I woke up this morning
(da dada da da!)
and found that I only had nine toes!
Where, is it,
when a man is missing a toe,
where is it
that he goes?
Nobody knows.
So, for a toe,
I suggest
that there should be
a faux toe shop
where they can add on
the missing toe –
the one that has gone.
And, if, subsequently,
one happens to find
the missing digit,
you’ll have a spare
in hand (so to speak)
and won’t have to pay
the faux toe shop
a visit.
Tuesday is here,
until it’s gone
(see Lynyrd Skynyrd’s ‘Tuesday’s Gone’ for more on that last part),
and it followed closely on the heels of Monday
(see Shakespeare’s ‘Hamlet’ for more on that),
precursoring Wednesday
(precursoring is a made-up word)
and claiming to be ‘Hump Day’
(see a camel for details about ‘humps’).
So, should we worry about what the day is called,
or where it lays in the ‘seven’?
(or ‘eight’ – see The Beatles about ‘eight’).
Well, I may have a lot of questions;
but, answers?
What do you think?
Posted in Poetry
Tagged #Humpday, #Monday, #poetry. #poem, #silly, #Tuesday, #Wednesday, @Days, words
I travelled Back
and Forth,
Socks
and Vest,
all four of the new directions.
From the top
travelling clockwise:
Forth,
Back Vest
Socks
… and a new Acronym
for you to remember these, is:
Fridays
Vary;
Saturday’s
Best.
So, now, you can eat
Shredded Wheat.
NB other breakfast cereals are available.
PS the Albert Hitchcock / Eric Lehman film ‘Forth by Forthvest’is an old favourite of mine.
Posted in Poetry
Tagged #Back, #Compass, #Directions, #Forth, #poetry. #poem, #silly, #Socks, #Vest
As per the title. G:)
Keep your furniture at a distance,
I cannot cope with their persistence,
I cannot keep my sanity
when your mirrors test my fragile vanity;
and chairs, chaise longs, foot stalls,
all want to hound me to my grave,
please keep your sofas away from me,
my delicate mind I want to save.
“Mr. Gilicuddy-Languish Throckmorton-Thives the Third! “Mr. Gilicuddy-Languish Throckmorton-Thives the Third!”
“What is it, woman?”
“It’s your son, “Mr. Gilicuddy-Languish Throckmorton-Thives the Third!”
“What, Robert Gilicuddy-Languish Throckmorton-Thives the Fourth?”
“No. Your other son!”
“What. Anthony Gilicuddy-Languish Throckmorton-Thives the Unnumbered?”
“Yes – the very same.”
“What has happened to my other son, Anthony Gilicuddy-Languish Throckmorton-Thives the Unnumbered?”
“He’s sprained his wrist signing a cheque.”
“Ah, the old Gilicuddy-Languish Throckmorton-Thives curse has struck again.”
Queen June I only rained for a single day; her daughter, Queen June II, with her sunny disposition didn’t last any longer;
the adorably quaint Queen June III and the tempestuous Queen June IV followed on in quick succession; Queen June V, who many hoped would bring some stability to the kingdom, lasted barely twenty-four hours…
… and on it went.
Stop chasing butterflies,
and don’t go chasing waterfalls,
or parked cars.
Don’t go writing non-haiku,
or sub-standard sonnets,
as you tend to.
Don’t go
and then return
because you can.
And never start a sentence
with a premonition –
the grammaticians hate that.
Most of all,
don’t—
I found a mag
in my pie –
I don’t know how it got there,
I fail to know the reason why,
that, on such a day as this,
there is a mag
within my pie.
I am not a man
with a master plan;
I don’t have the ability
to push a pram –
I don’t have a pram.
Even if I did have a pram
I would be loathe to push
a pram
with no occupant…
what sort of weirdly strange person
do you think I am?
Oh, that sort;
well, that’s fair enough, then.
 | Lokesh Umak on We counted them out |
| Lokesh Umak on We counted them out |
 | Words from a Lentil… on We counted them out |
| Lokesh Umak on We counted them out |
| Words from a Lentil… on Down the Looe! |
