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Archive for the ‘Poetry’ Category

Some of my readers may remember the Ballad of Brave Monty Mouse from the early days of My Telegraph. For those of you who are unfamiliar with this small rodent, well done! But he does amuse small children and even some of their parents,  so thank you, Monty for being the inspiration for this story.

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Aloft at night, and on the prowl,
Softly glides this wise old owl.
The mice stay quivering in the corn,
How can they feed before the dawn?

A brilliant Harvest moon shone bright over fields of ripening grains waiting to be safely gathered in. To the small harvest mice, their small tummies distended with the results of their foraging, replete and snug in their nest, it was also a time of danger. But not tonight. They sensed the faint whisper of wings as the owl glided low over the ripe grains but with such a bountiful harvest they did not need to feed just yet. They slept contented but only Monty, their brave leader, contemplated the dangers ahead.

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Dasher Daschshund grew quite barmy,
he fell in love with a salami.
He knew that fickle, wondrous fate
Had brought his aromatic mate.

But months of unrequited lust,
turned little Dasher’s heart to dust.
He found he couldn’t go on living,
a life so harsh and unforgiving …

and with a whine of deep despair,
he turned his toes into the air.
(Luckily, his doggy basket
doubled as a funeral casket).

Awash with grief, his owner cried,
“Mein liebling hund has sadly died!
I’ll never own a pet agin”,
but aus den augen aus dem sinn.

The owner liked his new-found pet,
Who didn’t eat, or need a vet,
and found a sausage quite the thing
to take for walkies on a string.

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DogDaze

Rex, my gorgeous Dogstar,
with your beaut Aristo nose,
I saw you running fast and far
on your charming hirsute toes.
Oh Rex, I dream of you and me,
in heat and wondrous harmony,
making canine whoopee.

Arachattack

I like your spindly little legs
and your nervous courtship dance,
but my nature doesn’t make me beg
for your coy, admiring glance.
And when the whoopee’s over (sigh),
I cannot tell a silken lie,
it’s you, my dear, who’s going to die.

BorderHollie

I’m glossy, prickly, by a fence,
all dressed in Lincoln green.
My wish for berries is intense,
but none for years I’ve seen.
But then (hurrah!) I see a bee,
and, Glory be, the bee’s seen me!
A subtle kind of whoopee.

(Competition theme:’Making Whoopee’)

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A villa on the edge

My daughter swimming laps.
I lose count after 200,
she’s not best pleased.
For my penance I take her down the cliff
to the rocky beach.
She snorkels in the pools.
I dread the journey back;
she beats me by a mile.

(more…)

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A Modest Proposal, with profuse apologies to Jonathan Swift

“A modest proposal for preventing the children of poor people in Ireland from being a burden to their parents or country, and for making them beneficial to the public”

The Irish problem could be solved, there’s quite a simple cure,
By dining on the offspring of the nation’s poor.
Oven-ready babies could be sold when weaned,
They’d fetch a fortune so I‘m told; ten shillings maybe more.

(more…)

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Wiki: Artist, Ian Hornak

Foaled in blood, and blessed with wings,
where’er he lights sweet water springs.
Thus, every ringing strike of hooves
his true Divinity he proves.

(more…)

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Spring

Spring
Of daffodils
An irresistible renewal
Joyous hope: life affirmed
Promise

Poetry Competition

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