Category Archives: silly

The Ning!

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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
Gone astray.

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’
Of here.
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!
Goodness!

In the queue (I was not)

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I saw you in the queue;
In fact I saw two of you –
How strange!

You were second in the queue;
And you were also fourth in the queue –
How strange!

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 –
Uqueue!

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.

Was e?

FibberDibber!

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A fibber
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 Shipping Forecast!

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The Chipping Norton
Shipping Forecast

Rainstorms brewing
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,
We concur,
If it will occur
Anywhere
Near
Here.

Poetry for the weak (for the week)

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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’
Muse
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
To you
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,
Would you?

The Hat(s) Song (a little tit-fer-tat ditty)

Because life is short and hats are fun G:)

Tales of Failed Dinner Parties #1

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Wrong Plaice!
Wrong Thyme!

Which is the simple explanation as to why the fish supper meal that I had prepared for my friends went so badly.

A Fishmonger’s Tail!

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The Whiting is upon the wall
Which doesn’t sound that fishy at all
The Carp is a coy one
The Ray has a toy gun
And Cod is in the Narwhal

Turn up the Bass
(It’s all about that Bass)
Especially if you are hard of…
Dare I say it…?
I must…
…if you are…
… hard of Herring!
There.
It is done.
No misHake about it
You didn’t think for a Minnow
That I wouldn’t…
Did you?
Three Mermaids all in a Roe,
Not scattered all about the Plaice!

Captain’s Log Entry – A Red Cloud Approaches.

Mr.S: It’s Strawberry Jam, Jim
But, not as we know it.

JTK: You mean, it’s ‘preserve?’

Mr. S: I shall have to carry out further analysis, Captain.

JTK: In your jim-jams?

Mr. S: That is not even remotely funny, Captain. Vulcans do not wear ‘jim-jams!’

JTK: Vulcans don’t wear PJs?

Mr. S: Not that I am aware of, Captain. Vulcan is a planet of propriety and sobriety.

JTK: So, you’ve never been to a Pyjama Party?

Mr. S: I do not believe a Vulcan has ‘ever’ attended one. We do know what they are – as we have sought knowledge upon many subjects – and have neither desired to attend or arrange one. Much can be said that that statement also applies to Garden Parties and Toga Parties.

Checkov (whispered to Sulu): Pooper!

Mr. S: Thank you, Mr. Checkov, I have extremely acute hearing; and consider your remark to be… I shall say, at the least… uninformed!

Sulu (whispered to Checkov): he probably sleeps in his uninform!

SD Sulu and Checkov giggle about this.

JTK: Gentlemen. Much as I love our little banter sessions; I think we should really be thinking about dealing with the red, amorphous cloud that is fast approaching us.

Mr. S: thank you. As I said Captain; the cloud is similar in many ways to an old-fashioned breakfast preserve from the 19th and 20th centuries, containing, as it does, a high percentage of natural Fructose sugar (and pips) an analysis of such has given results which I am strongly of the opinion indicate Strawberries.

Lt. Uhuru: We are receiving a transmission from the red cloud, Captain.

JTK (slightly bemused) We are?

Lt. Uhuru: It’s definitely coming from there, Captain.

JTK: Okay, let’s hear it, Lieutenant.

TBC

A Word (Or Several) to the Wise.

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I want to find
A raspberry in February
That the moon ‘is’ made of cheese
Beggars can be choosers
And that up is down once in a while.

The ‘norm’ is not definitive;
Expect the expected
To unexpectedly not happen;
Cast your pearls behind swine
Fail to do that stitch
Not in the nick of time.

When all is said and done
Nothing left to chance
And we have all been led a merry dance
Let us honour our forbears
And look to the future
And the past? it shall come to pass.

So, at the going down of the Sun
Remember them. They might not remember us; but, that’s not the point

Of a broken pencil.
And there is no use crying
Even over spilt milk, spilt ink
Or split peas.

Hope this helps.