Tag Archives: #soc

#SoCS – Tape #4 (part 2) – Linda G Hill

See here for Linda G Hill’s prompts and siteL

After checking back with W (at control) I was advised to ask a policeman for directions.

Upon eventually my finding a PC, strolling around inside PC World, and asking him whether I should go ‘West or East?’ I was advised that ‘West is best’ – he happened to be one of the rare ‘rhyming’ policemen of little or no value to society, apart from in a strangely poetic way.

I duly travelled due East, and landed safely in the hitherto unknown Gillingham Airport in Kent (which is close to the Isle of Thanet) at approximately a quarter to.

The secret contact was found casually leaning against the third coffee vending machine on the right (as I had almost been advised that he would be), having kept himself awake and primed for inaction by the consumption of thirty-seven cups of steaming Nitrous Coffee –

‘Guaranteed to stimulate the mind if not the body!’

I handed the contact the tape and he briefly checked it through for authenticity. Finding it to be the genuine article, the contact gave me a recipe for his Grandma’s Treacle Tart Pudding, and a copy of ‘The Tatler and the Bystander’ from 1941.

Finishing the crossword in that magazine made me realise something: that I was terrible at crosswords… and that perhaps I should have spent the intervening 17 days actually earning the pay of a spy.

Needless to say, I was demoted to Dispatch Rider (second class) and given the choice of a donkey or Shank’s Pony as my chariot of choice. Being no fool, I chose the pony.

Time for a rhyme

Have you got time

for a rhyme?


Okay, this will have to be



(“Call the Poetry Hearse

because trad poetry is dead!”)

I said

it would happen

and it did;

it has been found out,

wherever it had been hid.

Now there is nothing

but opening doors

that once were shut,

and gentle tides

on foreign shores;

all metaphors

and similar things

that no longer conform

to the old poetry laws.

Please comment upon these words

in syllables of no more than two thirds.

Saturday Shenaniganza!

Can I actually write ‘Shenaniganza’

without losing my street credibility

(What I have not got)

and retaining my unique air of mystique

(What I also have not got)

whilst still creating poetry

ghat reached exorbitant heights of skillduggery,

at a minimal costing?

Please answer in the comment area below,

if you have a theory,

or actually know.

I know that I have actually overused the word ‘actually’ above,

but my Poetic Licence has no expiry date.

And it is (without doubt) Saturday

where I am

at this moment in time (now)

even if it still Friday where you are,

or you have drifted into Sunday.

PS please enjoy ‘your’ Shenaniganza as much as I enjoy mine. All the best, G:)

Friday Frenzy

Friday Frenzy

Have to say

say to much

push all senses

into touch

don’t have stanzas

just one block

keep it rolling


Upon the opening up of a can of words

Whether you have a modern can-opener,

perhaps a traditional old style,

maybe a stab or butterfly type,

or even a Swiss Army Knife with a suitable attachment,

or an expensive electric one,

it matters not.


However you open the can (or tin)

it is not the method of opening that is important,

but the opening itself.


Words, let loose,

upon an unsuspecting poet,

or an audience of one,

are liable to cause all manner of trouble.

By the way, if you open two cans

the trouble could be double –

or even more.


Unsure openings of cans around the world

have caused some of the most virulent

outbreaks of indifference that the planet has ever been akin to.


That said, words are only dangerous

when in the wrong hands

they are left.

Bereft of care,

they may dare

to speak

to the spineless

and weak



So, be careful

if you have the thought

of releasing the canned goods

into an unrespecting,

(and unsuspecting)


that might not

have the stomach

or the appetite

for words

when set free

(or alight).

Writing and Reading (at this moment in time)

At this moment in time,

I have posted upon WordPress

for one hundred and twenty-one

days in a row.

I have also read from my Kindle

for the past twenty-six days

(I miss a day, occasionally)

but, I have also read from my Kindle

for the past sixty-four weeks

(I miss a week ‘very’ occasionally).


I might have to thank a long list of authors,

and be thankful to a huge number of inspirational moments for the above,

but this is no place for speeches,

or peaches, as each is

inevitably, or invariably,

too long, under, or over ripe,

and very rarely at the correct

length, or ripeness for public proclamation.

As you can see from the above, writing is a thing.

Make of that what you will.

Me – a 10-minute SoCS write for Linda G Hill’s prompt.

See here for Linda G Hill’s website and prompts

Me. I, Myself? What can I possibly say that will convince you to choose between the three of them? You may love Me, be passionate about I, or still have deep feelings for Myself, but will you be able to whittle down the three to just the one?

I knows you for what you are, and you don’t fool Me, let alone your being cared for by Myself.

You and I? Me and someone like You? Myself, I would protect you from Myself, unlike Me.

Me and his shadow, I and another like Him, Al by Myself, seeking insider information?

You tell Me. And I shall be Here beside Myself. I cannot tell You, or so he told Me. As to Myself, I cannot understand Myself, and He cannot understand Me. She doesn’t believe in Me, and I understands Me only too well. Tell You Me this: should I work it out for Myself, or He for Me?

What I really wants to know is, when it comes to Me, is He actually working for Himself? Or am I?

You may understand all of this, but I has lost the plot, and He really hasn’t ever known what was going on. Myself, I liked, but He hates Me.

Your printer is haunted #SoC

You may

or may not


but your printer is haunted.

Think upon that for a moment…




or just plain old indifferent?

Well, I just must here tell you,

that less than one percent of computers

are possessed.

Of that one percent, less than one percent

of those are haunted.

of that one percent of one percent,

only two point four percent of those

are low on their Cerulean ink levels.

Imagine… printing off an A4 poster where the sky is a pale green

and not a vivid blue!

Your printer is haunted.

Take it from me

that it’s going to haunt you.

Talking Cats

Talking of talking cats –

which I wasn’t;

but can do –

or should that be,

‘talking of cats’?

I know one makes more sense,

but the other is more likely

to be what I was after.

Dafter by the minute,

as somebody once did about me,

and laughter is the best medicine

(for maybe one or two Illnesses –

melancholia, and the like, perhaps).

Anyway, chaps, perhaps cats

might come into this discussion

at some point.

Do this: point at a cat;

say: ‘Look! there is a cat!’

And then start a conversation with it.

Talking Catonese, possibly.

It’s cool for cats.

Not coal, cool.

And everybody wants to cat a bee.

Literally everybody.

A poem about clouds

If you had to write

a poem about clouds,

how would you begin?

Would you go outside

and look at the clouds,

or would you stay in?

Could you imagine the clouds

floating above your head?

Or would you you have to espy them



“I espy with my little eye,

something beginning with C!”