Monthly Archives: September 2018

Love Island?

Love Island?

Pictures available here

It isn’t Love Island;

and it isn’t really Looe Island;

it’s St. George’s Island

that I love to catch

in the pictures I take.

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“Going Bodmin!”

“I’m Actually Going (to) Bodmin!”

“Am I ‘Going Bodmin’?

Am I going crazy?

Am I as weird as a Theramin?

Am I twice as lazy?

Am I about

to holler out:

‘I’m Going Bodmin!’?

Am I as Lupin as a Daisy?”

My Vegan Limerick

My Vegan Limerick (Mon Végétalien Limerick)

There was a young lady from France

Who only ate seeds, nuts and plants,

She was kind to the planet

Her name n’était pas Janet

And she stove to give les animaux une chance.

My Vegan Tanka

My Vegan Tanka

My Vegan Tanka,

is like my Vegan Haiku,

but slightly longer;

though the two lines that I add

actually add nothing.

Maurice, the Dancer.

Maurice the Dancer

“Hi, I’m Maurice, the dancer.”

“You’re a Morris-Dancer?”

“No. My name is Maurice. I am a dancer.”

“Do you Morris-Dance?”

“No. I would have to be paid a lot of money – a lot of money – to Morris Dance – and by that, I mean a “lot” of money.”

“Why don’t you give it a try?”

“It’s the bells.”

“The whiskey?”

“No. Those little jingly-jangly ones that they tie around their ankles.”

“Oh, those!”

“Yes. And the sticks. How demeaning. I mean, would a veritable genius of the ballet arena (ie myself) even consider dressing up as a costumed clown of the MayPole Dancers Union?”

“We’d pay you this much.”

(A pause)

“Fol-de-rol, I say;

a Mummer’s thing

is to dance in May!”

A Missed Opportunity (about Mushrooms).

A Missed Opportunity (about Mushrooms).

NB Insert your own vision of a coffee mug perched precariously upon a Cornish Staddle Stone – what follows will then make some sort of sense.

“There’s always a mug on the mushroom.”

“Well…” I replied, twenty minutes later,

“That’s because there isn’t ‘mush room’ for anything else!”

which may have been funny at the time; but, at a distance, lost it’s wit.

I only wish that I had uttered it

at the moment when

it would have had the most impact, then,

not now;

how I mourn the loss of a chance

of ‘infamy, infamy; they’ve all got it infamy!’

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A Serious Piece: Her Journey

Robbie Yates telling a very sad tale – and telling it very well.
It may make you cry. G:)

Robbie Yates

She lingers at the station on her seat
she shivers, wrapped in coat and knitted shawl.
The train arrives, she shuffles to her feet
I watch her, fearing faltering or fall.

I see her brittle figure on the train
and as the seasons pass, she seems to fade;
some strangers stand, alerted and humane
in case she reaches out for arm or aid.

One day we wait and still no train arrives;
the crackled speaker voices growl “delay.”
Her watchful eyes are glimmering, alive;
I take her arm. “Let’s go by cab today.”

I ask her why she journeys back and forth;
she tells me that her Love is very ill.
“The hospital is twenty minutes north,
but while I can still reach him there, I will.”

From that day on, I smile to see her there.
I share my small umbrella in the rain.
And then, one day, her…

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