A poem for World Bee Day

Selected poems

The Last Bee 

After the last  ee 
had  uzzed its last  uzz, 
the  irds and the  utterflies 
did what they could. 

 ut soon the fields lay  are, 
few flowers were left, 
nature was  roken, 
and the planet  ereft. 

A poem which isn’t the one I had hoped to write

Selected poems

This is Not the Poem I Had Hoped to Write

This is not the poem I had hoped to write
when I sat at my desk and the page was white.
You see, there were other words I’d had in mind,
yet this is what I leave behind.

I thought it was a poem to eradicate war;
one of such power, it would heal all the sores
of a world torn apart by conflict and schism.
But it isn’t.

Lovers, I’d imagined, would quote from it daily,
Mothers would sing it to soothe crying babies.
And whole generations would be given new hope.
Nope.

I had grand aspirations. Believe me, I tried.
Humanity examined with lessons applied.
But the right words escaped me; so often they do.
Have these in lieu.

A poem for David Attenborough’s 100th birthday

Selected poems

Life of a Naturalist

it’s his birthday
and the sloths are up early for once
the flamingos line up in pink, long-legged salute
the birds of paradise parade in their finest
the elephants blow their trumpets
the blue whales gush with joy
the gorillas act out stories of his visits
the lions lay off the wildebeest for one day
and stand together on the Serengeti plain
the lyre birds sing his voice in tribute
the seals cannot stop clapping
and the ostriches urge us
to listen to him
and not bury our heads in the sand

A poem about forgetting an anniversary

Selected poems

  

Anniversary

I forgot, I said,
but since when was our love built
on anything so ordinary
as a date?   

Let other couples mark time.
I am too caught up
with the here and the now of you
to waste these hours
in commemoration of the past.  

Because our love is vast,
like an ocean,
with depths far beyond
others’ comprehension.  

Why spend our lives swimming circles
in the muddy puddle
of convention?  

Flowers fade.
Chocolates get eaten.
By such ephemera,
we should judge our love not.  

And you said,
what do you mean,
you forgot?  

A poem about a wannabe Bond villain

Selected poems

Billionaire in a Midlife Crisis

He’s swapped designer jeans and flashy cars
For designer spacesuits and trips to Mars
Where he watches Earth turn on its axis
With its stupid people paying taxes
He’s indulging all his whims and vices
He’s a billionaire in a midlife crisis

He’s got plans to end world poverty
Once his new hair’s lost its novelty
He’s dropping rap tracks and dissing pronouns
His kids have names they cannot pronounce
He’s choosing who his next young wife is
He’s a billionaire in a midlife crisis

He’s an outspoken champion of free speech
With a mute button in easy reach
He’s building an army of online abusers
More spambots equals more X-users
Cause he’s been left too long to his own devices
If truth be told, he’s not the nicest 
I hope he comes down with gastroenteritis 
He’s a billionaire in a midlife crisis

A poem about collective nouns

Selected poems

An Invention of Collective Nouns

A reckoning of spreadsheets.
A distraction of smartphones.
A prattle of podcasts.
A mispronunciation of scones.

A clique of photographers.
A heard of precedents.
An enjambment of
poets. A grope of presidents.

A pile of haemorrhoids.
A bunion of personal trainers.
A bout of estimations.
A condescension of mansplainers.

A stroke of geniuses.
A spot of adolescents.
An embarrassment of Richards.
A collection correction of pedants.

A poem about the cost of loving crisis

Selected poems

The Cost of Loving

I love you more than life itself
but I swear I’ll love you better
if you let me turn the heating off
and you wear another sweater.

I cannot get enough of you –
I’m completely in your thrall.
I love to watch you bending over
to unplug the telly at the wall.

Yes, you’re the only one for me,
my sweet and fragrant flower –
now you’ve ditched your daily bath 
for a cost-efficient shower.

Make no mistake, I love you loads,
you send my head into a spin.
Our cycle’s set to eco-wash:
let’s cram as much as we can in.

My cup of love’s full to the brim, 
it overflows, my petal.
So make yourself a brew with me,
but don’t overfill the kettle.

A poem of a questionable nature

Selected poems

The Question

Erm, well – I begin, shifting nervously in my chair – 
if it’s true there is no heaven and no hell,  
no eternity or long hereafter,  
no divine plan or offstage direction from an invisible hand, 
then how do we make sense of it all, 
how do we make our way through this life,
this glorious, ridiculous, ramshackle world of ours, 
with its wars and brutality, conflicts and petty arguments, 
the ten thousand tiny acts of kindness  
which happen unnoticed before breakfast, 
and all that love and pain, happiness and loneliness 
that comes to us unannounced, by turns,  
as if we ourselves were pitched daily  
onto the waves of one of its vast, mysterious oceans, 
not knowing whether today is the day we drown 
or we find ourselves washed up  
on some strange but friendly shore? 

Mmm – you say, after a lengthy silence – 
what I meant was … do you have any questions  
about the job

Some haiku for International Haiku Poetry Day

Selected poems

Assorted Haiku

Haiku #2511

Tourists wait in line
to enter Machu Picchu.
Oh, look! A high queue.

Haiku #564127

how dare you suggest
I have a short attention
spanish omelette

Limeraiku

There once was a young
limerick from Kew who turned
into a haiku.

The Constraints of Haiku

Tied up all night with
a haiku dominatrix
and her three-line whip.

Shakespearean Haiku

Shall I compare thee
To a summer’s day? Alright –
Thou art pretty hot.

How to Write a Haiku

The last line should flow
seamlessly from the first two –
hippopotamus.

A poem not to be taken for granite

Selected poems

On Tender Hooks

Let me cut to the cheese:
every time you open your mouth,
I’m on tender hooks.

You charge at the English language
like a bowl in a china shop.
I wish you’d nip it in the butt.

On the spurt of the moment,
another eggcorn tumbles out.
It’s time you gave up the goat.

Curve your enthusiasm
and don’t give them free range –
or the chickens will come home to roast.

Sorry to be the flaw
in your ointment. You must think me
a damp squid, I suppose –

but they spread like wildflowers
in a doggy-dog world,
and your spear of influence grows.