Who in their right mind would write
A new word with a silent letter?
Those early lexicographers
Ought to have known better.
Generations of schoolkids have suffered
Hours and hours of pain,
Spelling silly words wrong
And having to try them again.
Now I am in my eighties
And my IQ’s pretty high.
But I still look at spellings
And have to wonder why.
Perhaps we should have a rethink
And look at words alphabetically.
It would be so much simpler
To pronounce them all phonetically.
But we shouldn’t take things too seriously,
So I’ll finish with a laugh.
Every psychologist knows, of course,
That the ‘p’ is silent, as in bath!
3rd August 2026
Writing taught me plenty~
like how my thoughts, so many,
line up like rowdy schoolkids
when I give them half a chance.
It showed me words go dancing
when I stop over-glancing,
and sometimes trip spectacularly
while trying to look grand.
It proved my drafts are stubborn~
they mutter, Try again, hon,
but if I bribe them with some chocolate
they usually behave.
And most of all, it told me
my messy mind can hold me~
a slightly tilted universe
that still deserves the page.
nuclear readiness requires ten-year-old's to
dash under desks and imagine they are invincible
kids in the hallways shuffling between classes ~ a wee human train
CLEAN AIR
Only a few now recall the London smogs
The early Fifties, I think it may have been
When a man used to walk ahead of a bus
As schoolkids, it was a strange time for us
Almost every day greeted by a misty scene
Our young minds were just whirring cogs
White collars got smudged with sooty grime
A prisoner in that secluded and private cage
Was this our coal fires or industry’s disgrace
Not to see your hand in front of your face
Was decades ago really such a different age
But lives still went on, even during that time
Now, it’s more the exhaust from diesel trucks
With traffic-clogged roads from dawn to dusk
The dirty pall is nothing like cool country mist
In cities, the public is likely to shake their fist
To breathe and be well again, remove the husk
It is all about making and spending our bucks
For years I’ve passed a sculpture
When I walk at break of day.
It’s very unobtrusive,
Likely meant to be that way.
It’s just one word carved out of wood
And tethered to a sign
Reminding people not to park
Or they’ll incur a fine.
The word is “indivisible”
And in the USA,
It’s front and center in the pledge
That schoolkids learn to say.
We’re meant to think our country
Is united and, with pride,
We pledge allegiance to the nation
Where we all reside.
But lately, we’re divided
Like an apple cut in two,
Each half belonging to a crowd
That’s cloaked in red or blue.
This week I found the sculpture gone
And I was not surprised;
Perhaps the artist figured out
His hope’s been compromised.
A bunch of dry lime leaves like schoolkids runs
across the street. Be careful, do not slip
on crispy morning frost. I see someone’s
bike on its side, its owner rubs his hip.
Are you okay? He is okay. A crow
pecks out a crumpled tinfoil. What's inside?
Alas, inedible. I’d like to know
what cars parked off the road dream of at night.
Oh, these wet dreams that make their windows sweat,
you’re definitely better, to misquote
Poe, than reality. A young brunette
next door walks her old dachshund in the coat.
That's how a pen of poet turns sometimes
a routine morning walk into the rhymes.
21.10.2019
Your Best Sonnet July-December 2019 Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: John Hamilton
https://www.howmanysyllables.com
10 10 10 10 0 10 10 10 10 0 10 10 10 10 0 10 10
A group of schoolkids joined the line
While waiting for the bus.
It seemed to take forever but,
Of course, they made no fuss.
As kids will do, they horsed around
To make the time go by,
When one, a blonde with glasses,
Somehow turned and caught my eye.
I smiled, for he reminded me
Of someone close back home.
He spoke to me in German, then,
Inspiring this poem.
For when I answered, poorly,
That I didn't understand,
His face lit up and "English?"
He responded, close at hand.
"New York," I said, at which
Another student whipped around,
His mouth agape at me,
A foreign creature they had found.
The bus arrived; they scampered on
And so did I, at last,
Another mem'ry in the bank
Of travels I've amassed.
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