Tag Archives: #soc

It’s just not Croquet

“I don’t play ‘Crow-K’

between the month of June

and the month of May,

and only then

if there’s a Saturday

following hard on the heels

of a Tuesday.

.

The pitch has to be flat,

but slanted at a seventeen degree angle;

and nobody should have a mallet

just a fandangle;

blindfolds would be compulsory,

legs tied together,

and matches only held

in the most inclement weather.

.

If ‘Crow-K’ ‘is’ played

outside of the bounds

of these rules and regulations,

I would esteem the occurrence

to be of no more than sounds

in a void,

and something to avoid;

.

saying this, I would like to repeat

a thing I have never uttered before,

that, ‘There is time for ‘Crow-K’

upon the Judgement Day,

and, what is more,

not a day before!’

“I’m in the garden playing with words!”

I’m in the garden

playing with words;

long fat juicy ones,

short thin skinny ones,

adding on a prefix,

abbreviating puns;

as I pop them in my mouth,

I wonder if they hurt,

pulling out the big guns

polysyllabic dirt.

It’s not Sprocket Science

It’s ‘not’ Rocket Science.

It’s quite simple

really,

and it’s ‘not’ rocket science;

‘Sprocket the Wet Toad’

springs to mind,

as it would,

because that is how my mind works.

It’s up to no good,

again;

it’s being quite a pain,

and who knows what the next thought will be.

Me? I haven’t a clue

as to what manner of rubbish

will be produced;

I should be used

to what comes out

of the creativity spout (not a euphemism)

but I still surprise myself sometimes

at the incoherence of idea

that arrives just

here.

Frozen in Thyme (a SoC poem)

My latest rhyme

has been frozen

in Thyme;

Cryogenically stored,

encapsulated in a herb coating,

and placed within

a mislead-lined container

five miles underground,

beneath a computer desk

that has seen neither Hyde nor Hare

of any literary figures

since the day it was constructed.

If you’d like to read it,

it’s best that you seek it there.

Figuratively Speaking (a SoC poem)

Figuratively speaking, I am literally no good at poetry;

my words don’t rhyme,

don’t scan,

because I can’t keep time;

my feet, are indiscreet,

and when I’m upon Poetry Street

I never feel complete,

or able to compete.

Speaking of Poetry Street;

it needs resurfacing,

and there are far too many avenues

leading off of it,

that I tend to follow,

and they always lead to a sunken mire

in which I wallow,

like a simile in a choir,

or something like that

(metaphorically speaking)

And have you ever heard a flat-earther sing?

Hypothetically and rhetorically, of course.

Or a poetical horse

rocking the rhythm and rhyme?

Maybe a tangerine dreaming of becoming

the next Milton, lost in Paradise,

gently strumming upon a 7-string guitar?

How far will I take this?

Up to here – and no more,

oom-pah-pah.

3 pieces on the Liskeard Writers Group prompt: ‘Childhood’s End’

Childhood’s End – LWG Prompt ‘Childhood’s End’ 1

When does childhood end, and adulthood begin?

Or, is the period of puberty a gap between the two?

Do some people never grow up, staying childlike, or remaining childish?

Peter Pan – the boy who never grew up.

J.M. Barrie

Barry Island, not named after the author of Peter Pan, nor anybody else named Barry, or Peter – not even after ‘Barry Sheene’ – that shiny polished motorbike man, that was, but no longer is – sad face.

And definitely not after Barry Potter or his mum Beatrix Expelliarmus Potter.

Why do ‘I’ act like a child?

And, why do I write things like this, when I could be devoting my writing hours to writing serious… stuff? Well, the fact that I wrote ‘stuff’ there probably says a lot about me. I do like to keep it light, and, I try, (try) to keep it funny, it makes me no money, there is no fame, to my name, and very few know me – do you see?

You see, I am a poet, writer, day or nighter, is when I write, and the subject matter ranges from Cheese to Chinchillas,

– which is not much of a range if you think of their adjudication… conjunction… consumption? juxtaposition! that’s it – their juxtaposition’ in a divmvtuoobary. Sorry, that should read ‘dictionary’, but, I do sometimes suffer from BTS, that is BIG THUMBS Syndrome, which is definitely not helpful when writing upon an the teensy, weensy screen of my iPhone.

But, that’s better than… I can’t read this… I think that word could be ‘ferret?’ – not that having the word ‘ferret’ in the middle of a story about intergalactic space travel to the planet ‘Waffle’ makes any sense whatsoever.

And why the planet ‘Waffle’?

Well, I was looking for a mnemonic, mnemonic? Mnemonic – Ah! it has a silent ‘m’ like in the mbubonic plague – anyway, I was looking for – one of those thingies – to memorise, so that I could say it when I needed to know the names of the planets as you travel away from the Sun – which, luckily, I very rarely do.

The one I found – and liked – was,

‘My Very Educated Mother Just Served Us Noodles’.

Mercury, Venus, Earth, Mars, Jupiter, Uranus and Neptune – there is no Pluto in the phrase as Pluto has recently been declared a ‘dwarf’ planet – presumably, it’s where the dwarves live – allegedly.

Anyway, when I needed to remember the planet order, I recited the ‘mnemonic’ and made just a slight error, in that I recited,

‘My Very Educated Mother Just Served Us Waffles!’

So Planet Waffle was born.

This, basically, is how planets, the wheel, fire, electricity, the hole in Polo mints and many other discoveries were… discovered.

All of which brings me back to dough, a deer, a female deer… sorry, that’s a song.

It brings me full circle – just imagine getting an all-day ticket for the Circle Line on the London Underground – can you do that? I mean, can you actually purchase an all-day ticket for the Circle Line? You can? Oh, that’s good – isn’t it? And that last question was a ‘rhetorical’ question – you need to watch out for those – crafty little beggars that they are.

So, round and round on the Circle Line for a whole day – is that possible? I mean, there isn’t going to be a buffet car or a nice man or lady popping along with a trolley of goodies for you to peruse and purchase, is there? I’m not sure if they have toilets, either. So, perhaps it’s not going to be a ‘good’ experience if you try and go round and round for approximately fifteen hours. And, if you did choose to try it, would you go clockwise or Widdershins (which is an old term for anti-clockwise – which is seldom used nowadays – widdershins, not anti-clockwise, that would just be silly). Anyway, old terms do go out of fashion, like ‘Larboard’ which used to be the left hand side of a boat if you were looking at the pointy end – Starboard was the right hand side of the same boat as you looked at the pointy end. Larboard and Starboard, being very similar, caused confusion – as did turning around on a boat and looking at the blunt end – and so Larboard was replaced with the term ‘Port’ – so as you look from the blunt end of a ship to the pointy end, Port is on the left, Starboard is in the right. This only helps if you know your left from your right – and you are not ambiguous – sorry, ambidextrous.

I don’t think that London Underground trains have pointy ends, so that probably won’t help you to work out which is Port and which is Starboard when you are deciding whether to approach Notting Hill Gate from the South or from the North.

—//—

fabian and Zelda – LWG prompt ‘Childhood’s End’ 2

fabian (with a small ‘f’) was less ‘fabulous’ than a fish in a frock.

That is to say, fabian thought that ‘that’ was the case.

Zelda (with a capital ‘Z’) begged to differ.

They were twins.

And… they were Siamese twins.

Not, as a rule, did they share the same thoughts, nor have the same outlook on their life (or lives).

fabian would rather read an exciting crime thriller in a quiet corner; whilst Zelda liked to be amongst friends and having a cheerful conversation, with half a dozen engaging colleagues, about all things that there were under the sun.

This may have caused conflict amongst some couples; but, somehow, fabian and Zelda managed to make it work.

When, in their eighties, the unmarried fabian and the thrice engaged Zelda finally said ‘goodbye!’ to this cruel world (fabian first, Zelda two days later) it was the end of an era.

They outlived all of their childhood friends – mostly Zelda’s – and it was with a quietly fond farewell that the world said its own adieu.

Buried together, they still lay within a relationship that few could even begin to comprehend.

—//—

19:14 – LWG prompt ‘Childhood’s End’ 3

It was approaching a quarter past seven o’clock when the young men left their childhood’s behind and signed upon the dotted line for the reward of the King’s shilling and a muddy grave.

Seagulls flocking

Seagulls flocking,

mocking the affected;

crows calling out for more,

“Encore, encore!”

Sheep chasing sleep

across mossy meadows;

ducks waddling past,

looking to the present,

unaware of the future,

uncaring of the past;

a dog yawns lethargically

in a farmyard,

he’s heard the news,

so gives his views

in the pretence of a bark.

Cars driven to

and fro,

with people

who just have to go

and return,

who cannot rest

when isolated from the best –

and worse is yet to come?

‘Co’ #SoCS, @LindGHill

‘Co’ #SoCS, @LindGHill

See here for Linda’s fabulous WordPress sited

The room was quite…

well, quiet.

Copious amounts of the absence of noise.

Consequently, when I heard a pin drop, I was startled to say the least,

“The least!”

Thank you.

Who had dropped the pin, I did not know.

I looked around – I was not a square.

Pin’s location and hurler, I knew not where. Nor did I care.

I picked up the pin, and remembered the rhyme:

‘See a pin, pick it up, all the day you’ll have a pin.’

which never made sense to me.

‘Cobalt is a colour: it could be brighter, it might be duller.’

which is something I’ve just made up – is there no beginning to my talents?

“Where” SoCS @LindaGHill

“Where” SoCS @LindaGHill

See here for Linda’s blog and details for #SoCS

‘Where were you when Wednesday came, and went? I know that you ‘come and go’ as is your wont; but, on a need-to-know basis, we need to know ‘exactly’ where you were.’

Whether it makes any sense to you is a matter of no concern to us. We are just doing what we are programmed to do – be it unavoidably etched in binary codes upon our souls, or in a flippant aside made by our master (Hail to Parrlos) which we still obey as if it were one of the ten rules.

So, starveling, where were you?

We can only ask three times, then we have to dispose of you as ‘faulty’. Any ‘Ting’ not found worthy, or deemed to be in a state of disobeyance is to be disposed of.

I ask for the final time: where were you?

No?

Nothing?

In that case we shall have to say ‘arriverderci, starveling!’ ‘

A click was heard. Nothing more. A click where there should have been a shaft of light that ‘disposed’. Another click.

‘There seems to have been an error.’ Obot1 faltered. Its database calculating all possible causes of this occurrence happening here and now.

A light dawned on Obot1’s dark horizon.

‘You weren’t, by any chance, where you shouldn’t have been on Wednesday? Messing with our parameters. Where you could have altered our core programmes?

Starveling thought. ‘Where ‘was’ I on Wednesday? Where?’ And laughed. ‘Where indeed.’

For / Four / Fore is the prompt for: #SoCS @LindaGHill

For / Four / Fore is the prompt for:

#SoCS @LindaGHill

See here for Linda’s blog – G:)

Fore Street was busy – for a Saturday – and all the funny footfallers, as I called them, were searching for a bargain. Four ladies individually saw it, in the window of Barnecutt’s, and collectively swarmed into the shop to become the proud owner.

Four pairs of hands grabbed it and it would have needed a photo-finish for anybody to declare a winner. Unfortunately, once clasped by four times ten fingers (including thumbs as fingers – as you must do nowadays) the prize became a battle for ownership. The outcome was foretold by an ancient goddess as ‘the one who keeps a hold when all the others have relinquished their claim shall be the victor’.

And so the battle for the spoils commenced – the rest of Fore Street focussed on Barnecutt’s and the four combatants. First, and foremost, to crumble was a Mrs. Fortuna Fumble who lost a single hand hold and slipped on the tiled floor, incidentally catching herself on the Formica work surface, and her claim was lost.

The trio left fought tooth and nail for the cup of wonder; Fortitude Trennewick had the upper hand; Felicity Forsyth the lower; Fenella Fudge the Fourth was betwixt and between them.

It was at this moment that Fenella Fudge the Fourth’s estranged (and strange) husband arrived upon the scene and Fenella’s fortitude left her, and she left the competition for better or for worse (as it was to be her case).

Felicity and Fortitude fought further.

The force used to retain their handholds on the trophy of tempestuous was fierce and no forgone conclusion. First Felicity, then Fortitude seemed to have the upper hand…

Until, finally, by a forefinger and a thumb the hard fought Battle of Fore Street (as it came to be known) was over.

Fortitude had claimed the day. She held aloft the last (and, now, very much reduced) cream horn of plenty in the shop.

It didn’t look much, all forlorn as it was.