I heard you are writing a story.
Yeah, I’m doing the great story of England.
The great story?
Yeah the one about Ouzo
Ouzo?
Yeah the young lad, Ouzo – everybody knows it.
I don’t know it.
Yes, you do.
No, I don’t. How does it start?
With these words, ‘Ouzo ever pulls this sword from this stone and anvil..’
… that Quink ink
is not the thing to drink
when your ship’s about to sink.
Singing: Have you seen the Muffin Man, the Muffin Man, the Muffin Man;
Have you seen the Muffin Man-
Spoken: Yes, but I ate him.
I met him at the Candy Store
That’s when I fell for…
Lederhosen Jack
I met her in a candy store*
and seven years after
I could say I’ve met her before;
actually I’ve met her
many times since then
and I can’t say
I’ve ever been happier
when every day
I’m happier still,
seven years on
a couple destined
like Will & Ben –
or Ben & Will*.
*Poetic Licence has been used here – I actually met Jane in an Art House (‘The’ Art House), and we actually call ourselves Oola and Bob (from the mythical Oolabob and Bobaloo).
I don’t expect you to admire my words
when the title has promised so little;
in fact I don’t wish to belittle myself.
But, and here is the but – there is always a ‘but’ –
I seem to churn out the Words
in orders absurds
caring not a jot
for the writing I’ve got,
when rhyme is not
allowed to hasten the plot,
and alliteration alleviating anonymous algorithms
always accentuates absolutely all
apocryphal and actual
(insert something beginning with ‘a’ here)
Subsequently,
a tame ending will always leave the reader
wanting less.
Like a Dawn Chorus,
but we joined in
and felt the weekend upon us.
Not that all who woke today
woke to a day of rest and recovery;
but, we do give thoughts to them.
Not everybody’s Saturday
is actually a Saturday.
