Category: Bad Poetry

June 1 Poetry Competition. The Winner

Sorry for the delay, I have been off voyaging for the last week or so and have been a little preoccupied with the weather and the state of the tide, just got back in late last night.

Poetry

I liked all three entries, FEEG’s summer was like many I have  enjoyed here and in the UK, as long as there is food and beer what is a little rain (or even a lot).

It was close run thing between Ara (Maud/Eff) and Janus.   Maud in the garden was also a memory of uncertain summer days in the UK and Maud reminded me of those terrible operatic music sessions that the Beeb used to put out on Sundays.

But this time I will deliver the chalice to Janus whose youthful  summer memories were perfectly crafted (as always) and spot on theme.

So Janus what’s next?  In praise of a recent Royal Occasion or something similar perhaps?

A song for jubilee/olympic year

The English, the English, the English are best I wouldn’t give tuppence for all of the rest.
The rottenest bits of these islands of ours We’ve left in the hands of three unfriendly powers Examine the Irishman, Welshman or Scot You’ll find he’s a stinker, as likely as not.
Och aye, awa’ wi’ yon Edinburgh Festival Continue reading “A song for jubilee/olympic year”

The War of 1812

The nation plans to celebrate the 200th anniversary of the War of 1812, it seems that it has become a cause and has acquired the flavour of significance.

Apart from a couple of good songs and a pretty good flag I don’t see it.

This is my contribution to Mr. Mackie’s Poem contest and I shall post a link there.

Continue reading “The War of 1812”

Only four days left

That is, if you fancy your chances of winning the Chariot’s exciting Easter pome competition (or if you just like messing with words).

There are plenty of targets at which to aim your vitriol, I’m sure – or on which to lavish your praises too. From the Tideway Twerp to Shivnarine Chanderpaul, from Assad to Bubba, from Balotelli to Joseph Aloisius Ratzinger. The very stuff of the classic cinquain.

Backside

Alter ego

Never looks back

Can’t avoid his gaze

Pest

An ‘extra’ reflection or two – poetry comp Feb

Reflection 5

Quite diff’rent from a turning track

That sends both teams awry,

This wicket suits their quicks it seems

But never ours. Dubai. Bye bye.

Reflection 6

That boy said calmly, turning back,

I know this ‘ere’s a galleon;

But please excuse me if I ask:

“Is our Captain an Italian?”