Astonished, astounded
Surprised and quite shocked
My faith in humanity
Shaken and rocked!
You oughtn’t have done it
You really should not.
It’s really quite dreadful
And won’t be forgot!
Astonished, confounded
Confused and bemused
Who’d have expected
That you’d hold such views?!
It’s really surprising
I’m taking it hard
Just so astonished
You’ve caught me off guard.
via Astonish
A response to the Daily Prompt
Runners run cos they love to run;
And feel the wind on their legs.
Joggers run cos they like cake
And need to lose some weight.
Runners get slim so they can run
They think that running’s fun.
Joggers run to make them thin
They think that running’s grim.
Dear Harry and Meghan
I hear she’s let you down.
The proper Poet Laureate
Hasn’t done a poem.
I hope you know I offered
I’d love to write for you
It won’t be nothing fancy
But I’ll see what I can do.
I’ll try to get it rhyming
Proper poetry
There will be some advantage
Of having one from me.
Wouldn’t it be lovely
If others wrote one too.
We’ll shower you both
With poetry. It will be beautiful.
Send links to your Royal Wedding poems. I’ll reblog them on Andrew Green’s Poems.
Not another tantrum
A viscous show of pique
Hate it when you show us
Your mean and viscous streak.
Spare us all your temper
Things flung across the room
Whatever has provoked it
It’s you ends in the wrong.
Spare us all your tantrum
Your viscous hissy fit
Control your wicked temper
Just calm down a bit.
via Tantrum
I work part time these days and don’t earn a lot from poetry so a little extra income would be welcome. I live very near Windsor Castle, Her Majesty’s weekend home so would be up for the Poet Laureate job if they would have me. I wrote to the Queen a while back but haven’t had a reply yet. Hope there’ll be one soon. This was my letter.
Dear Queen Elizabeth,
Just a note to say
When next you need a Laureate,
Please consider me.
I write a lot of poetry
So how hard can it be?
In terms of productivity
You could do worse than me.
I’d mark the big occasions
And mark each special day.
Be it births, or deaths,
Or marriages; the special jubilees.
Providing something rhymes with it
You’ll be OK with me.
The better poets turn it down
Get up themselves and sniffy.
I’ll just…
View original post 98 more words
Well I offered to be Poet Laureate often enough but they never took me up! Now the inevitable has happened Carol Ann Duffy hasn’t come up with a poem. Seems they’re throwing it open to us amateurs so here’s my big chance, maybe yours?
From today’s Sunday Times.
Your chance to be the royal bard
The silence of Britain’s poet laureate should not discourage readers of The Sunday Times from offering their own tribute to Prince Harry and Meghan Markle.
We invite you to submit your verse to be considered for publication on the day after the wedding which is being held on May 19.
The first poet laureate, John Dryden, was recompensed for his role with a yearly pension of £200 and “a butt of Canary wine”. All we can promise our winning entrant is the glory of appearing in The Sunday Times, subject to the editor’s decision.
Poems may rhyme or not; they may be long or short. Our only request is that they reach us by Tuesday, May 15.
Please send them to royalpoems@sunday-times.co.uk or by post to Royal Poems Competition, The Sunday Times, 1 London Bridge Street, London SE1 9GF.
You’ll have heard about the wedding
For us there’s no getting away
For weeks the bunting’s been flying
The flags are flapping away.
There’s commonwealth, there’s horses
The usual Windsor displays.
But the real big one to pull them all in
Will be the wedding day.
Some hiring out their houses
Some have people to stay
It’ll be a historic occasion
Whatever else you say.
We know about road closures
And where to see the bride
Where they’ll put the big screens
The route to stand beside.
The whole things on our door step.
We’ll kind of get sucked in.
I’m supposed to write a poem for it
So guess I better begin.
A rivulet of sweat
Ran down the author’s brow
Had to write a poem
But wasn’t sure just how.
The sweat trickled down his forehead
The sweat trickled off his nose
Where would he find a poem?
Heaven only knows!
The sweat gathered in a puddle
It gathered on the floor
He found his inspiration was
Not stuck any more.
By the sweat of his brow
He found it, found a new idea
When inspiration’s needed
You’ll often find it near.
Via Rivulet
God bless the child, they’ve called him Louis.
It’s tough to rhyme; we can’t do ‘gooey’.
We have to try, he’s fifth in line;
The Poet Laureate’s pushed for time.
So here’s a short and simple verse
To celebrate the new Royal birth.
Three cheers, hip, hip; hip, hip hurray
A baby born St. George’s Day.
He shares his birthday with the bard
We’ll write a poem though it’s hard.
Hurray, hurray another Prince
We don’t mind his name sounds French.
He’s a notable exception
The one who proves the rule
Brighter than the rest of us
He didn’t suffer fools.
Extraordinary, gifted,
He really made his mark.
He’d not so much communicate
As issue orders, bark.
A notable exception
His brain set him apart
But he alienated all of us
Which wasn’t quite so smart.
Notable, exceptional
But really in the end
The thing that really marked him out;
His total lack of friends.
via Notable
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