My arms are getting longer
and my legs are snapping out.
My fingers are extending
and I feel like I could shout.
My nose is getting torn apart.
My shoulder’s being strained.
I can’t stand up and move about:
it seems that I am chained.
My chest is being tightened.
I can hear my rib cage pop.
My neck is getting strangled
and I wish that it would stop.
My body’s being lengthened.
You might think that it’s far-fetched,
but yesterday my teacher told me
that I should be stretched.
He’s a couple of sandwiches short of a picnic
He’s not the sharpest tool in the shed
The light is on but nobody’s home
The lift doesn’t go up to the top floor
He forgot to pay his brain bill
He doesn’t have all his cornflakes in one box
He’s two chapters short of a novel
In other words
He’s a complete and utter idiom.
They’re rounding up the poets.
They’re sending them away.
They stand in chains
To catch the trains.
To where? No one will say.
They’re rounding up the poets.
They huddle in the square.
Their eyes are dead.
Their blood has bled.
They offer up a prayer.
They’re rounding up the poets.
Their words have all been torn.
With faces grey
And no delay
They’ll disappear at dawn.
They’re rounding up the poets.
They’ve crushed each verb and noun.
Each simile
Has similarly
Vanished from the town.
They’re rounding up the poets.
They’re sending them away.
They stand in chains
To catch the trains.
My dog talks in his sleep.
He claims he is king of the world
and that all cats are evil.
He remarks that the moon
is made of biscuits
and the sun is simply
a giant tennis ball.
He even says that
he is ten foot tall
though we all know
he is just a tiny chihuahua.
And what will I do about it?
Nothing. We all know the saying:
let sleeping dogs lie.
As I have noted on more than one occasion, Twitter has been something of a lifeline for me during the lockdown. It has given me a space to interact with teachers, poets, educationalists and miscellaneous weird and wonderful people. Last night, it even enabled me to create a crowd-sourced poem,which I am delighted to share in this blog post. It started with two lines, which I thought of in a moment of idle contemplation:'Where does the flaminGO?/Who made the ostRICH?' I tweeted this out, soliciting for further lines of the same format. I got many more responses than I bargained for. Many of them were clever puns, but were too complicated and did not strictly follow the format. Nonetheless, with the help of several fellow Twitter users, the following poem was constructed:
ANIMAL QUESTIONS
Where does the flaminGO?
Why did the antELOPE?
Who made the ostRICH?
How did the pengUIN?
What does a doDO?
Can a womBAT?
Why is a cassoWARY?
Who let the robIN?
Do you think the peliCAN?
Why did the porcuPINE?
Is the marmoSET?
Who turned the pigeON?
Can the butterFLY?
Why does the hedgeHOG?
Can you make a malaMUTE?
Why did the cormoRANT?
Who gave the organguTAN?
What did the moUSE?
Why was the spoonbILL?
What made the spanIEL?
Why did the sparROW?
Can the labraDOODLE?
Did a cockaPOO?
Has the centiPEDE?
and finally…
What made the maSTIFF?.......
Here are the Twitter users who helped me with this poem. I suggest following them!
@GavlarJim
@devon_blossom
@_MissieBee
@traceypounds
@HugsFromDad
@efozzer
@MandyFlyMe71
@Sandy86447517
@DebsFrazer
@123_Mr_D
@donsybee
@BobSchechter
I’m crazy about cashews
and pistachios are great.
I’m potty about pecans
and a hazelnut I rate.
A walnut’s simply wicked.
Macadamias are cool.
A peanut is for me-nut
and an almond makes me drool.
I gorge on ripe mongongos
while my mum observes and tuts.
In case you haven’t got it yet:
I’m nutty about nuts!
What will you stand for?
Who will you be?
What is your purpose?
Who has your key?
What are you doing here?
How do you know?
Of whom will you ask
which direction to go?
Where do you place your trust?
Who knows what’s best?
Who wrote the rulebook
for your unique quest?
What is your narrative?
What is your aim?
Is this important
or merely a game?
How do you navigate
all of your doubt?
Who has the answers?
