Category Archives: Humour

Clearly Clerihew

Learn your lesson, Dyson,

and surely don’t think twice, son.

Sure, Scots pipers flounce and flirt,

not all guys look good in a skirt!

–The poetic form Clerihew is featured at Poetic Bloomings



Fabled and legendary,
nary a blighter who’ve claimed
to have seen you, means you any harm.
There is a beauty and a charm
behind your myth. Boggy waters
upon the lough host your presence
you are the essence of grace imagined.
If your truly are, you are by far mysterious.
We are delirious with your fever, Lough Ness deceiver.

Salvatore Buttaci’s Introduction to PUN-KU

Author, poet and congenial gentleman of words, Salvatore Buttaci has originated a poetic form called PUN-KU. Found at SAL’S PLACE and featured at Marie Elena Good’s POETIC BLOOMINGS.

Blown Pipes

I start the reel
but I sound off key.
Kilted buffoon
quite out of tune!

Homeward Lassie

Bright eyes, warm coat;
been missing for days.
Oh, by golly,
where’s that collie?

Pied Piper

So, Scotch whiskey
is my poison.
Music’s a drag,
half in the bag.

Daughters and Exes

Daughters bring joy.
And any boy who dreams,
yea, even schemes to abscond
with my darling lassies
had better love and care
for their needs and welfare.
They deserve no less, the best
life could offer in petite packages,
the ageless continuance of my being.
Long after I’m gone, I will find life
in a grandson’s smile, I will delight
in a granddaughter’s wile; she will hold the cards.
It is hard to imagine their mother
in their genetics. No frenetic rant
comes forth from within;
it would be a sin otherwise.
The spectrum spans wide,
and I can not hide my exuberance
at their contrary existence.
Da loves his girls.
My ex? Not so much.



No Sameness Remains

We carried a vision jointly.
We wanted a cottage in the countryside.
We wanted children and a dog.
We wanted to travel to far off places,
we wanted our faces to meet with every fleeting moment.
We wanted to grow old together and
we wanted our matching rocking chairs side by side.

But inside, a different story emerged.
I wanted the freedom to write my weary heart.
She wanted independence to placate hers.
I wanted to purchase more of a footprint on this old sod.
She wanted to wait and see how we worked out.
I wanted her to be happy,
she wanted that too.

She wanted the cottage in the countryside.
She wanted the children and the dog.
She wanted to travel far away from our union,
She wanted my face to meet her barrister.
We wanted to grow old together but
she wanted to keep her youthful arse far from that rocking chair.
I wanted to work things out.

She wanted to divorce.
She received the cottage in the countryside.
She took custody of the children and the dog.
She bannished me to a place far from her,
she wanted my face to suffer in pain.
She got everything she wanted.
Anyone wishing to purchase twin rocking chairs?


By the Pint

Rattle, rattle.
Tossed aside and another round.
Is the ground tilted?
Feeling jilted and quite
unstable. Unable to keep
my feet. Any more malt
and whatever happens
won’t be my fault.
Walking a fine line
although not a strait one.
What a party! A great one
as empty bottles and tins can attest.



Power Cell Low

Modern convenience
in a flat notebook shape,
you take a licking
but keep on clicking
when I press your tabs.
Portable and functional,
on the road you are my pal,
my only means of community.
In unity with my mind and muse,
I can use you all day, for
I’ve a lot to say. Out of the corner
of my eye your warning flashes,
five percent power. I had better
find a receptacle in which to plug
before my cell is drai



Taking a Petrol Toll

250 kilometres from home,
enjoyimg the countryside
and the Summer breeze
along this much travelled road.
The auto cruises until it
loses the fuel to motor.
I ought to have gone earlier.
Next petrol 27 km.
The countryside is overrated.



A Thistle’s Whistle

Windblown and grown throughout the valley,
the sharp burrs wave in rhythmic rolls.
In the quiet evening the rush is heard;
soft as a whisper, sharp as a whistle.
If you listen you can hear its calling,
enthralling and even. In the bushes and stalks
it talks to the shadows of my Scots ancestors
long interred; the rush is heard throughout the dale,
in the thistle’s tale its whistle wails.



Twinkle, Twinkle

Twinkle, twinkle constellations,
shine upon these sorry nations.
Clamouring always to be free,
from wars, and hate and tyrranny.
Luminescence from above,
fill our star-filled eyes with love,
make our every night a vision,
free of animous; derision.
Brightly shining from afar,
how I wonder where we are
to be so crossed by your appearance;
your astrological adherence.
Guiding light a million-fold,
deep in space you must be cold.
If you would drop out of sight,
it would make for one dark night.
Twinkle, twinkle fireball,
from my heart, I thank you all.