The Shallow Ocean Poem
I have a notion
that, one day,
the Atlantic ocean
will be
only three inches deep.
Which would still make it
far deeper
than this poem.
By the Book (sic)
Bardly Writ
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Author Archives: The Febrile Imaginings Of A Cluttered Mind
I met a man from Towcester
I met a man from Towcester
I met a man from Towcester
he was putting up a poster
he nailed it to the corner of a tree;
the poster read, ‘I’ve banged me head,
does anyone be recognising me?’
And the poster bore a picture,
of a four-slice toaster,
and a cardboard cut-out,
life-size replica of me.
The butterfly and the duckling
Liskeard Writers Prompt for 21/01/2020: Picture prompt – the butterfly and the duckling.
When you think about reincarnation, as I’m sure you do from time to time, do you consider the possibility that you would come back as a long-living creature – such as an Aldabra Giant Tortoise or a Greenland Shark, or a creature with a short life-span, such as an adult Mayfly or a House Mouse
Well, this story involves two people that meet, fall in love, and die, all too young, in an airplane crash.
They are pure-hearted souls that qualified, without dispute, for reincarnation.
Jessica was transformed into a beautiful Blue Morpho butterfly; Leonides, strangely inappropriately, was reincarnated as a duckling, an ugly duckling, with feathers all stubby and brown.
As you know, or maybe you don’t, all animals, insects, mammals (apart from most humans) have the ability to converse with each other. They don’t always choose to; but, they can hold conversations in many ways apart from the spoken language that we expect of them.
So, Jessica and Leonides were able to find each other by a series of clicks, quacks, chirps, flutters, and a fair degree of luck.
They remained friends throughout their reincarnated lives, sadly Jessica’s was one of brevity, and Leonides grew to be an ugly swan, who used the brute strength of his wings to quell the dissatisfaction that he felt at not having also been brought back as a beautiful butterfly, where he could spend a brief, but exquisite, life with Jessica – as they had done when in human form.
The calendar that their picture adorns is a tribute to a moment in their second lives. And the picture was taken from an actual scene that caught the artist’s eye – so beautiful it was.
Nihonium
Nihonium
I tried to learn to play
the Nihonium
the other day,
with a small element of success.
“Sex Poem”
“Sex Poem”
Umm. I can’t, actually, read you this poem
for fear of offending
it’s very graphic…
there might be a hint of homoerotica
and a slice of sensuous sapphic
… but, it does have a happy ending.
anyway, I have decided, in my wisdom,
to read it to you
Sex is Anglo-Saxon for Saxon;
so there is Essex, where the East Saxons lived;
Wessex, where the West Saxons lived: Middlesex, where the Middle Saxons lived: and Sussex, where the South Saxons lived -although there were so many South Saxons that they split it into two, giving us the West South Saxons and the East South Saxons – there used to be some North Saxons, who lived in Nosex, but, strangely, they died our a long time ago – and then there were the Saxons of Kent – the Cantii.
The British who had inhabited Britain before the Saxons arrived to name all the areas, were pushed over to Wales and Cornwall (now known as Blue Whales and Cakewalk).
There was a young Saxon from Kent
who came back from wherever he went
until one day
he stayed away
as all of his money was spent.
A Limerick, which is a place in Ireland,
perhaps it should be given a sixth line and called a Canterbury.
… and he’d given up travel for Lent.
You can’t get much happier than a Canterbury, can you?
Born on the Forth of Firth
Born on the Forth of Firth
I was born on the sixteenth day of the Forth of Firth,
and am destined to die
upon the very same day
(how very Shakespearean of me).
Cold Mid-Winter Sun
Cold Mid-Winter Sun
Cold Mid-Winter Sun,
all the things you’ve done,
and all the things you’ve seen –
can you tell me why
you are not coloured green?
You’d break the golden rule,
and consider me a fool,
if you could only tell me why
you are not coloured green.
You are like a molten tangerine,
that’s a simile
from silly me,
but, I’d rather you were the colour,
of a peppermint cream.
Please tell me why
you are not coloured green.
Cold Mid-Winter Sun,
all the things you’ve done,
all the things you’ve seen,
do you know
that you are not coloured green??
