Chantelle remarked while sipping tea
she’d no idea where Pip could be –
perhaps the garden shed?
He might have gone spelunking to
ventriloquize in tongues with Hugh
the gnostic trogloped.
Or hosting Channel Tunnel ghosts
to channel boring puns instead.
He could be spooning pearls from grist
indulging gastromancy midst
a balmy oyster bed.
Or madly miming semaphore
to flag ’Lucia di Lammermoor’-
whatever makes him happy she said.
Or even tutting scuttlebutt
while phutting through Kolkata but
he’d better not be dead.
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Comments about this poem (Late by Diane Hine )
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Still I Rise
Edgar Allan Poe
I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings
Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
William Ernest Henley
Did you read them?
- Rightchoiceness, Tosin Abegunde
- Binding Echoes, F. J. Thomas
- Without Fail, Lawrence S. Pertillar
- a ReSoRt 2 rEtoRt and sum copy n paste, sEaN nOrTh
- In Lost Dreams, Lilly Emery
- The Present, Elizabeth Shield
- CRY OF THE GONE, Atimiwoaye Adetunji dayo
- I Wish, Poetry Love
- You Say, Leesaan Robertson
- Mr jekyll and Doctor hyde (advert for a .., lee fones