Sunday, 29 October 2017

A Crime Scene. By Albert Van Hoogmoed.

There's been a murder, a woman was killed,
Found in a bathtub partially filled.

A pair of policeman went into the house
and questioned the poor woman's spouse

He'd just come home from working all night
and found her like that a terrible sight

The younger policeman looked on with dismay
He'd never forget that terrible day.

He saw the young woman from behind the door
and empty milk cartons all over the floor.

Scattered strawberries slices of fruit
and spoonfuls of sugar and honey to boot

"Who could have done this terrible thing
His voice had a horrified pitiful ring

"Just look at the clues replied q Sargent Miller
"It looks like the work of a cereal killer .

Monday, 5 June 2017

UNDER A MOONLIT NIGHT - Poem by White Tiger. C Vergara

VWalking on the boardwalk
Under a moonlit night
We shared our thoughts 
The moon was bright

Then I looked a into your eyes 
As you walked away
My heart left melting
Like heated clay

I still see your reflection 
Whenever I visit that site 
Those moments stand still 
Under a moonlit night

Thursday, 23 March 2017


There once was a cute Crocodile 
He lived happily in the River Nile
He liked the river a lot and its fish
Was really his favourite daily dish. 

Since school was less his favourite
He remained for a long time illiterate
How to catch fish though he know 
Albeit his in class were very few.

But a good tutor taugh him math
A genius and polymath
The teach earnest, tried t his best
Explained everything with great zest.

Yet his student was always hungry
He could listen only hardly
Once he swallowed two computes
And found tasty all the numbers.

Friday, 17 March 2017

TIGER, TIGER. By Pam Ayres.

The tiger that stalks through the night
Delivers a hideous bite
And there on his paws
Are razor-sharp claws
But apart from all that, he's all right!

Friday, 10 March 2017


TI will arise and go now, and go to Innisfree,
And a small cabin build there , of clay and wattles made;
Nine bean rows will I have there a hive for the honey-bee,
And live alone in the bee-loud glade.

And I shall have some peace there, for peace come
  Dropping slow, 
Dropping from the veils of the morning to where the 
   Cricket sings;
There midnight's all a-glimmer, and noon a purple glow,
   And evening full of the linnet's wings

I will arise and go now, for always night and day
   I hear lea lake water lopping with low sounds by the shore;
While l stand on the roadway,
Or on the pavements grey,
I head it in the deep heart's core.

Tuesday, 7 March 2017

THOMAS MacDONAGH. Francis Ledwidge (1891 - 1917)

He shall not hear the bittern cry
In the wild sky where he is lain,
Nor the voices of the sweeter birds
Above the wailing of the rain.

Nor shall he know when loud March blows 
Thro' slanting snows her fanfare shrill,
Blowing to flame the golden cup 
Of many an upset daffodil.

But when the Dark Cow leaves the moor
And pastures poor with greedy weeds.
Perhaps he'll hear her low at morn
Lifting her horn in pleasant meads

Saturday, 25 February 2017


What's that up there?
Beyond that tree!
That thing up floating high,
am I crazy or do you see!

Is it a bird perhaps a plane?
Here it comes over the beck.
 What could it be 
It has a huge, spotty neck.

Oh I know what it is, 
It's floating toward the moon.
It's a giraffe from Africa,
And it's trapped in a balloon!