Tag Archives: #nonsense

My Stick Stock (and other animals)

My Stock Stock (and other animals)

My stick stock

has been depleted;

Napoleon was defeated –

where did he keep his armies?

Answer: up his sleevies.

“Groan.”

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A Day in the Lift?

A Day in the Lift?

Walking out

one Summer morn;

thanking the world

that I’d been born;

I tripped and fell

and broke my arm;

I never thought I’d come to harm;

I got right up

and stumbled on;

until I saw a telethon,

flying low it bit my ear,

will I get well?

I wait to hear.

Returning then

from whence I’d gone,

I walked into a pantechnicon;

it took me then

to who knows where,

and deprived me of my underwear.

Escaping from its evil grasp,

I sought a brooch

and found a clasp;

I held on tight,

with broken arm,

and realised,

to my alarm,

that in the clutches of this thing,

I hadn’t heard the doorbell ring –

I woke to find

my doze had ended,

and so a fire escape

I then befriended.

“Sing a Song of Sixpence!”

“Sing a Song of Sixpence!”

(LWG prompt for 20-08-2019:)

“Sing a song of sixpence”

sang Simon’s sister, Sue.

“Four and twenty blackbirds

set out for Timbuktu.

“Alliteration and rhyme?” she queried;

“That will never do.”

“She sells seashells upon the seashore;

she has sold a lot of seashells,

but there are many millions more.

“I shouldn’t really rock the rhyme…

contemplated Sue,

“But, bees and fleas all come in threes;

hoopoes and gnus are found in twos.”

Sue sighed sadly,

“Song, song blue, ev’rybody knows one;

bing bong boo, Benny bought a Bath bun.

Four and twenty blackbirds

waiting for a worm;

Four and nineteen blackbirds,

they fidget and they squirm;

one little blackbird,

I think his name was Spot,

was cool, calm and collected,

and he squirmed not a lot.”

One, two, buckle my shoe,

Three, four, ‘Knock! Knock!’

“Who’s there?” I had to stare

at the monster shyly standing there.

“Trit trot! A troll I’m not,

even though I seem one,

as I look like a fridge,

and live under a bridge,

I assure you, I’ve never been one.’

‘Troll sat alone on his seat of stone,

And munched and mumbled a bare old bone;

For many a year he had gnawed it near,

For meat was hard to come by.

Done by! Gum by!

In a cave in the hills he dwelt alone,

And meat was hard to come by.’

(JRR Tolkien)

A sixpence is, or was, a coin of currency in England back in the days when England had an umpire – or was it when there were werewolves and vampires? Anyway, it was certainly a long time ago. I received my first sixpence in the reign of Elizabeth – the second, not the first – when it was worth the price of a bag of chips, a small haddock, named Ernie, and as many peas as you could mush. Nowadays, it won’t even even be enough to buy you a single pea (mushed or unmushed) – this is largely due to the invention of Decimalisation by ten Frenchmen called Frank back in 1000 AD. They decided that all measurements should be in multiples of dix. It wasn’t until the early 1970s – when the English translated an old document, from the time of Edward The Something, that it was realised how ‘beneficial’ a new currency would be.

Six ‘pence’ became two and a half ‘p’ and the humble sixpence was consigned to history. Six ‘p’ is not sixpence – and don’t let any Tom, Dick, or Harriet tell you that it is.

Back in the time of the sixpence proper, even musicals were written based upon this famous coin: ‘Six Brides for Sixpence’, Around the World in Eighty Days (for Sixpence), and ‘Half a Sixpence’; because, yes, the coins of the realm could be cut into pieces. A sixpence could be cut into six equal pieces, all worth one penny, or into halves, equalling two half of three pennies’ worth.

‘Half a sixpence, is better than half a thruppence, is better than half a penny, is better than half a farthing (a very small penny worth an eighth of a penny) is better than nothing at all’ so the song from the musical went.

This mnemonical phrase was taught in mathematics lessons up and down the country, all the way from Southwark to Camden from 1963 to 1971 – when it was dropped from the curriculum due to it’s umpirical leanings – remember, England now no longer had an umpire.

‘Sixpence, My Love’ is one of the most loved songs in the famous West End musical ‘Cabaret, English-Style’ where ‘Sixpence makes the world go round, the world, go round, the world go round;

Sixpence makes the world go round,

it makes the world go round!’

Yes, pop another Sixpence in the slot and the world shall revolve around its axis for a full three minutes – or one point eight Metric Minutes.

And, also, being a round coin, the Sixpence was exceptional useful if, for any reason, you needed to roll a coin – you try rolling a modern day twenty or fifty ‘p’ coin – even the pound coins have lost the ability to roll properly!

So, sing a song of sixpence in memory of the coin that gave us a gallon of petrol, a pint of beer, a ha’penny of starch, and still change enough for a ride on ‘tram.

“Indigestion, My A**e!” – the musical.

“Indigestion, My A**e!” – the musical.

From an original idea by

Golden Sack Productions

Featuring a motley crew of scallywags and ne’er-do-wells

In the prequel to the sequel of…

Not the Monty Python’s Flying Nine-o’Clock News Circus’s…

Screen adaption of the book of the novel of the graffiti of the recipe of…

The stage musical of the freebie…

Of Mark Goldsack’s

Acclaimed inversion of a Chekhov (not from Star Trek) play, set in 18th century Venice (or Burnley)…

The reward-winning…

“Indigestion, My A**e!”

Notice?

Notice?

No poems today; because it is raining hard, and I have dried up.

Victoria’s Punj.

Victoria’s Punj.

Victoria’s Punj

is a great title

for a silly idea –

what that idea may be,

I have not a clue,

do you?

Is it about cake?

Or the Victorian queen?

I mean, where do you go

(because, I certainly don’t know)

from ‘that’ starting point?

I can’t even anoint the head

of a decent poem

with the ink of assuréd certainty –

and is ‘assuréd’ a bit “pretentious’?

Who knows?

(which was a rhetorical question –

and we all know that ‘they’

do ‘not’ aid digestion).

All out of sync

All out of sync

I’m all out of sync,

my brain’s on the blink,

and I cannot think

of another rhyme.

I’m dumb and confused,

numb and quite weary,

clumsy and clearly

shot away;

but, that’s not to say…

over and out,

whisper and shout,

and here is the twist,

I’m the top of my list.