The Ning – 11-10-2015
I saw a ‘Ning’
The other day
Upon the moor
It was a moor Ning
‘Haha!’ I hear you say
But, that may be just my imagination
In some other reality
Some other universe
Where, when it comes to poetry
The worse the verse the better
Which is quite perverse
Or, even, just the ‘reverse’
There, there may be some hope for me
(Do you see?)
A parallel dimension
Where I could be the king
Of their poetry thing –
Now wouldn’t that be nice…
Sorry? You’re going to buy me a one-way ticket there… whatever the price!
I saw you in the queue;
In fact I saw two of you –
You were second in the queue;
And you were also fourth in the queue –
After the one in front of you
You would be next –
But, you would look strange
If you were at the start of the queue –
And if a Uqueue had three of you
I don’t really know what I would do
But, thinking about it
I wasn’t in the queue.
With a dibber
Said “Stand up and deliver;
Your monkey or your knife!”
I knew he was lying
By the knots he was tying
In his bed sheets, he was just trying
To escape from his life.
A life full of porkies
Roast thief and Yorkies
Where the truth hurt his thing that rhymes with Yorkies
And caused him oh so much strife.
The Chipping Norton
All norms out of syncopation
Wind and gales arriving
Across land and through the air
Thunder claps likely
And perhaps a hurricano or two
Chances of snow; though, this, is improbable
And if you know what’s best for you;
Probably you should lay low
And keep indoors
Upon all fours
And maybe you could try to see out
The hullabaloo that is likely to occur
But, it’s doubtful,
If it will occur
Oops! Pardon-Pardon me
I have just returned from Baden-Baden;
Before that I was in Bora-Bora,
Where I had arrived on a jet from New York, New York.
I was recuperating in bed (being attended to by a so-so nursey-nursey) after having been bitten by a black rat (rattus rattus, to give it its Latin name) and following a bout of beri-beri (from drinking badly purified water – which is an absolute no-no.
So, if I am not to end up as dead as the do-do, and continue being the world’s yo-yo champion; I shall have to recover.
However, I still have a few places left on my bucket bucket list:
I want to sing like a canary in sing-sing;
Boogie-woogie in Wagga Wagga;
Swim soon in Langa Langa Lagoon;
Do circuit training in Loop Loop;
Take a tour or two in Tourtour;
And many many more…
Where do you want to go-go?
Poetry for the weak (for the week)
The sun shone benignly
Warming bones and spirits
Alleviating ailments and
Adding a little je n’ai sais quoi to the occasion
(Which is always handy).
The cool breeze was empathetic
As it was largely innocuous in its bearing
And it soon curtailed it’s efforts
As the people neither needed
Nor wanted it anyway.
They say, that if you look directly into the sun
Through some smoked salmon and cream cheese
You will be considered mad
I know this to be so.
That was prose.
I was being kind to you
Though, no-one ever
Took such kindness to ‘my’ brain
As my brain well knows.
‘Poetry’ is a curse
And, much worse,
It is often written
In contulambraic verse
Or some suchlike nonsense.
I have, sadly, been bitten; nay, smitten
By the ‘lack of commonsensical,
Whimsical, tra-la-la mimsical’
There is no hope of release
For one with this pernicious disease
“Will no one rid me of this troublesome priest?”
By which ‘priest’ I mean ‘poetry.’
So, my advice
For what it is worth
Who are seeking a poetry dearth
Is to stick to fiction
Avoid an addiction
Or a pesky predilection
To rhyming in your diction
And your reading habits
For the evil curse
Of the open poetry purse
Will cause the verse
To breed like rabbits.
And you wouldn’t want that now,
Because life is short and hats are fun G:)