It’s hard to iron

It’s hard to iron

It’s hard to iron
Without a hand
No not a hand
As in to help,
But hand as in
The five-fingered extension
Of one’s arm

It’s hard to climb
Without a foot
No not the measurement
Of length,
But foot as in
The five-toed extension
Of one’s leg

It’s hard to think
Without a head
No not ahead
As in gaining ground,
But head as in
The single extension
Of one’s body

But harder still
To live and die
No not to live and die as such,
But live and die as in survive
This world, this earth, this time

Childhood dreaming

Childhood dreaming

I wished I was a Persian cat
With long grey fur and amber eyes
I wished I was a greyhound dog
Fast and sleek with coat that shines
I wished I was a jungle lion
Smart and fierce and roaming wild
I could have been all three of these
If I had been a different child

But I was timid as a mouse
Who never dared to venture out
I lived my life inside the house
Fearing gentle words of doubt
It’s too late now when childhood’s past
The mouse is me, the die is cast

Poetically retentive

This is not really my usual sort of poetry, just a bit of fun. I am not good at free verse.

Poetically retentive

With mathematical precision I count every beat
From beginning to end of each line
They must be concise and perfect and true
And every so often must rhyme

No freedom of verse or lyrical waxing
No skipping a meter or two
Iambic, trochaic or even dactylic
I just can’t get away from this view

So give me the sound of a heroic couplet
At the end of a sonnet’s quatrain
And leave out the free in the dreaded ‘free verse’
From such abandon I choose to abstain

This looseness, this freedom, this modern approach
Would make Shakespeare quite turn in his grave
Sestinas and pantoums or even a haiku
Is the poetic challenge I crave

But sometimes I wish I could open the window
And let all the verses run free
Oh, the burden of being so precise all the time
Is boring the hell out of me!


My first poetic blog. Enjoy….. or not.


The hat was pink and floppy with a large, bright pin.
Her hair flowing, flowing forever
Over her loose Indian smock

He was stiff like his hat, 
A stiff black hat with a black band, 
A funeral hat for every day

He hated her hat, 
Her pink floppy hat,
He loved her without the hat,
The pink floppy hat

She wished he would take off the stiff black hat.
Did he wear it in bed? In the bath?
She could love him without the hat, 
The stiff black hat

She went to the river,
Flowing, flowing forever, 
And threw in the hat,
The pink floppy hat

He went to the cliffs,
The high black cliffs and jumped…