It is now eleven thirty late at night,
And I’ve spent the whole day rushing out of sight,
Having only just got back,
All ability I lack
For trying any sort of rhyme to write. 

First a bank, and lots of shopping – such a bore!
Then a Garden Judges’ meeting was the chore;
After that took cousin to
An informal little do –
There was yakking, on which I will say no more.

So I simply cannot poetise today;
And your kind indulgence thereunto I pray,
For, not only did I dine,
But I glugged a lot of wine;
Therefore this will be my little lot, today! 

© Colonialist April 2013 (WordPress)



About colonialist

Active septic geranium who plays with words writing fantasy novels and professionally editing, with notes writing classical music, and with riding a mountain bike, horses and dinghies.
This entry was posted in Challenge, Colonialist, verse, writing, music composition, fantasy, Africa, journal., Gardens, Personal Journal, Poems, Really Awful Rhyme and tagged , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.


  1. 68ghia says:

    Well, even inebriates, you are a much better rhymer than I could ever be 😉


  2. Pussycat44 says:

    The drinking wine I can understand, but garden judges meeting in the rain I do not. Did you go undercover?


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