Category Archives: micropoetry

I Hunted Dragons Once

After Kitagawa Utamaro: detail of Pink Flowers with Butterflies and a Dragonfly (public domain)

I hunted dragons once. Courting danger,
Armed with nothing but a net, my hands, a jam jar,
I ventured onto wastelands alone, a stranger
To my primeval prey, a knight to war.

Winged beasties, flitting over hard-baked earth,
Seeking scrubby growth for landing strips:
I stalked them, watched them pause and barely stir,
Balanced on stalks of grass, suspended on the lips
Of pools (putrid, slick with slime like Grendel’s lair),
Their rainbow iridescence, blues and reds
And greens and mauves, upheld by filigreed air,
Their slender bodies capped by swivel heads.

I caught these wonders, cupped them in my hands,
Transferred them into glass-walled living rooms,
Grass-filled their glamorous future homelands,
Never thinking these would be their tombs.

I hunted dragons once, so wanting thus to be
Protective. But they wanted to be free.

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Ballad of the canal

Frozen stretch of Monmouthshire and Brecon canal, Dardy, Powys 2018

Brecon town is far and away
And much too far for me
And Newport city is not so pretty
Although it’s near the sea.

But as I’d like to see the sea
The next best thing would be
The waters of the Mon and Brec
That glide ‘neath sky and tree.

I dream a dream of days I’ll glimpse
The ocean wide and free
As I travel ‘long the Mon and Brec
From Brecon to the sea.

Though Brecon town is far away
And Newport dank and grey
I pray that soon I’ll go that way.
I will, I’m sure, one day.


The Monmouthshire and Brecon Canal is affectionately known as the Mon and Brec

An exercise for a creative writing class on composing poetry, in this case in ballad form

We’re all stardust

Catch a falling star, put it in your pocket.
It won’t take you far: for that you’ll need a rocket.
Blast off into space, spaceman that you are. Just
don’t fall, in that case, right back to earth as stardust

Or I’ll catch a falling star …

Jobbing

Summer’s course is nearly run
Garden furniture guilt-trips
Rasp goes the sandpaper
Boing goes the tin lid
Slosh goes the paint

The paint is wet
And now it’s tacky
Drips smoothed out
And now it’s dry
Outside jobs are almost done
It just remains to gild the lily

Today Was

mist

Today Was

Monday was Hug-an-Atheist Day
but I found that my arms
couldn’t reach all the way
round my body

Tuesday was National Book Lovers Day
but I missed it
I was too busy
reading in bed

Next came International Xenophobia Day
and I spent all Wednesday
just hating
myself

Thursday was National Paradox Day
but it took me till nighttime
staying in bed
to puzzle it out

Friday was Who Gives A Damn Day
and I decided to do
just that and go
back to bed

Saturday was the thirteenth
day of the month
and my luck
just
ran
out

Sunday was the seventh day
when God rested

Who can argue with that?