Monthly Archives: October 2015

Food in the Nude!

Well, what picture did you expect? You naughty people.

Well, what picture did you expect? You naughty people.

I eat food
In the nude
But, not usually in public
For ‘that’ would be extremely rude
And just this side of being lewd…
No, Don’t think that I’m a prude
But, streaking whilst chomping
Fresh artichoke hearts
Is looked down upon and frowned upon in these toffee-nosed parts
So, I nibble on sweetcorn
Whilst alone in the buff
Two ears, I find, is usually enough.

Well, once, when I was in Bude,
But, this cannot be applied
To every sea-side resort –
I don’t want to be misconstrued –
Sundry salacious prunes softly stewed
Were by myself viewed in a Bude restaurant
So, I queued
To purchase myself a taste of the delightful food
With some money that I had accrued
(It was just the right amount of cash to flash)
But, being shrewd, I haggled the price…
and then, by mistake I paid the lower price twice!

Anyway, on the purchased prunes I chewed
They were actually really rather tough
And I’d soon had quite enough.

What has all this to do with noshing in the nude
I hear you ask

You: What has all this to do with noshing in the nude?

Me: Thank you.

Well, at the risk of being sued
For being the owner of an inattentive inappropriate inexact attitude
I only allude
To the food at Bude –
The tough old prunes
I chomped and chewed –
To set the mood.

For, as in ‘The Mystery of Edwin Drood’
A novel by Charles Dickens –
A writer of ‘no’ ineptitude –
Writing in a serialised format
As was then so often viewed;
And like the cat with the cream,
who mewed
I do so
to conclude
With a degree of precise certitude
That I will ‘always’
Prefer My food
To be eaten ‘a la nude!’

At Midnight…

Orson Welles as Falstaff Campanadas A Medianoche


William Shakeapeare’s Henry IV, Part 2, Act 3, Scene 2

Graeme wrote…

I have heard the windchimes at midnight
Their days are numbered in minutes
“Hand me those scissors, please, Gertrude. I shall only be a short while.”
‘Tick! Tock!’
The writing
is upon the wall
I cut the string
And the windchimes
Silently fall
Good night, one and all.

And in response.  Jane Goldsack wrote:

I have heard the car alarms at midnight
Their days are numbered in seconds.
“Pass me that grenade, Harold. I shall only be a short while.”

Nings 2


There will always be a Ning land

Where all the Nings can live

For a Ning is such a sociable thing

And its friendship it loves to give.
The Nings all sing and laugh with joy

They are such a happy lot

And as they are neither girl nor boy

They are blessed with what they’ve got.

Fibonacci Poetry #2


Fibonacci Poem #2

1-1-2-3-5-8-13-21 words



Let’s start.

At the beginning

(Which is the right place)

With one word, then one again, then two;

Then the sequence goes: three words, five words; eight words, thirteen, twenty-one.

The line with twenty-one words in is probably the longest line as it gets silly after that – in my opinion.

Tuesday Morning @Work Poetry

One of the amazingly beautiful places that I see as I visit Oxford's loveliness.

One of the amazingly beautiful places that I see as I visit Oxford’s loveliness.

Tuesday Morning
Nearing Winter
Sat in the warmth
Of a Mercedes Sprinter
Darkness out there
To the nIghttime clinging
And all around a birds’ chorus singing
Another week is starting for me
Work to do (the hours adore me)
Travel here and travel there
Reach destinations everywhere
Travelling through time
(But, only an hour each and every hour)
And Monday through Friday
Keep on trucking on the Queen’s own highway
Mile after mile
And still I smile
I earn the pennies
To play a while
And as jobs go
I like the work
It’s tiring
But, rewarding
And hasn’t driven me berserk…


When sleep is what is needed…


When sleep is what is needed
And sleep it just won’t come
I lay awake for hours
And wish my mind was numb
But, thoughts keep digging at me
Ideas wild and clear
Begging my attention
It’s insomnia, I fear.
The hours tick by like weeks
The minutes seem to drag
I have to be up for work by five
And in the day I’ll flag
And feel like a nap by two
When I should be driving home
I’ll fight the urge, resist it,
No need, when driving, to roam.
I wish I had a switch
On a timer
To give me the sleep
That I am so desperately needing
But, I haven’t and so just lay here
Writing this poem
That you

A Fibonacci Poem (a try at one, anyway)


1-1-2-3-5-8-13-21 words



(That’s us)

Should try this.

‘This’ being a Fibonacci poem,

Which follows the sequence of numbers like ‘this’

Until the lines become increasingly long and unwieldy – though it frees our musing –

Confusing us with a seemingly never ending increase in word numbers that will ultimately cause your fragile brain to finally explode!



I look at the twenty-fifth letter of the Alphabet
And ask the question: why?

I look at the busy market square
Trying to find Waldo
And the question is: where?

I look at the glass filling up
And the question is: when?

I look at the physician
And the question is: who?

I look at the power output level indicator
And the question is: what?

I look at myself
And the question is: where is the sallow youth of fifteen?

Typewriter Poetry Try #2

Typewriter Poetry Try #2

Top-Line Poetry

I type
I try
I wrote
I write tripe, too
Poor poetry, I write
I put it to you, poet
I try.
Middle-Line Poetry

A sad dash-dash-dash
Glad all falls flash
Fads, a al Dada,
A hall as glad as a flag
Ada’s Salad as Al has a gas.

Bottom-Line Poetry

Still say ‘you must be kidding!’

Typewriter Poetry Try #1 is HERE

It’s a Down-to-Earth Limerick about Gravity!


The levity of a poem about Gravity
Can only be increased by its brevity
So before it gets dull
Like a weekend in Hull
I’ll end it before it reaches such depravity.