A Happy New Year

A happy new year for 2019 to whomever dips into my Daiku. My muse is, I suspect, held up in the Christmas backlog. Or perhaps I've not felt any inspiration to write since my mother passed away. Certainly not in strict accordance to the rules of writing Clerihews, haiku or senryu.

But I thought I'd share this piece of post-seasonal doggerel with you, which resulted from a twitter exchange over Failing Grayling's decision to award a ferry contract to a startup company with minimal assets and no actual ships, in hasty preparation for a 'no deal' brexit in March.

Apropos of nothing, the Year of the Pig begins in February...

I saw no ships come sailing in On Brexit Day, on Brexit Day; Seaborne Freight were late. 'We'd heard, we beg your pardon, There're ferries at the bottom of the garden.' But none could be found; At least none copper-bottomed and sound.



Gladdens Hewers of Cleries Everywhere

Could Danny Finkelstein
Be more pleased than Clerihewers he met a Dinkeldein?
Unless Jon were instead a Manny,
It couldn't have been more uncanny.




Hardened Art Series

Don't go feeling sorry for Katie Hopkins;
She's not yet having to root through the bins.
And if she can't face the Schadenfreude,
She shouldn't be such a Scheißschleuder.


Metronomically Mephistophelian

Modest Mussorgsky.
No shrinking violet he.
Pitchers at an exhibition match, he aimed to please;
Scratchers appreciated his musical fleas.

credit: Ilya Repin


With a Lemon, Make Lemonade

McArthur Wheeler's
Not one of the Pittsburgh Wheeler-Dealers.
The career of this bank-robbing thug
Turned as sour as his lemon-soaked mug.

By Elena Chochkova [CC BY-SA 4.0] 



Athelstan Joseph Michael Eavis.
He conceived this:
'A fallow season,' he blurts,
'Gives next year a better crop of yurts.'

Credit: Justinc


Applaud Quietly

Mr Ivor Cutler
Sourced his jungle tips from a sutler;
Wrote deadpan verse without rhyme or raisin,
And awkward soft Glaswegian phrasing.

Roger Kohn [CC BY 3.0 
via Wikimedia Commons