Little Birds Tweeting Greeting comic poem 390 by Angela Lansbury

A little birdy boy is tweeing

Not saying, 'Boy,  I am annoyed,'

No, it's, 'I'm here, happy greeting

Listen to me talking, tweeting!'

What he means I'll never know

Is it, 'Come here,' or, 'Let\'s go'

My ear hears what he has to show

So I'm going with the flow

I do not hear him the next hour

The silver birch his ivory tower

He hides inside soe garden bower

One sweet son'g enough to empower

 His voice stays higher, never lower

Like me singing in the shower

Always faster never slower

Maybe the dear cat makes him cower

But despite the joy I heard

In my garden not one bird

Leaves, green grass, yellow flowers

I could sit and stare  for hours

But something outside isn't right

Litter strewn throughout the night

In the garden playful foxes

Tore apart discarded boxes

Out I rush, sweep, pick it up

Drop it in a litter bin

I'm not glum, job is done

Fox is out, litter is in

Fox ran off, bird flew away

Now it's time to start my day

I have wasted hours and hours

First pick litter, then pick flower

One must do whatever needs -

Cut dead branches overhead

Cut back roots and pull out weeds

Now a neater flower bed

What a day, a lovely start

Vase of flowers lights my heart

Birds and foxes, beg your pardon

It's my turn to own my garden.

-ends-

copyright Angela Lansbury. Copying a couplet with acknoledgement to the author is fair use. But if you would like to share the entire poem please share the link back to this post. Thank you.

Also see poem 383.

I have books on writing poetry on Lulu.com and Amazon.co.uk

Coconuts Make You Nuts comic poem 225 by Angela Lansbury

Coconuts. Photo from Wikipedia.

Down by the cool blue swimming pool

The water's cool and I am cool

The trees provide a welcome shade

After my swim, sit in the glade

The unformed guide soon comes out

His job is walk about and shout

Not like a bride, more like a groom

With a brisk broom sweeping in each room

Maybe, 'cause he's always working

He sees me swim,  thinks I'm shirking

It's exercise, I tell no lies

Yes, a 'work out' must mean working

Coconuts under palms at Cashew Heights condominium Singapore. Photo by Angela Lansbury. Copyright.

 On trees coconuts are yellow

The Guard warns me, they'll soon mellow

Watch out, too late when they turn brown

For one by one they'll fall down

You never should sit underneath

Because one day you'll come to grief

I am too old to die, and wise

To accidents of any size

I am wary, sit here, sit there

This place, that place, this chair, that chair

My bed is where I'd like to die

That is why I'm coconut shy.

-ends-

Copyright Angela Lansbury September 14th 2023.

To help any foreign language speakers, the last line is a pun on a Coconut Shy, which is a game at a fairground where you throw a ball to hit a coconut off its support and win it.

Please share links to your favourite poems

Response to a poem on leaving dusting to write or create

A Rose by any other name would smell as sweet

 but not when you have crumbs under the chair to sweep 

because I tell you here in Singapore, 

if you don't grab a crumb from ants you'll get a hundred more, 

and I'm alas allergic to dust mites, 

a dusty hotel gives me sleepless nights,

 I can compose a poem while I sweep or dust, that glass of water which we share is clean I trust? I would not eat in a dirty café. I promise I'll dust when you come to stay. And proud that all is clean and calm and orderly, we'll sniff sweet flavours, not sneeze in our tea. Please leave your dirty shoes outside the door, sit anywhere, a chair - I cleaned the floor, you'll like my place if you've an allergy - we're both dust mites and gluten free. I hope you like this, which I must rehearse, and whilst I dust I'll write another verse.

By Angela Lansbury April 27 2016. Copyright.