This is NaPoWriMo or National Poetry Writing Month during which the aim is to write a poem a day for the whole of April. Oh yeah, right. Like that's going to happen round this neck of the woods.
I am hopeless at writing serious poetry. Actually, I'm hopeless at writing serious anything. I admire people who can do it, but mostly, it just makes me snigger at its awfulness or (more likely) yawn and turn the page. Raised as I was on a diet of Spike Milligan and Edward Lear, I have a fair appetite for doggerel and stupid Limericks but I also enjoy a bit of Browning and I loved the Liverpool Poets as a teenager. However, the closest I can get to producing anything remotely sober and considered is by playing with the Instant Poetry App on my phone which can produce something quite convincing. Might try shoving a few words together and sending them to a competition one day - if only I can be bothered.
When the children were younger, I used to make up the odd rhyme to keep them entertained and one of their all time favourites was The Sad Story of Bella Balloo. Many's the long car journey that has been enlivened by this being roared in the back seat of the car.....
The Sad Story of Bella Balloo
Bella Balloo was forty two and fat as a fat thing could be,
Her mother said 'Bel - you're starting to swell - you'll soon be as fat as me!
Take care of yourself or you'll be on the shelf until you're a hundred and three.'
'No, no', said our Bella, 'I'll find a nice fella - one who will make a good hubby.
Who is fair, fat and kind and one who won't mind if his darling intended is chubby'.
But sadly for B, she picked upon me, I'm Herman, the German, the rogue.
I'm round fair and spotty, with a big flabby botty and a passion for Kylie Minogue.
I fed her on pies and told her sweet lies, she loved me for better or wurst.
I fed her on honey and stole all her money and, eventually, poor Bella burst.