First Haunting

hello #Dverse poets pub here is a rework of an old piece. from 2017, part ghost story part poem.

misty morn


#tiki’s guild, #dverse #openlink, #ghost story

Wow that is how it feels like to die, quite a relief from the pain of living. Who is that over there? They look like as if they could do with a hand to slaughter those pigs. Is that farmer Pickleway over there the artist, the poet and my wife’s ex-lover?

I watched him sitting at the outside table in the fog of an autumn morning. The weak sun was trying to break through as I had fun making swirling patterns in the fog. Then as he devoured the fatty pork patty in a bread roll grease dripping on the table from between his fingers. Remembering why I am here, I dip into his mind and remind him of his father’s fatal heart attack, with a tweak on his heart strings.

Here I sit catching the echoes of the minds in this steamy atmosphere of a coffee shop. There they sit my bigoted quarry. Bitching about and slagging off all those in sight “look at her what a dragon I bet she would tear your head from your shoulders and shit down your neck. Just for saying hello to that ugly daughter of hers.” And “hey bitch you looked like you’ve been struck with an ugly stick. was your mum just as ugly.” I had better get, my grown children out of here before they get lynched. This is my home now. Since I left their mothers dead body for the pigs.

The skull sat there,

Sun bleached,

Cracked Sunglasses,

 hiding a spark,

Not of life,

But of diamond,

Ten years since I left,

 your body in the,

pig pen.

That pig’s skull, now skewered,

Next to yours,

In the clearing on a stick,

The butterflies dancing,

Around you and him in the sun,

Celebrating your sacrifice,

 To the cherry orchard,

Ten years ago, I swapped,

From you hunting me,

to me haunting you,

You hated me when I died,

So now I am you and you are me.

1st ©30/5/17 rog leach

2nd © 29/5/17 rog leach

conkers bonkers #haibun

Thank you, Xenia Tran, for hosting tonight @ #dverse. and prompting us to write a September haiubun .

across the moor in autumn.

Conkers bonkers!

Across the moor to fun,

Children laughing kicking leaves,

Filling parent’s pockets with horse chestnut.

Grandparents enjoying their company.

Hot chocolate with marshmallows,

Watching conker championships,

(An English game played with horse chestnuts threaded onto string).

Craft filled tents selling their wares.

Back to grandparents’ home,

To find exploded jacket potatoes,

All over grandad’s oven,

Never forgotten for ten years and beyond.

One conker now tree,

Growing in my garden lawn,

Living reminder.

© 26/09/2022 rog leach

Nine #couplets

no silver spoons

hello #Dversepoetpub visitors, tonight at the pub Laura was going two by two to the bar.

So we are writing in couplets, I have chosen to go with cote version.

Using the form to describe the duplicity of the class system here in England and other places around the world.

nine #cotes.


Unreasonable time requests, expected.


Tasks’ completion expected, NOW.


Expected due to birth right, never given.


A classless society badly required.


While hereditary titles remain legal.


Not given to hereditary title holders.


Of love must succeed over hatred.


While greed and fear rule society.


Given freely to those with love in their hearts.

© 22/09/2022 rog leach

Spiced #Haibun

Spiced #dverse.

Fifth November (a traditional English rhyme- 17th century)

(First verse)

Remember, remember the 5th of November,

Gunpowder treason and plot,

I see no reason why gunpowder treason,

Should ever be forgot.

Thanks, Merril for tonight’s spiced prompt at #dversepoetspub.

Bonfire night #Haibun.

The above verse is what came to mind when I read the spiced prompt from #dverse this evening and thought of cinnamon spiced baked apples served with vanilla custard on bonfire night. Here in England, we celebrate the capture of Guy Fawkes on the 5th November 1605 when he was part of a plot to blow up the parliament of king James the 1st.

cinnamon apple.

Served with vanilla custard,

Piping hot comfort.

We celebrate this with fireworks due to the gunpowder used in the attempt. A stuffed effigy of Guy Fawkes is burnt on a bonfire during the evening as the Guy Fawkes was burnt as part of his punishment. The effigies were once pushed through the streets in prams with the children calling “ a penny for the guy”.

Saffron yellow smoke,

Drift from fireworks into night,

Childhood memories.

© 20/09/2022 rog leach

Punch drunk#quadrille160

Here we are at #dversepoetspub punching our way to #quadrille160. Thank you, De, for the prompt.

circles of tools

Punch drunk #quadrille.

Punch drunk workers lacking life’s respect,

Punch drunk workers lacking life’s love,

Punch drunk workers lacking life’s quality,

Punch drunk workers lacking life’s satisfaction.

Working poet showing grafters respect,

Working poet showing grafters love,

Poetry showing grafters quality of life

This poet gains satisfaction.

#Quadrille, #dverse.

©19/09/2022 rog leach