This morning, while lying in bed and half-listening to the news on the “Today” programme, a short article came on. It concerned the regent honeyeater, an Australian bird that is critically endangered and has lost its ability to sing its own song to attract a mate, hence its decreasing numbers and increasing vulnerability to becoming…
Category: poetry
Rubbish Poem #22
The sun dips down Then climbs again as Another day goes by. And we’re left silently waiting Asking “Where?” and “When?” And “Why?” Did you know you’d Be so late this week When embarking on your ride? And we’re left silently pondering “Leave the bins out on the street? Or bring them back inside?”
Rubbish Poem #21
LOST! Reward for Information if you know, The whereabouts of Our bin men adrift Somewhere in the snow. For two whole days We’ve kept vigil Eyes casting north, west, South and east For any sign at all of those brave Hi-Viz and their Beast. If you chance upon them Lost and lonely somewhere, Please forgive…
Rubbish Poem #20
It’s Wednesday now Where are you, boys? You’re running a full day late. And I simply can’t help worrying Though I’m in no way irrate That you’ve not yet Been down our street In your Hi-Viz vests aglow You’re running behind, I think I’ll find, Because of all this snow.
Captain, oh our Captain.
Captain, oh our Captain. We knew you not before Yet twice you answered England’s call In peace and times of war. Proudly you stood To face the foes With each step forward, Heels to toes. Around his garden, a Yorkshireman, On a walking mission to raise a grand, Captured all our hearts, brought Hope sweeping…
(As yet untitled)
Ice winds freeze brave DC’s air On a chill January morning As the world watches and waits for Oaths of office to be sworn in, When a slight young woman, Wrapped tight in yellow and red, Steps on up to the mic About to thrill global millions With the words that she read. Those words,…
Rubbish Poem #19
It’s been a little while since my last Rubbish Poem, over two months actually, so I thought it time for another. I know, and I agree with you when you exclaim, “It took you two months to write this?!” Two baseball’s and one bobble Crown the heads of the Hi-Vis trio, Warming these barons of…
The One
A little poem I began writing last night and finished this morning. It’s a little bleak but was inspired by one of Ilkley Literature Festival’s writing prompts, “Write A Poem About The Last Person On Earth”, and, with what we’re all currently experiencing, the poem came quite easy. I pen these final lines For who?…
A Rubbish Poem #18
A wet grey morn comes dawnin’, Dawn, dawnin’, On the scene. Those Hi-Viz boys come rollin’, Roll, rollin’ Down the street. Their steel-toes tappin’, Tap, tappin’ On black-soled booted feet. An’ they’re all yappin’, Yap, yappin’, With any folks they meet. Here She now comes a-roarin’, Roar, roarin’, Into view. Man, you best be praisin’,…
A Rubbish Poem #17
The clash of cans And thrum of tins Sound a descant above the Repeated caterwaul As The Beast backs shrilly up. Amid chimes of shattered glass, Chorussing clatters and clunks And crashing clangs, The Hi-Viz march their tune On percussive, booted feet. With raucous riot and rumbling roar, The Beast feeds, mewling her…
Rubbish Poem #16
Oh, but you were So sneaky, On this drab, Cold Tuesday morn, When you came Softly creeping Through the Steel grey Light of dawn. Where was the March of boots? The thump of your Stamping feet? Instead you Hi-Viz boys Slipped quietly, Wraith-like, Along our Sleeping street. With voices strangely muted, Your words…
Little Fridge Light
*i know that today is a Tuesday and you are all hankering after my latest “Rubbish Poem”, but this little poem is demanding to be told and is simply too important to be missed. And, as is the case with all the really good stuff you like, this poem is “based on true events”.* Oh,…
A Quiet Spring
**Shortly after the country went into “Lockdown”, Ilkley Literature Festival put up some writing prompts on their website and the inspiration for Week 2 was “A Quiet Spring”. I took a slightly different tack to some of the others that were sent. Newlywed, devoid of means, They pine, like sex-starved, Love-struck teens, At…
Sunday Poem #02
*Written on my iPhone this morning while still in bed. Intended to fit into one single Tweet, the inspiration for this poem should, hopefully, be clear. Sunday morn Bedside clock shows OhEightThreeFour Frenzied banging at the door You wake and rise to see A man and van from DPD Insisting you come quick For he…
Gavin Dimmock. Writer. 