O, What a Circus

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The old man dreamt of the lions
The lions dreamt of lunch
The old man liked lions well-caged
Those lions liked the old man a bunch
A bunch
Of lunch
On which
To munch
The old man owed much to the lions –
His whole career –
But he had a hunch
If the lions called in the debt
He’d be the original credit crunch




Fun With Pikus

Ballot Disillusionment

Vote for a
elect a thief.

Forgetful Old Age

Note for the
eject the teeth.

An Englishman’s Castle

Moat round the
protects the weak.

Bridget Jones Knew It

Doting love
you abject grief.

More Money Than Sense

Haute Couture
French Fashion Week.

Rural Idyll

Goats will roam
graze on the heath.


Tote pays bills
the bet is won.

Questionable Taste

Mirrored walls
reflect the sun.

Personal Philosophy

Task for the
have fun with puns.


Today is Pi Day, celebrating mathematics. I suspect the day is American in origin because it plays on the date March 14th and not the 14th of March. We won’t say any more about that because, as my regular readers know, my head will explode.

In honour of Pi Day, I have posted these pikus (or piku; I’m not sure what the plural of piku is, as it’s a little used poetry form).

The piku is a blend of haiku and the first three numbers of pi:

Three lines
Eight syllables: 3-1-4

So, three syllables on the first line; one syllable on the second line; four syllables on the last line.

It doesn’t have to rhyme but you can write a chain of pikus as I have done here, and make them rhyme for fun. You don’t need to include individual titles, either; I have included them for clarity (aka: cheating).

If you fancy having a go, the easiest way is to write a prose sentence and then whittle it down to its bare essentials. Please do share in the comments if you try it.

By the way, anyone who says maths and poetry shouldn’t mix has clearly never read a Fibonacci poem. I’ll post one soon.




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my computer’s back
it was badly missed
I was champing at the bits
under anxiety attacks
became a dipsomaniac
for all my fluff
in files were stuffed
seething in the black
folders where they lie
agitating to be heard
for even silly words
need liberating
from time to time

that’s why you get so many of mine


Sorry I was gone so long. When computers die, a little piece of my soul goes with them (and a huge piece of my back catalogue: thankfully, all recovered).



What We Do

For Paul


Writers write and painters paint but artists don’t art
and musicians don’t mu.
Bikers bike and drivers drive, blimps go limp
but coupes don’t coup.
Coiffeurs coif, hairdressers dress hair,
but nail techs don’t nail techs (or perhaps they do).
Fighters fight, professors profess
but hatters don’t hat and surgeons don’t surge.
If you want a rest, don’t be a restaurateur.
Deference now will be deferred
for dukes might du and earls might er
but kisses and caresses will never ki-care
and lords don’t lord over anyone
the way I lord it over you.
Poets don’t po but they sometimes pout;
love is hard so now and then I want out
but love being love will overcome
and I’d like to…overcome you.
Darling, please, don’t misread my fuss:
this is not adieu, not toodle-oo, for the truth
is there, like shoppers shop and customers cuss,
like flies fly, like beetles beet, like bees just be,
that you
and me
equals us.


I am not a romantic so it won’t surprise you to learn that I forgot that yesterday was Valentine’s Day; this despite the fact that I was booked to do a poetry reading of love poems.

I’d put my memory failure down to my age except that I have form: I have forgotten the occasional anniversary and once, his birthday – having thrown him a party the previous weekend, I can hardly be blamed now, can I? It’s not like a 21st birthday is a big deal…

Happy belated Valentine’s Day, darling. I’m posting this poem as a sop to my romantic readers, as we’ve never celebrated it anyway: love should be shown every day, not just once a year.*


*Where’s my gift?

And the other 44 I should have received, if you’re showing your love every day?