.”
There was a jolly swagman camped by a billabong, under the shade of a coolibah tree. And he sang as he sat as he waited ’til his billy boiled “Who’ll come a waltzing Matilda with me?” The swagman was arrested and they charged him with vagrancy, the loggers chopped down the coolibah tree. And onceContinue reading “The Jolly Swagman. A poem.”
It’s time for your bath baby Joshua. Put you in the tub for a washua. Scrub scrub scrub your little botua. Until you are nice and clean Joshua.
I like to drive my car. I can go fast and I can go far. But I must remember to put fuel in otherwise I stop still until the engine gets its drink.
Please Mrs. Sasquatch tell me why your feet are so big? Please Mrs. Sasquatch tell me where you buy your shoes? Living in the woods you would need a stout walking boot. Or maybe a Wellington up to your knee. Then if you stood on a broken branch or sharp twig. It wouldn’t hurt youContinue reading “Oh Mrs. Sasquatch”
Howdy partner the cowboys said. Six guns, hats and neckerchiefs of red. They rode the range for many a year, moving cows from there to here. Whiskey drinking, God fearing, poker playing men of the West.