Tag Archives: #soc

‘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?

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“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.

‘Silence’ #SoCS @LindaGHill

‘Silence’ #SoCS @LindaGHill

See here for Linda’s instructions on #SoCS

Once. when I was a young, ambitious poet,

and I was writing cutting- edge poetry,

I got the word ‘Herring-bone’ stuck in my gullet;

which was kind of weird,

as I hadn’t been writing about fish at all,

neither Hake, Cod, Mackerel or Mullet,

and definitely not Herring.

Anyway, off to B & Q I went,

not A & E (a place I did not care to frequent)

to have the word removed.

They asked ‘Can I help?’

and I said ‘hhhhhhaaaaaaaagggggghhhhh!’

which they understood immediately,

as my… admitting to being mad.

They called on the Tannoy.

‘Please could Tony Chestnut come to the checkout,

to checkout an idiot,

who needs to be chucked out.’

then repeated it in Welsh,

or Cornish, or Greek;

I couldn’t really tell,

my pulse had become week.

So, after they laughed

at the fool on the ill;

they sent me to C & A

and I would be there still

queuing at the changing rooms

for a cubicle to free,

if a kindly passing Opthalmologist

hadn’t said that he could see me.

He looked me over,

up and down,

then announced to the world,

‘He’s an idiot, a clown!’

and told me to ‘take two aspirin

and get out of this town!’

Which I did,

Eventually the word ‘Herring-bone’

came out all by its self;

and that is why, people,

many a poet

is alone on a shelf.

‘The rest is silence.’

as Hamlet, sad,

said, after having a clear-out of family,

his friends, but, mostly,

his “dad!”

(who was actually his uncle,

but I had to get that rhyme in – I had to.)

“Strain” #SoCS @LindaGHill

“Strain” #SoCS @LindaGHill

Linda’s site here for more info

“Strain my socks in a colander, dear.”

“A ‘please’ would be nice, ‘dear!’ “

“Please strain my socks in a colander, my angel.”

“Better.” a pause, “But, and I ask this not expecting a sensible answer, why?”

“Because my socks need straining.”

she looked at him from the safety of her ‘normal’ mind. “Oh, that’s alright then, I thought there was some ulterior motive.”

“No. I’ve not been outside all morning.”

“Ulterior! Not ‘exterior’, you numpty! Are you saying that you’ve got your socks wet ‘indoors?’ “

“That’s right. I was straining custard through them – to get the lumps out – and so I had to wash them in the sink. Now they need straining in a colander to get the soapy water out of them, what’s not sensible about that?”

“Shall I just say ‘custard’ and walk away in disbelief?”

“If you like.” he turned back to the semi-professional mud-wrestling on the TV, “Otherwise they’ll be damp when I put them back on.”

“You have other pairs of socks, you know?”

“Them’s me favrites!” he almost spat the words, “And they don’t have holes in heels or toes.”

Maud shook her head in mild amusement and slight bemusement, and reached for the colander.

“Thursday!” she commented. “As I live and breathe, I will never know what goes on in his mind on *Thursdays.”

—//—

*My 10-minute timer went off here.

April The Eighteenth #SoC write.

April The Eighteenth #SoC write.

April The Eighteenth

I feel an April Fool;

all my ideas have run out,

and there are still many days to go.

No. There is nothing left in the pot

of mind;

leastways nothing that I can find.

Why doesn’t the Eighteenth

signify something… anything?

No. There is nothing.

Not one single, solitary crumb

left upon the plate.

How I hate

to be bereft,

with everything gone,

and nothing left.

Linda G Hill’ #SoCS Prompt ‘Dough / D’oh!’

Linda G Hill’ #SoCS Prompt ‘Dough / D’oh!’

Linda’s SoCS details here.

Through thick and thin

we moved within

never went without

and, in case there is any doubt,

left our cares within the bin.

We never borrowed,

so we did not owe;

made our own bread,

from our need for dough;

then made it so.

We helped our selves

to add to our shelves,

and he who delves

often finds

himself in two minds.

Though, it has been said,

if you are well bread,

then you can see your head,

from behind –

or is that all in the mind?

Looking back, as you would,

to seek the bad from the good,

you should always remember

the sixth of November

as being the day after

the fifth.

If this is inconvenient,

you might consider being lenient

when it comes to…

from a coma

or a comma

my punctuation

fills nobody with elation

across this nation,

it just amuses some,

amazes others,

and is totally ignored by the masses,

lower, middle and scupper classes.

“D’oh!” Is not a phrase that I will ever use in my writing.

Though, as you can hear, or see, it doesn’t work like that for me.

“D’oh!” Was used earlier. And then again, just then, when I repeated it for cosmic effect.

“Can you hear the songs of angry men?”

No?

It must be just me.

Anyway, I have to go now,

as I know that there is only so much of this Double Dutch that you can take – even though there is so much more of it that I could make – and my 10-minutes is nearly up – although last week, I stopped about a minute and a half early as I had run out of things to waffle iron on about – well, I certainly won’t be letting that happen again. Says I.

“D’oh!” *

*Timer went off here.