When I am old

When I am old…

I will waft through sunlit rooms
in fun-packed shoes
and sport a batwing like a pro.

I’ll be draped with chunky beads
and memories.
My eyes will spark, my words will flow.

I’ll wear my glasses on a cord.
My hair, fresh-poured,
will breeze like my contented muse.

But I won’t have cats –
stuff that,
will their sneezy fur and toxic poos.
No I won’t have cats.
Stuff that.
Meow. I refuse.

 

Like the rhymes? Why not follow the It All Rhymes Facebook page for a rhyme or two in your newsfeed every week?

Photo by Ella Jardim on Unsplash

I Am Your Pudding

Something for you if you’re about to have your Sunday dinner with a nice bit of pud.

Repeat after me:

Puddings are not evil.

I am worth it.

I Am Your Pudding

I am your pudding – dive in and demolish me!
I bring you ecstacy, yet you admonish me,
“BAD!” you say, “FAT!” you say, “GUILT!” you say, “CALORIES!”
Who wants a life though that’s rice-cake-and-salady?

Scream it! You want me, with all of my tawdriness,
Scoop me up! Bundle your lips round my naughtiness!
Life is a struggle – so just put your trust in me –
Throw off your hang-ups – it’s time to get custardy!

 

Like the rhymes? Why not follow the It All Rhymes Facebook page for a rhyme or two in your newsfeed every week?

Photo by Pablo Merchán Montes on Unsplash

From Dovecote Hill

Just on the edge of my home town of Bruton, Somerset, lies Dovecote Hill (and yes, it does have a dovecote on it!) From there, you can see the whole town, which, for most of my childhood at least, formed most of my world. So for me, it’s a place of great nostalgia… and for longing for simpler times.

From Dovecote Hill 

From Dovecote Hill, my thoughts spill down on drowsy mill-town streets
and run the maze of alleyways where once my youthful feet
traced winding paths around the huddled houses that complete
this view of all I knew and loved
from Dovecote Hill.

The fields were loving ramparts shielding us from drifting mists
of worldliness – as if this town were all that might exist,
so we grew up as slowly as the silver river twists
through all I see, from here above
on Dovecote Hill.

This frantic, anxious world conspires to see my spirit crawl
and falter, courage crippled by the hugeness of it all.
One sight could help me find once more the strength of being small –
this view of all I knew and loved
from Dovecote Hill.

Like the rhymes? Why not follow the It All Rhymes Facebook page for a rhyme or two in your newsfeed every week?

We Girls

“Sugar and spice and all things nice” was not written about REAL girls. I know, because – spoiler alert – I WAS a girl. Here I am look – aaah. Yeah right.

This poem’s about all the little girls who come home scratched and grass-stained, sniping snd whining, with a crown of daisies and  one pigtail undone. I trust that today’s “pink culture” has not obliterated this fine breed entirely.

We Girls

Each daisy’s a piece of the moon,
Strewn on the welcoming grass,
Waiting for fidgeting fingers to pass
And weave it in bangles and bows,
Those are not alleys, they’re dens,
We seize them, we lose them, we take them again,
And dance as our dynasties grow,
Pavements and bollards and walls,
Are obstacle courses enthralling us all,
Hop-trip with our quickstepping feet,
Sweet is the call of the slopes,
As laughing we log-roll and slip-slide and hope
To emerge with our kneecaps complete,
Meetings in hedge-huddled homes,
Stones which are amulets,
Sticks which are witchety wands,
Bonds that we form as we talk,
Chalking graffiti and hopscotch wherever we walk,
Home with the set of the sun,
Running, at one with the fun of our world…
We girls skip to a time-honoured tune –
Each daisy’s a piece of the moon.

 

Like the rhymes?
If you enjoyed this, why not like the It All Rhymes Facebook page for a new rhyme or two in your news feed every week?

Guest Poet: Jan Allison

I am proud to say I’ve made a good number of poetic friends since I started writing, but the first I made was the wonderful Jan Allison. Jan writes some hilariously entertaining poetry, and, like me, does so for joy and therapy.

We’ve had great fun writing a couple of collaborations, but this farty masterpiece is all Jan… and she DOES do the best fart poems!

Silent Butt Deadly

He’d eaten baked beans for his brunch
Then onion rings he did munch
He built up so much gas
Which he then had to pass
The odour it sure packed a punch

Poor Michael was quite broken hearted –
His fiancé asked if he’d farted
To disguise his foul flatus
He stood by sweet clematis
Then into the bushes he darted

His fiancé said ‘you silly goose
It’s okay to let little farts loose
You should alter your diet
It’s easy, just try it
There’s no need to become a recluse’!

 

© Jan Allison 2018

Like the rhymes?
If you enjoyed this, why not like the It All Rhymes Facebook page for a new rhyme or two in your news feed every week?

Photo by Darius Bashar on Unsplash

 

The World Needs Poetry

The World Needs Poetry

You ask, “Why DOES the world need poetry?”
And I say…

Its writing is my sanity,
my armour versus apathy,
my dealing-with-it strategy,
my joy, my strange proclivity,
my vital creativity.

Its reading dulls cacophony
and mindless mediocrity
then floods me with philosophy
and tenderness and jollity
that elevate life’s quality.

Each poem is a legacy
itself, but then collectively
they weave a vibrant tapestry
of glorious humanity…

For though we face mortality,
our madness, our hilarity,
our weakness, our capacity
for sadness or sagacity
can all be captured perfectly
by verses, for eternity.

And that’s why, whether knowingly
or not, the world needs poetry.

 

© Nina Parmenter 2018

Like the rhymes?
If you enjoyed this, why not like the It All Rhymes Facebook page for a new rhyme or two in your news feed every week?

Photo by Aaron Burden on Unsplash

Six Word Fairy Tales

Something cute for a tired Sunday night… six word fairy tales. These tiny poems also made “Poem of the Day” on PoetrySoup.com  today!

SIX WORD FAIRY TALES

Cinderella
Pumpkin turns carriage
Prince offers marriage

The Elves and the Shoemaker
Business lacks clout
Shorties help out

Rapunzel
Scaling her tresses
Young prince impresses

The Three Little Pigs
Wolfie wants bacon
Brickwork frustrates him

Puss in Boots
Smooth talking feline
Princess makes beeline

Sleeping Beauty
Hundred year nap
Ended by chap

Beauty and the Beast
Loving what’s ugly
Renders it lovely

Hansel and Gretel
Candy trap foiled
Witchy gets boiled

 

© Nina Parmenter 2018

Photo by Sandra Ahn Mode on Unsplash

Like the rhymes?
If you enjoyed this, why not like the It All Rhymes Facebook page for a new rhyme or two in your news feed every week?

 

My Garden, July, 7pm

My Garden, July, 7pm

As today’s performance nears its sticky close,
And the clement shadows enter from the wings,
Honey sun throws one last spotlight on a rose,
While in crowd-pleasing finale, blackbird sings.
Props lie strewn: abandoned clothes, a bug-smeared glass,
Garish toys form grubby rainbows on the grass…
And as hosepipe soothes my garden’s weary brow,
Daubed with dirt, my little cast take one last bow.

 

 

© Nina Parmenter 2018

Like the rhymes?
If you enjoyed this, why not like the It All Rhymes Facebook page for a new rhyme or two in your news feed every week?