Tag Archives: #silly

A combination of things have brought us here today, and ‘So…’ I say, ‘let us break bread together, until every morsel is broken’.

Don’t you just hate it,

when the title of a poem

promises so much,

offers so much,

and, then,

gives you so little?

The Recipe, Progressively.

The recipe, progressively, decelerated,

getting slower and slower,

until at last,

it stopped,

hopped on one foot,

then the other,

called to its brother

(from another mother),

and stalled completely.

It all started last Wednesday. (A LIskeard Writers Group Prompt).

It all started last Wednesday… at about… eleven o’clock in the morning, no later than eleven fifteen… at the latest. But, by twelve o’clock, it was all over. Done. Finished. Fi-into!

And, then, it started again.

This starting and stopping carried on for the rest of the day, finally stopping for good (or so I thought) at about half past ten late that evening.

It had been quite a difficult day, neither one thing or the other for long, and never both simultaneously – which, I think, was a bit of a Godsend (if that’s the right word).

I slept but little, and when I did, it was a fitful sleep full of the stuff that dreams are made on, if I may be so bold as to quote Prospero from ‘The Tempest’ by William Shakespeare here – if it isn’t alright to do so… I won’t, and please consider that last part… unsaid.

The next day was a Thursday, as much like a Wednesday as you can get without repeating the Wednesday in a Groundhog Day sort of fashion – if you haven’t seen the film Groundhog Day you might not get that reference, if you have… then you probably might.

So, Next day. Thursday. Started off as most Thursdays do, with the morning, followed by the afternoon, it proceeded to the evening and on into the night. No problems there, right?

Wrong! it kept on starting. And stopping. And starting up again. Sometimes it went on for quite a while, and you thought ‘hooray!’ and then it would stop.

When it stopped, it did it with no warning, no screech of brakes (which is just a motoring metaphor) and no— warning (have I already said ‘warning’? I do tend to say ‘warning’ too much, so that the word becomes almost a cliché, and if not a cliché how about… a hackneyed phrase, although I do know that one word upon its own is not really a phrase. I’m not that silly… well, I am, but let us not get into name-calling.

Rupert! Wendy! Nathaniel!

Sorry, I do so dislike it when I do that.; I still do it, but I do dislike it. Obviously not enough to stop doing it, but, hey, you know me. And if you don’t… ‘hello, my name is *insert own name here*

As you can tell, this is an unfinished piece at the time of its writing. That is until it ends, when it will be a finished piece… of sorts, after a fashion, possibly.

So, where were we? Or should I say ‘when?’

I should? Okay, ‘when’. ‘When! When.

I feel much better now, thank you for asking – and if you didn’t ask, thank you for not asking (I am nothing if not polite).

Thursday, that is when.

When it all started again.

When stop it was not,

and the starter’s gun was hot,

and off it went!

It ran, and ran, and ran, and ran, and ran…

until all it’s running was spent!

And then it stopped.

It did this a lot.

Not, that I minded a minuscule jot.

Because I was becoming used to it by now,

the unfamiliar was becoming familiar somehow,

the rare was becoming common,

the extinct did live again

(If that is possible)

and that is when…

… two of them started up.

Not just one… but two.

Which is double.

At this rate I shall soon be overrun

by the starting stopping things!

Do you see the trouble that a new day brings?

Do you?

I so wish it was Wednesday again,

before all this began to begin;

and that time would stop there,

and not start again.

It all started last Wednesday… at about… eleven o’clock in the morning, no later than eleven fifteen… at the latest. But, by twelve o’clock, it was all over. Done. Finished. Fi-into!

And, then, it started again.

This starting and stopping thing,

which I mentioned earlier.

Walking away from the past

Walking away from the past

is that much harder

when your leg’s encased

in a plaster cast.

50 Shades of Beige.

50 Shades of Beige.

1. Heavily into M & S.

2. Need I say more?

The Proliferation of the Veneration of Alliteration in Moderation in this Generation… is Not a Thing.

The proliferation of the veneration of Alliteration…

blah blah

blah blah

blah

… is not a thing…

… and, do you want to know why?

No, I didn’t think you did.

Which leads me to write,

‘What sad state of affairs

has led to this sort of thing?’

And,

‘aren’t rhetorical questions annoying?’

No, you don’t have to answer that–

you really don’t.

The Faux Toe Shop

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 the new Monday, (or should that be Wednesday?)

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?

New Directions

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.

There’s not a single thing level in my garden everything is fitted with a slant I tried to build things straight had too much on my plate and I must admit that sometimes I can’t be bothered.

As per the title. G:)