To vaguely amuse
And banish the blues
Writing clerihews
I would choose.

Mr Merryhew
Would ferry you
Across the Thames at Bray
On a tea tray.

I am the word juggler.
I juggle the words
like swords.
I slice sense
with poetic license.

I feel it, first as a stir,
turning deep in the murky water.
Surfaces up for air, a twitch
on the lake in my head.
A flip, and it disappears.

I am the clash and collide of the stars
because I create worlds.

I am the awareness of the trees
because I hear the wind.

Newly baked and fresh today
Eat while hot or take away.

The light through the blind is a poem,

the way it illuminates air.

And the shadows that fall

on the floor and the wall

are signs that a poem is there.

The man sitting on the settee,
stroking a cat and watching TV
isn't me.
I am the settee.

The space is a friend.
I tell it what hurts.

I tell it why I'm not good.
The space is a friend.
I tell it the bother I'm in.
It won't let me tell lies.

Thinker to Jace

If I'm not reciting a poem,

my tongue won't let me talk,

I can only bark.

But barking can't say much,

A poem is not an Ant
but it can be quite short.
A poem is not a Banana
but there may be something under its skin.
A poem is not a Coat