What can I say?
What more can I say?
And, if I do get to say something, and then something else,

What can I say to follow that, and that?

What indeed?
Having said all of that,

I shall say no more

For that would be over-egging the point.

And there is certainly no point in doing that.

Is there?

Saturday Swaffle!

A Saturday challenge needs a theme

Like… it needs a hole in the head,

It is said

(Though not very loudly)

That Chinese Whispers

Can be heard

By a Chinese Whisper Listener

Unless, that is,

The Chinese Whisperer’s voice is hoarse.

In which case,

I would like to point out, that,

I seem to have strayed 

From the point.

Saturday Theme!

That was it.

But, not Saturday Sonnet

So serious is that;

Saturday Shaiku?

A made up thing

(Like the Badriomaku)

And alliterative, though it is,

Would it be inviting?

Saturday Shenanigans?

Open to vast amounts of interpretation, I think.

Saturday Stream of Subconsciousness?

Wacky, perhaps, who knows.

Saturday Something?

Maybe better than Saturday Nothing!

I know…

Saturday Smile Surprise!

Anything that has a feel good factor

From a holiday haiku to a blog about an actor

Who learnt to drive a tractor

Or the like.

Perhaps Saturday’s Waffle

Like mine often are?

They go on soooooooooo long

But, never,

Too far.

Poet Isaac, Poet Quin and Tim Tadjle.

Poet Isaac
Sat upon the coast
Between Poet Quin
And Tim Tadjle
“TheAtlantic Notion;

whereby all that is West of hereabouts,

Or thereabouts,

Is a haven for scoundrels

And layabouts.”

“That’s as maybe, Poet Isaac.” said Poet Quin.

“But, have you ever seen,

Or even ‘been’ further West of here? 

I fear that your words

Towards the vagabonds of the Western World

Are just pale imitations

Of words that have or wouldst have been.”

“And I would like to say something here…” said Tim.

“But, I have nothing of interest to say.”
The others both looked at him.
“Thank you, Tim.” said Poet Isaac. Your contribution, most helpful, has been noted and considered by the rest of us here. 

Now the mist it is building; high time for you… to disappear.”
And Tim did just that.
“That was clever – if a little bit harsh.” said Poet Quin. “Do you think we shall see Tim Tadjle again?”
“He shall return when the mist does desist.” announced Poet Isaac.

“For the once and future thing 


That Tim Tadjle

Will always exist.”
Poet Quin considered this.
And life went on.


At midday today

I delivered my last delivery

In Oxford’s fair county.

It’s been a lot of fun

And a lot of hard work

(Not that I shirk from doing the work)

But, now, the adventure moves on

To a different county;

To the south west we go.

And it shall be very different

That I ‘do’ know.

Here’s saying goodbye to the past

And hello to the future;

In Cornwall, at last.

Word Up! (A Call to Pen)

Word Up!
You’ve got to keep your word up

If it’s the last thing you do

Because, you know,

The poetry has to get through.
Through lands obscure with people mean

Across oceans vast as any seen

Underground in lairs where

The White Worm has been

And across the skies

On a trampoline?
Anyway, however you get there

Get there you must

Before all has been written

And you’re turning to dust

Whilst you still have the breath in your lungs to proceed

Word up, at once, it’s your task, yes, indeed.
Words put to page

Forever to age

Or not


Or lowercase

May be.

Words scrawled on paper

By hand and in haste

Or crayon, if necessary

To lose words, a waste.
So, Word Up!

And on with the show

To write, you know,

Is the right thing

To do





More About Meme

But I do have a Cornish futurey

Just some silliness from the week past. Ideas I have and sometimes they just need saying. I hope these are not too silly for you G:)
NB if any of these make no sense to you please let me know and I can clarify what on Earth I was waffling on about. G:)

Under The Sea

The Plaice I love
Is swimming near the ocean bed
I think his name is probably Isiah
Well, just because.