Tag Archives: prose

“Silence!”

I say, did you hear about the Librarian who prayed for silence and then went deaf?

Be careful what you pray for.

I am ‘not’ a robot.

“Please click upon

every box that has a traffic-light in.”

So I do.

And then I indicate

all the boxes with crossings in,

or cars,

black and white cats,

men with and without hats,

and also I enter the code C3bHy5c,

then G2eJt9r,

just to prove that I am,

or am not,

a robot.

By this time,

I’ve forgotten what I’m here for,

and, as my battery is getting low,

plug myself in

and await full charge again,

and so on and on it does go.

WordPress after the Triffids

Well, I used to write a lot on WordPress,

until that night with the green flashing lights

in the sky;

and then the triffids got loose.

Since then, well, you know, I have been busy protecting myself from the Triffids,

and, subsequently, I’ve had a lot less views on WordPress,

I haven’t really had the time to write a lot of things,

and most of the things that I have written have been written mainly about Triffids,

it’s very strange;

and then there are the ‘clacks’,

the noise that Triffids make when communicating –

now we’ve got lots of clacks over here,

like upon Discworld,

and that’s strange, how does my mind work like that?

Talking to Cats

Talking to cats

is a thing

whereby

one can at least impart your thoughts

to another sentient being

without the fear of being—

okay, I’ll rub your head, puss –

… interrupted.

Alphabet Browsings Cause Dangers.

I had only just started reading the alphabet the other day, when I was bitten by an angry bee, these things can only happen to a poet like me.

“Dialogue!”

They meet.

“Ah, you are still alive.”

“I am, as you can see.”

“Yes. I rather thought that your husband had buried you underneath the patio again.”

“No. He has given up on that idea. He seems to be leaning towards the use of undetectable poisons.”

“How is he getting on with that?”

“He hasn’t found any yet.”

“Figures.”

“Indeed. Good day to you.”

“And a good day to you, too.”

They part.

A Complaint to Uncle Albert

“She is so noisy, uncle Albert,

and she hasn’t done a single thing all day;

didn’t want to bother you about it,

but, it’s something that I really had to say.”

I remember the song

(if not all of the words)

from a long time ago;

so, let me take those words,

and give them new wings

to fly again.

“Pob-bob-bob!” said the gull.

“Pob-bob-Bob!” said the gull.

“Yes.” I replied, but it should be ‘Pob-bob-bob-bob!’ as I have ‘two’ dogs.

“Pob-bob-bob-bob!” said the gull, correcting its earlier error.

“Precisely!” I said, ‘“You’ll get it right next time.”

“Pobbbbbb!” said the gull, which really wasn’t a very nice thing to say at all.

“I’m sorry, but we really do need some form of IDiot.”

I checked all pockets; fluff (or lint – I’m not sure of the difference); two sweets (still wrapped, possibly edible); some string; a few coins; a bus-ticket; a receipt; various other items of little use; but nothing that I could use to confirm who, or indeed ‘what’, I was.

They refused to allow my entrance. I foresaw my exit – and was soon unceremoniously ejected into the street.

Much later (some several years) I realised that all along I had had my library ticket tucked inside the cuff of my jacket.

Never mind, I shall remember it being there next time. If there is a next time. For whatever it was that I needed my ID for.

Amblers Anonymous

“Hello, I am Wanda… and I… tend to walk about quite a lot… very… slowly, in various directions— and, um… I’ve been doing this… since I was about one or so, and I can’t really seem to stop doing it.”