I have no words to say
No words to write
Towards what ends
Am I here
And here I cite a famous poet
‘Read the above and weep
For is there anything more to keep
Than these wise words from a chimney sweep.’

Who was that men that penned those words
That gained such plaudits
Won huge awards?
It was I
Or me
Or both
You see
For I am him
And he is me
Or I
I forget witch
Or which.

I know ”tis silly
It’s what I do
So, Merry Wordsmith
And a Happy New Word to you all.

Presumpbumptuous!

Morning arrives from night and darkness to day and light

And noon attends our zenith as we pass from am to pm

The afternoon can crawl or sprint as is it’s wont – and it’s different for every soul

Evening finds us weary from work or  family tasks and our repast is deserving of us.

The night draws on and we yearn to close eyes and receive sleep’s blessing.

The night is safely outside as we lay safely within.

And repeat.

No!!!!!!!

It seems to be a series of losses that is geting silly.

If I should go

As well I might

In a little mo

And I am not alone

How long will it be

Before all have departed

After me?

And will the last one to go

Please turn all the lights out

Because to leave them on

Would be wasteful

Of the resources of the Earth

And I happen to believe

That every life has intrinsic worth.

I tried following the fortunes of the cookies
But, nerdlike I found a herd of Wookies
I followed them
But they heard me
And haired off in the opposite direction
To the one that I was going
Then it started snowing
Must have been a nice planet once!

Mac of Kintyre

Michael Macintyre
Mirth rolling out from your mouth
I desire
To always be somewhere else
When you are there

Far will I travel
And much will I do
To be reading a book
And not listening to you…

I think that just about says enough

(Apologies to PMcC, Wings and Mull

of Kintyre – and possibly Michael Macinyre –

though it’s just an opinion of mine).

My dressing gown’s not satin

And I only know a little Latin

So, I say to you “go, carpe diem!

Take your chances when you see ’em!”

And never start writing Limericks without a plan.

Just falling about in fits as I have just found out that I am well within six degrees of separation of Catherine of Anagram.

Catherine’s familial device was a pomegranate and an anagram of pomegranate is ‘Panto Graeme’ enough said.

Jane was looking at a recipe. The conversation went this way:

J: Aargh! I ‘should’ have bought a pomegranate.

G: The pomegranate is the family symbol of Catherine of Anagram.

J: Anagram?

G: See what anagram you can get out of pomegranate.

J: (scribbles) You’re going to like this… “Panto Graeme”

G: Oh no, it isn’t!

J: Oh yes, it is!

Thanks to the Love of my Life Jane for assisting me in my descent to madness (King George Three, wait for me!)

‘Twas Christmas Day
And all through the house was…
Snoring, and not much else.
We’d not gotten to bed that early, you see
And now the only one awakened
Was little old me
The dogs they were slumbering and dreaming of snow…
And then Rosie appeared; there, at the Window
“Let me in, I have been out for a walk
I am back for the festivities the games and the talk
And I pray that you feed me with warm winter cheer
It looks warm there inside, and it’s parky out here!”

Now, Rosie relaxes in front of the fire
And drifts into dreams of her wants and desire
The lady of the manor is still snuggled in bed
And I protect the lot of them
With the words in my head.

It is quiet and peaceful all through the house
With just a snore, purr or a murmur
And not a lot else
But, soon will come Christmas
And all will ignite
And we shall be together
In our Christmas delight

But, we will think of others
And we do share our care
For others don’t have the things we do
And others despair
And today some will die
And others be born
For the world doesn’t know the day
It just carries on.

Wishing you a better day
Wherever your head you lay.

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A bard walked into a man
“Excuse me.” said the bard.
“But I didn’t see
What I didn’t see
And I didn’t see you
As you bumped into me.”

“You bumped into ‘me!’ ”
Said the man with some ire
“You weren’t watching where you were going; you, sir, are a liar!”

“A liar?” quothed the bard
“I am no such thing
As three feet cross your yard,
From the three-legged moggie
That sups at your breast;
For you are a milk-sop!”
At this, the man was sore distressed

And thumped the bard

Hard