dreams of tea

#dverse, #tea, # lemonandginger,

Quadrille from the dVerse Lagoon
Photo by Valeria Boltneva on Pexels.com
Dreams of tea.



Cast away on island made of cake,

Surrounded by tea lagoons,

Were Biscuit rafts float.



#lagoon of lemon and ginger,

Were honey fish leisurely swim,

This poet slurping away,

Through cinnamon straw.



Dreaming of flagoons of tea,

Good dreams popped by intrusive 

Morning alarm.



© 08/01/2024 rog leach

wonderful weirdo.

Poetics – Litotes of Yesterday
Wonderful weirdos. 

Hello you wonderful weirdos, 
I was often instructed to, 
“Be good and keep my tongue behind my teeth.” 
By the nonweird in the crowd, 
Why? To fit with them? 

For some odd balls and wierdos, 
Fitting in matters, no pain no gain right! 

Hello you wonderful wierdos, 
Under instruction, 
I never said nothing, 
To the nonweird in each crowd, 
Why? Not to fit with them. 

© 02/01/2024 rog leach
weirdo

written for the doble prompts from #dverse (writing litotes) and #wordatthewharf (good and bad). unsure if they fit but hay ho.

A dandelion’s fury

OpenLinkNight #353
A dandelion’s fury!



Cower at the Fury, fury, fury of the dandelions,

The fury, fury, fury at the long-term bullies,

With their propaganda and violence, 

Rise up, rise up, rise my brother dandelions rise,

Take back our world,

Let’s have a new form of revolution,

Rise up, rise up, rise against the gardeners of the world,

No more to their weed killers.



Cower at the fury, fury, fury of the dandelions,

 Fury, fury, fury, at man’s destructive nature,

Rise up, rise up, rise up my brother dandelions, rise,

Let’s have a new kind of revolution,

Rise up, rise up, rise up against Earth’s toxicity,

No more deforestation, take back our world.



Cower at the fury, fury, the utter fury of wet the bed fairies,

 With their fury, fury, fury at being called weed,

Rise up, rise up, rise and grow, grow,

 grow like the weeds they believe we are,

a forest of dandelions it will be, will be, IT will be,

after humanities demise.

© 28/12/2023 rog leach

hello all those calling in to #dverse open link evening.

Xmas table

#xmasalone,


THE CHRISTMAS TABLE.

(Part one)



(Once I was/am) the Hobgoblin poet,

(I was) once a hobbledehobbleboy,

Hiding under your Christmas table,

Living off scraps dropped,

By messy Hu-man eaters.





I was that awkward youth,

Hobbled by the must haves,

Hobbled by bullying knaves,

Hobbled by Fear of Missing Out,

Hobbled when I lost my family,

Hobbled by my Adoptive Family.







This hobbledeboy grew in body and malice,

Growing on the scraps gleaned and gathered,

Gleaned from the Christmas table,

Forcing my very sinew to triumph,

Over those who made mad dreams their master.




The Christmas table.

(part two)

I grew into the hobgoblin poet,

Only gleaning a feast of food, once a year,

Under your Christmas table,

Feeding on your social unease,

For this year’s remaining days.



This once hobbledeboy now grown,

Still dwells under your Christmas table,

Feeding the feuds of the hu-mans,

For the thirteen days of xmas,

The day after misrule my favourite.



I am the hobgoblin poet,

Loving the fun of being,

The lord of misrule on twelfth night,

Causing havoc for you knaves,

Leaving you hu-man’s ill on thirteenth night.



This once hobbledeboy now must sign off,

Leaving the rule of under table,

To the next generation,

Of misfits, outcasts and exiled hobbleds, 

To keeping the hu-man knaves in their own,

 Own Bigoted and oppressive place.

© 12/12/2021 rog leach