Monthly Archives: January 2019

“And the rain it raineth every day!”

Song: “When that I was and a little tiny boy (With hey, ho, the wind and the rain)”


(from Twelfth Night)

When that I was and a little tiny boy,

    With hey, ho, the wind and the rain,

A foolish thing was but a toy,

    For the rain it raineth every day.

But when I came to man’s estate,

    With hey, ho, the wind and the rain,

’Gainst knaves and thieves men shut their gate,

    For the rain it raineth every day.

But when I came, alas! to wive,

    With hey, ho, the wind and the rain,

By swaggering could I never thrive,

    For the rain it raineth every day.

But when I came unto my beds,

    With hey, ho, the wind and the rain,

With toss-pots still had drunken heads,

    For the rain it raineth every day.

A great while ago the world begun,

    With hey, ho, the wind and the rain,

But that’s all one, our play is done,

    And we’ll strive to please you every day.

My View

My View

From my window

I can see all that there is;

obviously, within the confines of my viewpoint, but, who needs more

than what I now have?

From my literary window, I see all.

Wall Haiku

Wall Haiku

A wall went AWOL,

it couldn’t be found at all –

Trumpty just stood there.

ad / add /AD (Anno Domini) prompt for #SoCS @LindaGHill

#SoCS Pronpt: ad / add / AD (Anno Domini)

10-minute SoC

See here for Linda’s prompt details


Adverbs do my head in – slowly., softly, steadily. It’s as if they are adroit at doing so – adding to my addiction to adding numbers (more of an addition than an addiction, I think).

Adjectives have no such hold over me – many happy people are brought to admit that without adjectives they would just be people.

Admiring the admissions of addition addicts is adorable; then adroitly admitting you are an addition addict is admissible when it comes to admonishing those disadvantaged souls.

In this modern age (ACE, AD, or the like) I am also admitting to the adage that The Adverts were my favourite punk band from the 70s – add to that my like of Adam and his Antics… well, enough said. And is it Anna Domini who sings for the Scissor Sisters? I advise you against adding her your adenoids – Which makes no sense what so ever – mad, it is – mad in Cornwall, go five! By Enad Blyton – how sad, I am, that this is coming to an end*

A fad, maybe; but fun was had.

*my 10-minutes went bad here!


“Who Stole Caradon Hill?”

“Who Stole Caradon Hill?”

Somebody stole Caradon Hill! –

it was gone when I went there, yesterday;

it’s quite big,

I couldn’t have missed it,

and I was definitely looking the right way.

Perhaps it will come back

all of its own accord;

for who could have stolen a hill that big;

but, if it doesn’t…

no, that doesn’t bear thinking about…

Oh, now, today, it’s back;

let’s dance a little jig.

My Valiant Attempt at A Sestina… Not!

My Valiant Attempt At A Sestina… Not!

To write a Sestina is no easy task

its structure’s not easy to use;

however, I’ll try one, and see how it goes,

it will be an experiment for me;

but, a lack of internal stanza rhymes

has already messed with my head.

I may do a Haiku instead.

Sestina, my word!

oh, so difficult you are,

that I do concede.

“A Horse, A Horse…!”

“A Horse, A Horse…!”

A horse-rider rode by;

we exchanged greetings

in the blink of an eye;

then she was gone,

whilst I


having gained a moment

of interaction

with another human being.

Seeing the momentary passage

of a horse and rider

through my realm

is not uncommon;

the fact that her horse was called ‘Lady’

and her name was ‘Godiva’…

well, that wasn’t at all usual.