Oh, this is how I currently feel about the block Editor. As an retired It professional I’m continuing to persevere , but GOD its a struggle if you want to put up poetry……
Tag Archives: humour
Poetry meeting minutes
The committee agrees
That poetry should be heard and not seen
The hearing impaired will be given the poem
Realised in interpretative dance in lieu
Of sign language translation.
The committee decrees
That all the stuff about whether Instagram
And Landmark poems are actually poetry
Is taking more time to sort out than expected
So it all will be on next months agenda
The chair is looking forward to being on holiday then
The committee is resolved
That rhyming shall be a crime best dealt with
By poetic justice. In fact rhythm is also suspect
As is meaning.
Copyright © 2020 Kim Whysall-Hammond
The Network Engineers
Me and my lads in the office
We like to chat and to call
Laugh at how shiny Nicks head is
And tell Andy he’s not very tall
It’s a big open plan sort of office
With desks jammed in several rows
We laugh and we joke and we banter
And everyone shares what they know
The boss really don’t like to come here
Looks down his nose on our fun
Says our chat is inappropriate
But without us his Network won’t run
We configure, programme and monitor
Run a network no one will believe
Complex, fast and enormous
We are proud of what we achieve
Whilst fingers dance over keyboards
And engineers cable in floors
I manage them and also I love them
For the jokes they put up on the doors
So my lads and I sit in that office
If we aren’t out mending the kit
Share pictures of Katy’s new baby
And tell David he’s not very fit.
Copyright © 2020 Kim Whysall-Hammond
This poem is a hymn to the team of Network Engineers that I had the pleasure to manage several years ago. It was written in response to Jim Feeney’s Lads Poetry Project. His poems are a lot better than this one, here’s an excellent example :
https://stopdraggingthepanda.com/2020/07/08/rob-the-lads-poetry-project-3/
This poem is also part of the dVerse Poets Pub Open Link Night: https://dversepoets.com/
Where are my Coyotes?
Other feet now tread the streets
Hooves, pads and claws
Wildness leaks into urban
But
Where are my Coyotes?
Blackbirds loudly call and cry
Rabbits hop on lawns and lanes
No jets disturb the birds of prey
Yet
Where are my Coyotes?
Sheep loiter at McDonalds
Goats skip on empty roads
Britain sees her wildlife play
But
Where are my Coyotes?
I’ve seen the pictures on the news
Coyotes in SF and LA
I’ve been good in lockdown
Haven’t I?
WHERE ARE MY COYOTES?
Copyright © 2020 Kim Whysall-Hammond
And the Sun is out
And the Sun is out
lockdown and panic
had cut my wings
now I fly
but only around the garden
Copyright © 2020 Kim Whysall-Hammond
Breakfast
Today I’ve arranged to breakfast with the sky
we haven’t been talking much lately and
so need some alone time together
in her lovely blue halls cushioned with fluffy cumuli
although blue is probably not her best colour
at breakfast, she’s more into yellow and rose.
Trouble is, she gets up so early and those of us who
don’t need to rise for work tend to sleep in….
I wonder if that’s why she’s been so distant to me?
Copyright © 2020 Kim Whysall-Hammond
APART-IAL EXPLANATION
Oh this is good… from Lou Faber
It is all to often debated
what sets humans apart
the other species, and that
will not be agreed any time soon
(which a cynic would note
is one such thing itself).
Freud would claim it is only
our ego, our sense of self,
which may explain why people
are so capable of being self-
ish, and I suspect he was
certain he was wholly correct
but I would give him only partial credit.
It is far simpler than that: record
your voice, record a Sandhill
crane and play them back
and I assure you that you
will say you sound nothing
like what the recorder heard
while the crane will nervously
look all around for his unseen kin.
Journey to the End of Pi
Numbers tumbling quasi-random
Stream past
Rippling through reality
Irrational to the end
Copyright © 2020 Kim Whysall-Hammond
Friday Poem: Talking Turkeys
Be nice to yu turkeys dis christmas
Cos’ turkeys just wanna hav fun
Turkeys are cool, turkeys are wicked
An every turkey has a Mum.
Be nice to yu turkeys dis christmas,
Don’t eat it, keep it alive,
It could be yu mate, an not on your plate
Say, Yo! Turkey I’m on your side.
I got lots of friends who are turkeys
An all of dem fear christmas time,
Dey wanna enjoy it, dey say humans destroyed it
An humans are out of dere mind,
Yeah, I got lots of friends who are turkeys
Dey all hav a right to a life,
Not to be caged up an genetically made up
By any farmer an his wife.
Turkeys just wanna play reggae
Turkeys just wanna hip-hop
Can yu imagine a nice young turkey saying,
ÒI cannot wait for de chopÓ,
Turkeys like getting presents, dey wanna watch christmas TV,
Turkeys hav brains an turkeys feel pain
In many ways like yu an me.
I once knew a turkey called…….. Turkey
He said “Benji explain to me please,
Who put de turkey in christmas
An what happens to christmas trees?”,
I said “I am not too sure turkey
But itÕs nothing to do wid Christ Mass
Humans get greedy an waste more dan need be
An business men mek loadsa cash’.
Be nice to yu turkey dis christmas
Invite dem indoors fe sum greens
Let dem eat cake an let dem partake
In a plate of organic grown beans,
Be nice to yu turkey dis christmas
An spare dem de cut of de knife,
Join Turkeys United an dey’ll be delighted
An yu will mek new friends ‘FOR LIFE’.
Friday Poem: The Owl and the Pussy-cat
I
The Owl and the Pussy-cat went to sea
In a beautiful pea-green boat,
They took some honey, and plenty of money,
Wrapped up in a five-pound note.
The Owl looked up to the stars above,
And sang to a small guitar,
“O lovely Pussy! O Pussy, my love,
What a beautiful Pussy you are,
You are,
You are!
What a beautiful Pussy you are!”
II
Pussy said to the Owl, “You elegant fowl!
How charmingly sweet you sing!
O let us be married! too long we have tarried:
But what shall we do for a ring?”
They sailed away, for a year and a day,
To the land where the Bong-Tree grows
And there in a wood a Piggy-wig stood
With a ring at the end of his nose,
His nose,
His nose,
With a ring at the end of his nose.
III
“Dear Pig, are you willing to sell for one shilling
Your ring?” Said the Piggy, “I will.”
So they took it away, and were married next day
By the Turkey who lives on the hill.
They dined on mince, and slices of quince,
Which they ate with a runcible spoon;
And hand in hand, on the edge of the sand,
They danced by the light of the moon,
The moon,
The moon,
They danced by the light of the moon.
By Edward Lear
