open link #dverse

thanks Lillian @ #dversepoetrypub for the open link night hosting.

Open Link Night today with option to join us LIVE on Saturday!

Delivery In progress.

Well, I nether thought,
I would ever take delivery,
Of an Enfield 500,
Now made in India,
But who cares!

It’s mine, all mine,
After many, many years of saving
It has taken a live time,
Of hard slog and grief.

The transporter arrived,
At exactly 17.11,
The time I will ever forget,
Delivery in progress,
In red LED across the front.

They unwrapped it,
Screwed on the number plate,
As I put on my leathers,
Put on my lid, the black one.


Then emptied the 5litre,
Jimmy can into the tank,
And she was all mine,
 A live time dream a reality.

The noise she made as
 I turned her sexy key,
That noise of her growling,
I needed to make her scream.

The oak tree kissed us,
The oak tree on the corner,
Not 50 yards from where,
She first growled at me.

Now every October 13th,
Twice if it’s a Friday,
you can hear my excited scream
Just above her growl,
As we accelerated from,
Nought to oak tree at 17.11 and 30 seconds.

© rog leach 12/08/2024

Coming of Age

hello #dversepoets here is part two of goblin sunset a poem i shared on the 22nd march.

https://dversepoets.com/2022/03/31/oln-313-spring-has-sprung/

(Goblin sunset part2)

I am the hobgoblin poet,

One thousand years old,

An apprentice story teller,

To the master of the guild,

For 995 of those.

Master Jim Bob has passed,

Into the realm of the stars,

Starlorn now am I,

After seeking him,

amid the stars,

for 995 minutes.

Apprentice no longer,

One thousand years,

As master I have become,

Now I must take an apprentice,

Schooling them at the,

Goblin sunset market.

Each month I shall,

Give them a tutorial,

A poet I became,

What of the apprentice I take?

Of amazement and awe,

A goblin child full,

Curiosity and wonder,

Will they become hobgoblin?

Hogboon or Boogart even.

What-ever they become,

A story teller or poet,

They will be each,

Goblin market,

An apprentice until,

I go to join the stars,

In a thousand years.

The Grey Rose #poetics

https://dversepoets.com/2022/02/15/tuesday-poetics-after-st-valentine-left-the-building/

Here I am the grey rose,

Never known love.

Here I grow in the mist

Grey as morning rose.

Grey world of polluted air,

Left behind as you left.

Unnoticed in the gloom,

By the gardener herself.

Here I am the grey rose,

Left only in the gloom.

Never plucked for,

The gardener,

ST valentine herself.

Wait what’s this,

A grey hand reaching,

Just for me.

Written for Sarah’s after valentine has left the building at #dverse poets pub tonight.

Thirteen #wordatthewharf

I dropped dead on Friday the thirteenth,

Thirteen months after my heart was stolen,

By necromancer of the raven hair,

Trying to teach she was.

Death clarified,

passing is to be human.

The myth tells of the who,

who steals the what!

The what is the heart of being human,

But what is the what no one knows,

When we know what it is to be human’

Shall we be less fearful of black cats and 13.

Do we poets know fairer without our,

Fear of fallacy.

Superstition feeds fear

Fear of the unknown,

Does necromancy need to be surveyed?

This was written for my local spoken word evening called word at the wharf. based in a cafe canal side in my home town. the month this was written for we had the theme of 13 which I did a rare thing and kept to the theme.