Tag Archives: #poetry

Ye Hairy Gentlemen

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Written for Chel Owens’ Terrible Poetry Contest, Class of 2020 Reunion. The task, a terrible parody of a Christmas song…

On the twelfth day of Christmas
She’ll drive a holly stake through your heart…

Cut, cut, I think we’d be safer taking this in a different direction?

doG blessed ye hairy gentlemen
You’ll be warm upon this day
Remember that the rest of us
Will be frozen until May
With razor blades we’ll come for you
And shave it all away
O shavings of back hair and Bengay

We’ll stuff the clipping into bags
And ship them on their way
To far-off Nike sweatshops
In Hong Kong and Bombay
Where they’ll stitch them all together
With labels that say “Made in U.S.A.”
O tidings from Tài Sǔn and Ganmay

And when those man-hair sweaters
Arrive upon our shores
We’ll click on over to Amazon
And buy them by the scores
We’ll wrap them up for Christmas gifts
And cold, we’ll be no more
O tidings of comfort and joy
Comfort and joy
O tidings of comfort and joy

Damn these things are scratchy,
Merry Christmas to all and to all a good night…

Written for Chel Owens’ Terrible Poetry Contest, Class of ’20 Reunion
Copyright 2021 Greg Glazebrook, All Rights Reserved.


Ten-Gallon Hat

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Oh, that hat,
that ten-gallon hat.
If only they knew
what could fit under that.

Up to the border,
it filled to the gills.
Just play it cool,
soon I’ll pay all my bills.

“Howdy, y’all!”
said with a drawl.
“Nothing to declare,
I’d never smuggle – the gall.”

“The jigs up,
it’s clear that you’ve lied.
Now take off that hat to reveal,
what’s hidden inside.”

Week #239 of Sammi Cox’s Weekend Writing Prompt.
Word: Smuggle, Count: 66

Photo credit: Emily Schultz via Unsplash.

Copyright 2021 Greg Glazebrook, All Rights Reserved.

A New Day

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Today.
A new day.
Starting over,
again.

It doesn’t matter.
I’ll continue,
day after day.
Hopeful,
this time will
be different.

It won’t,
I know better, but
I have to try.
If I don’t I’d be 
admitting defeat.

The sun rises –
and sets –
and rises –
and sets –

I wake up,
it’s still there.
In my chest,
in my bones.
Always there, like
background noise.

Still,
you haunt me.
I can’t,
I won’t,
let you go.

The new moon –
waxing –
full –
waning –

I close my eyes,
it’s still there.
Each heart –
beat / beat / beat
A reminder I’m
only half alive.

It should have
been me,
not you,
laid shallow (sigh)
on that hill.

The seasons –
Become years –
Strung into decades –
A lifetime –

Today.
A new day.
Starting over,
again.

Originally posted for critique at Carrot Ranch Literary Community‘s
Saddle Up Saloon: Anyone Can Poem with Chel Owens.
Photo credit: Brett Sayles via Pexels.
Copyright 2021 Greg Glazebrook, All Rights Reserved.

Terrible Poetry

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Keeping in mind I’m fairly new at this blogging and writing thing, I’m still exploring a lot of old posts and such. This week I shared a poem with Saddle Up Saloon: Anyone Can Poem with Chel Owens at the Carrot Ranch Literary Community. Well didn’t that take me down the proverbial rabbit hole eventually popping up at Week 3 of Chel Owens now defunct Terrible Poetry Contest from November 2018. She has posted some excellent content too. I highly recommend checking out her blog. Anyway, writing terrible poetry sounded way better than whatever I was getting paid to do at the office –– To my boss: I’m on lunch break, I swear! –– so I just had to give it a go. The instructions: Write a terrible haiku for the topic “Falling Snow”. So three years late, give or take, here it goes…

Terrible Haiku #1

Snowflakes falling white
Landing where I dare to walk
Pish I’ve fallen too

Terrible Haiku #2

God scratches its skin
Psoriasis falls like snow
To my waiting tongue

Photo credit: Darrell Cassell via Unsplash.
Copyright 2021 Greg Glazebrook, All Rights Reserved.

Coming Home

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Cool November air fills
My lungs as I walk
The drive to your door
Fallen leaves fresh
Beneath my feet
Bid to betray my approach

Forgotten memories
Long faded from mind,
Tempered by the passage of time

Worn and weathered
Two estranged souls
Still harbouring resentment
Refusing to surrender
Like the last leaves of autumn
Clinging to barren branches

Beyond our battered walls
We meet face to face
To assess the coming winter

The wilderness
Heavy with fallen snow
Revealing its sturdy foundation

Time flows infinite but
Our path intersects
For a brief moment

What future still remains
Holding all possible conclusions
The choices we make today
Set the road we follow tomorrow
Moving forward is impossible
If we get mired in yesterday

She looks up at the
Crunch of dried leaves
Beneath my feet
An awkward moment
Then a smile and wave
And I’m home

Photo credit: Seth Doyle via Unsplash.
Copyright 2021 Greg Glazebrook, All Rights Reserved.

Eclipse

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Written for Week 303 of Sonya’s Three Line Tales challenge. Photo credit: Nathan Watson via Unsplash.
Copyright 2021 Greg Glazebrook, All Rights Reserved.

Nightfall

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Inky blue,
creeping westward
across the twilight sky.

Daylight’s last stand,
but a thin band
along the horizon.

Dotting the heavens,
boundless possibility
revealed in its wake.

Rooted to the ground,
the dreamer waits
for gravity to relent.

Written for Week #236 of Sammi Cox’s Weekend Writing Prompt. (Word: Blue, Count: 38)
Photo credit: Greg Glazebrook via GMG Photography.
Copyright 1997 / 2021 Greg Glazebrook / GMG Photography. All Rights Reserved.

The Edge of Despair

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Copyright 2018 / 2021 Greg Glazebrook, All Rights Reserved.

First Snow

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Tonight, the first breath of winter,
creeps outside darkened windows of
a slumbering escarpment town.
The soft, fresh snowfall of
a mid-November chill may be fleeting,
but in the morning gives rise to
a promise of long cold nights to come.

Copyright 2021 Greg Glazebrook, All Rights Reserved.

Photo Credit: Greg Glazebrook (November 18, 2020)
Copyright 2020 Greg Glazebrook, All Rights Reserved.