Monthly Archives: August 2018

Friday’s Tanka

Jane and the musical force that is Ryan Davies.

“Friday’s Tanka here!

I’d just like to say something,

if that is okay?

I am so pleased to announce

that my existence is true.”

A ‘Murder’ Drabble or a 99-Worder?

I wrote a Drabble,

then I removed a word;

and found that I had a ninety-nine worder.

The difference between the one

and the other

was ‘……’ –

for that was the word that I chose

to remove.

What does that prove?

And what can you do when you’re

trying

to be precise?

Spell-check once…

then spell-check twice.

Everything should then be

nice

(you may be able to fine a better

descriptive word

than that.

‘Nice’ is okay;

but, if you take my advice,

use it

and you may end up

where I am today!)

In Cornwall!

Yay!

A Poetry Drabble

Can a drabble

be written in poetic form?

I hear it’s wrong,

not the norm

to do such a thing with a drabble.

But, in the parable by Zak

there is always a lack

of detail upon the subject.

I object when I am told

“Behold! These are the rules!

To vary is only done by the biggest of fools!”

And, as you know,

I am one, so.

A hundred words here are written.

If you are not happy by that…

“Bite me!” I shall be bitten

if by my words

and how they are put

you are not smitten.

Train Poetry

Have you ever tried

writing poetry on a train

you’ll write it time table and again

and the rhythm’s always the same

when you’re travelling on the train;

because, although life’s a pain,

a train will take away the strain

and leave you less insane

than you were inside your brain.

So,

Wherever you go

whatever you do

there’s always a train

travelling through

you get on the train

and look at the view

that’s passing you by

as you’re going to Looe.

A Day Trip to Liskeard (by car), Looe (by train), and Polperro (by glass-bottom boat).

Possibly on this boat…

It’s Thursday morning,

we are going on a boat,

and also a train,

to Liskeard Looe, Polperro –

it’s going to be so cool.

I’l take some pictures

of the journey to show you –

and it will not rain;

because we have ordered Sun

and it’s arriving at Noon.

Two Tankas are sometimes better than one – sometimes. (Tankas for #LPG #LiskeardPoetryGroup).

Two Tankas for the Price of One!

Tanka very much,

I appreciate your help

in all that I do.

Which sentiment is sincere

if not a little solemn.

—//—

Well, that was no fun!

I usually say less

and make it jokey.

But, Wednesday can be dull

if it rains and I get wet.

–//–

A Tiny Vignette

Do You Read These If They Don’t Have A Picture?

‘Plinketty-Plonketty’ Peter Penquite (the second ‘e’ of which is pronounced thus giving it the full three-syllables of silliness – ‘Pen-Kwit-e’) was, shall we say – yes, let’s – quite pernickety.

Why?

Well, that’s a story for a post far longer than this one.

G:)

A Blogging Moment.

There’s a Bee in House!

I don’t know about having an Elephant in the Room (there isn’t one, I’ve looked) but, there was certainly a big 🐝 in the room – no, a real one! He was buzzing a rendition of an old Nickolai Rimsky-Korsakov tune, and very loudly.

I soon trapped him humanely in a handy milk bottle, and he was thus returned to the outdoor area from whence he had probably come.

All has now returned to normal – or as normal as can 🐝.

G:)

What if…?

The good behaviour of the saviour

was recently called into doubt;

he was seen running about

claiming the benefits

of Mock-Turtle Soup –

the local paper thought they had a scoop.

He had also been observed

selling door to door

poor quality dishcloths and towels;

supposedly

being for the benefit

of fore-shortened foxes and small orphaned owls.

Howls of abuse

were heard in the area –

his supposed misdemeanours

more newsworthy than malaria –

and so a petition was started by one.

Posters were posted

about the host who now hosted

such scandalous thoughts in his head.

A target group were targeted

for their opinions

and, then,

when their opinions didn’t fit,

they were targeted about it once again.

But, the sales of dishcloths and towels

lacked success for foxes and owls – no one washed-up anymore – and he tried to sell to his flock –

which meek people were too poor or unwell,

to be able to afford of his stock.

So he went back to teaching

History to the young;

the Ark, Moses, Beeching;

the sad songs that Solomon had sung;

and when his days as a teacher were done,

he retired off to France

to play bingo and dance

and dwell in a villa in the sun.

Early One Wednesday Morning, In Sir Cecil Sissington-Smythe’s Civil Service Office.

“Se-ver-al Ci-vil Ser-vice sil-ver sal-vers!” she said, slowly, salaciously, seditiously.

“Several!” said Sir Cyril Sissington-Smythe, severely.

“Sì, Signore Cy-ril!” Sonia Sanchez-Sans-Sevilla, Sir Cyril’s Spanish Secretary, asserted seductively. “Se-ver-al.”

Sir Cecil sighed – it was going to be another of those exasperating Esperanto Wednesdays.