Category Archives: stream of consciousness

Larkin or Auden?

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Larkin or Auden
Auden or Larkin
Larkin or Auden
Auden or Larkin
Adlestrop stop
Thomas or Auden
Auden or Thomas
Thomas or Auden
Auden or Thomas
Thomas the Tank Engine?
No, Edward Thomas.
Edward Thomas or Aldgate
Aldgate or Edward Thomas
Edward Thomas or Aldgate
Isn’t that upon the underground?
Circle Line or Northern
Jubilee or Piccadilly
District or Waterloo
Bakerloo or…


PS  I would here like to say that WP Admin  is ‘NOT’ a poet. Yet. G:)

Who He?


Who He?

What He do?

Was He Famous?

I’ve not a clue.

Is He live?


Is He dead?

Is there a price

Upon His Head?

What He write?

Was It good?

I read CrimeFiction

Is He understood?

Who He?

What He do?


A Man Walks Into A Bar… (A twenty-minute stream-of-consciousness write)


A man walked into a bar…
But, who is that man?
And where was that bar?
What is his purpose in entering that bar?

We need more information. Detail.

Has he a name?
And if so, what is that name?
We shall call him… Monty!
The bar is in San Antonio.
And Monty is going in there to meet… Skimpy!
San Antonio in… Mexico?

That is better; we have some detail. Information.

Skimpy is late; she has missed the tram and will catch the next one.
Monty is going to think that Skimpy is not going to turn up. As of yet he has not seen that Skimpy is not there – he is still hopeful that she is sat waiting his arrival. He is not late; he arrives exactly at Eleven (as planned).

Skimpy is not Skimpy’s real name; but a nickname that she has had for so long that no-one (even her) remembers what her real name is.
Monty checks the bar again; his hopes fading.

Skimpy talks to an old lady on the tram; and realises that the old lady is actually her long, lost grandmother who has been riding the trams for nearly twenty years. Skimpy finds out that her real name is Edith and vows never to tell anyone.

Monty gives up and leaves the bar.

Skimpy gives her grandmother a bar of soap before she leaves the tram (you choose which one leaves the tram) and they all live to live another day.

Information. Detail.

There could have been more.

What colour hair?
Tall? Thin?
Religious? Educated?
Anyway, we have quite a bit more about our cast than we started out with.


The Lady Vanishes


The lady vanishes!
Would she be up for vanishing my staircase?
It needs a rub down and a coat or two.
And if it’s really cold
A hat and scarf would help
Wrap up warm, I say
I say I say
What do I say?
It’s no joke.
When she cries she calls another’s name
Which is the lyric from a song
Spirit of the Age I think
I think I think
By Hawkwind
From way back long ago.
Anyway, what’s the cost of a revarnish of a set of stairs?
Sounds most reasonable.
Next Tuesday?

How I Write (six minutes of time well spent?)

Let's not be hasty...

360 seconds…

(Start 21:59)

I write as I see fit

I don’t put extremes of thought into it

I just let the words flow

And see where they go

Which means that they surprise me sometimes

More often than not

What I write has ‘some’ quality in it

Just a bit


If I have some luck with the flow.

Sometimes, the rhymes are cool

Often they make me out to be a fool

Who doesn’t know the Arsenal from the group Elbow

It goes to show that I am shallow and fleeting

Not a proper poet who confers the greeting of peers

Whose fears at their vulnerability

Are not threatened by my limited ability;

Hence, my agility in writing  at speed

Will lead to the above…

And when push comes to shove…

Can I write a proper poem?

Well, if I had to.


(End 22:05)

Randomness is a virtual virtue (or is it?)

Warning - portal possibilities!

Warning – portal possibilities!

No matter if you can’t be a sayer
Of onomatopoeia.
Or if you get your ‘Euphoria’
Mixed up with your ‘Hypochondria’
They are only words
That in some quarters
(Or thirds)
Are no more relevant
Than an Indian elegant.
What matters is
Your passion
To avoid the trap
Of fashion
And whether you care
About the letters there
In order to put your best
In order, lest they fail to achieve
Their potential in another dimensional vista.
Platitudes at latitudes
And attitudes to longitudes
May change
Be re-arranged;
But ‘nothing’ lasts for ever;
And ‘something’ always changes
Strange is the thought that
That’s the way of things
C’est la vie!

Em is as Em does – yes, I know I’m being the ‘P’ word, again!


I am very nearly empathetic
Just lacking the ’em’ –
Which is probably one of those
‘short words’ in Scrabble.
I tend to dribble and drool
And my speech is mere babble
On I go, never pausing for thought
Saying much more than a thinking man ought
to think
I’ll turn to drink
And coffee’s my tipple of choice
It fires up my brain and ‘estranges’ my voice
(Strange being the operative part of that word)
Until I am not quite the man I thought I was (too much thinking going on here)
Which is not really an answer
Just an ex-clam on the sea-bed of the nation.
Did I mention coffee making my thought-processes strange?
I did?
Yup, I did!

First in Class


This splat form
please fill it out
As there is a train waiting
And you can’t delay
A train of thought;
Or something upon those lines.

If there is a point to all this
Then I do not know it;
It all points to some destination
But, as it may be a departure from my norm
I shall just see how it all pans out.

It may be a miscarriage of poetic justice;
Or just a jumble of words
That wag on randomly;
Or, it may be just the ticket;
From which a journey
Can depart-you to France
(If you know what I mean)
Or somewhere else.

If you choose to remain stationary
Then please can you fill out
This splat form – as there is another train of thought due along
Any time-table soon.

Stream-Train of Consciousness Writing



I’ve got my back to the wall
I’ve got my back to the engine
The world flashes by
There is no tomorrow
It is always today
In my mind
The here and now
Of the lost and found
Will go to ground
With unexplainable ease
Before you can say “Why?”
Or ask “What?”
Or do “Anything.”

Best not to ask what your cross-country train can do for you.
Best not to.
You might not like the answer;
Somebody might not like the question;
Nobody will know if you just keep it to yourself;
Except little, old you.
So, that’s okay then.

Where were we?

And… Where are we?

More to the point…

What’s for tea?

Upon Waffles and Waffling (NB There are no ‘waffles’ just a lot of waffling).


Visit for waffles

Yes, indeed;
Where shall I start?
Firstly, and formostly,
I need to correct the poetical formatting that is my current
‘Default Mode’ as this is prose.

There! That is better, is it not? And here I would just like to say that it looks likely to me that ‘rhetorical’ questions always seem to be desirous of an answer. Who’d have thought that could be the case?

Who, indeed?

And (moving on swiftly) this being prose, I would like to discuss a most serious matter. But, me being me, I am very unlikely (indeed) to be able to do so.

I have the shallow thought process of a blunt scythe cutting butter. Excuse my imagery, please. That was not really thought through, but I shall leave it anyway – as it bears out my initial statement from within as from without.

Is this still making sense?

Did it ever?

Exactly. You can tell when I have no set theme to follow: can’t you?

You can? Go you!

Random stream-of-consciousness writings do tend to be… well, random.

Don’t they?

If you could answer all the questions ever posed would that leave you dated or insatiable?


PS Do I sign off with the ‘Discuss’ method too often? Does it lose its impact after the third time? Why?