Can you
canoe
in East Looe?
Can Dennis
play table-tennis, too?
I guess
you can play chess
if you are board;
but, who says that all games
must be ignored?
Pass them by
if you must
turn a corner,
or a king –
and you are bust!
LWG for 04/12/2018
Prompt: Christmas
‘‘twas the meeting before Christmas,
in old Stuart House,
and all the brave writers
were unaware of a mouse,
who was chewing on paper
whose fine words were at risk,
for they, the bold writers of Lisk,
had been careless as to where they stored their stories, kept their tales of seas and sails.
The mouse was oblivious
as to the worth of the words;
the adjectives sublime;
some similes quite fine,
and one compelling metaphor,
never heard before.
“Nibble, nibble!” nibbled the mouse. his stomach filling with verbs, as he happily chewed.
“When I grow up I want to be a writer!” He exclaimed. On and on he chewed.
“I’ve devoured many epics, some longer than need be;
short stories and poems-
the writers don’t heed me-
and I quite liked the comedy writings of some;
although they cause a funny
feeling when they got to my tum.
Nibble, nibble!” nibbled the mouse.
“And now for our homework!” was announced to the room. “Our prompt was ‘Christmas’. to brighten the gloom
of a dark December’s day;
who shall go first, start off reading today?”
They ‘ummmmed’ and they ‘ahhhhed’ and then one did speak:
“I’ve written a story about a Christmassy Week.”
The story told, the response quite pleasing, a circular route to read was now teasing. But, clockwise or widdershins? Which way would it go? It always varied, so no one did know.
“I’ll go next!” from the clockwise direction. The rest now relaxed by this natural selection.
“My story is about the state of the National Elf at Christmas!” We did laugh. And this was followed by many a fine sentence and adroit paragraph. Until the story had been told with sufficient aplomb. “That was most uplifting!” a voice spake from the room.
SO, clockwise we travelled, the stories well told; one about Christmas Trees, and one of The Old, Old Christmases before rationing ended; when an orange was thrilling, and a broken stick mended.
Then it came to my turn.
What should I say?
What had I written Upon Christmas, for today?
I took a deep breath…
prepared all my words…
and began:
‘‘‘twas the meeting before Christmas
in Old Stuart House…”
“Nibble, nibble, nibble!” nibbled on the mouse.
A horse in the hedgerow
A robin in the field
Or, maybe that should be the other way round:
plǝᴉɟ ǝɥʇ uᴉ uᴉqoɹ ∀ ʍoɹǝƃpǝɥ ǝɥʇ uᴉ ǝsɹoɥ ∀
That seems about right.
G:)
If I should die
and not be in Cornwall
carry me back
and bury me there.
Under a Pasty Tree
on the West Bank of the Tamar
or further west than that.
And wearing my wellies
the ones with the hole
in the left toe.
Perched upon my head
my flat cap;
and clenched in my fist
a piece of paper
with the words to Trelawny
written there upon.
Sing me a verse
of that fine anthem
then a chorus or two
and bid me begone.
Inside it is calm
if a little cold;
Outside, Diana is banging on the doors, checking the windows for airtight seals, and throwing empty plant pots around the streets in a gay abandon.
The trouble is, if Diana gets a little more unruly, what damage will she deal out upon us.
Roll on Edith, Freya, Gloria, Hannah, Iris, Jane, Kathleen, Lita, Milldread, Norma, Ophelia, Petunia, Ruth… Spring!
Ibble was a gull,
a Herring gull,
who flew to Looe
from the fair port of Hull.
He flew South West
to get the best
food that he could,
as any gull would.
The finest fish,
from the freshest catch
the choicest morsel
no other could match.
He stood on a post
watched the people walk past;
followed the boats
or he perched on a mast,
watching the fishermen
as they prepared all the fish;
grabbing a morsel,
or as much as he’d wish.
Ibble flew with the locals
and was accepted by most;
slept on Looe Island,
kept to the coast,
and sang his gull song,
too often, too long,
as he was proud of his vocals,
and soon did belong.
Ibble was a gull
who flew to Looe
from the fine port of Hull,
as a gull should do.
Lands End,
and seas begin.
If you are careful
you won’t fall in.
If you are foolish
or simply unlucky
you may have to be rescued
By the RNLI,
plucky souls
that risk their lives
to return safely
wayward water-people
to their husbands and wives.
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