A Drabble – Drabble!

“Still nothing to do with me.”

“Okay, you oiks! You rabble!

Let’s get to business;

we are going to write a drabble!”

They looked at me

with a glaze to their eyes,

questions on their lips,

and with a thought process clogging up the CPU.

“It’s a short story.” I explained – putting them out of their misery.

“One hundred words – no more, no less.”

They visibly relaxed. Most of them knew a hundred words.

“And to spice it up a little…”

They paused in their movements.

“… none of the words can be repeated.”

You could have dropped a pin and heard its screams as it fell.


Tanka #1 for LPG (Liskeard Poetry Group)

Tanka set Monday,

and just four weeks to do it;

better get a start.

But, hey! Why not just leave it

right until the last minute.

Wirk Men

Wirk men

irk me

with their noise;

I annoy them

call them boys;

make them coffee

In crackéd cups –

and not the best stuff

that is kept for us.

Give them biscuits

for their break away,

and to give my ears a rest.

At least it’s raining

so they stay dressed.

Wirk men

irk me

as I irk them.

Call And Response

Call and Response (singing)

Well, what happened was

(What happened was)

I looked at you

(And I looked at you)

And you looked at me)

(And you looked at me)

And what did we see?

(What did we see?)

We saw each other!!!!!



So dium flares above my head.

So nar pinging beneath my seas.

So crates says a pithy thing,

that brings my senses to their knees

So lar panels upon a roof,

I try not to look,

I stay aloof.

So viet missiles no longer exist

as there’s no So viet Union,

said no So cialist, ever.

So dastream needs a replacement bottle, the fizz has gone So mewhere, wherever!

So fa beckons, I hear it’s call,

So, I must go; goodbye, one and all!

“Aye-Yay, Yippy!”

On the banks of the old Mississippi,

Which when wet are really quite slippy,

Is a lady who is mouthy and lippy;

and a camel and a tall kangaroo –

one is named Humphrey,

the other is Skippy;

no prizes for guessing who’s who.

Saints of Cornwall

St. Neots is the patron saint of peots.

St. Piran was one of the first Cornish saints; but, he’s been flagging as of late.

St. Ive looks after bee-keepers

St. Austell wards off evil sprites from those that wander the south coast off any island.

St. Just is regarded by those who make appointments with a second to spare as being their saviour.

St. Peering is looked upon as much as he looks upon us.

St, Packing is one I made up. And he’s outta here.