Tag Archives: #soc

Blue-Sky Thinking

Blue-Sky Thinking

Picture and words here.

I am thinking about blue skies;

whilst looking at…

well, obviously, blue skies.

This is what I call

‘true’ blue-sky thinking.

I am not thinking about clouds –

due to their absence –

apart from my thoughts upon…

their absence.

This is not a ‘cloud’ poem.

If it is a poem.

Which it may be –

I am in no position to verify,

or qualify,

what it is that it may be –

I just write the words that forever stain the cleanliness of my screen.

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#SoCS ‘The Last Piece of Mail I Received’. @LindaGHill

#SoCS ‘The Last Piece of Mail I Received’. @LindaGHill

See here for Linda’s prompt details

It wasn’t hate mail – that’s something;

it wasn’t a love letter, either;

so it must have been one of the other types of letter.

Twenty-six to choose from – I am quite certain, that it may possibly have been a ‘q’ – lower case; and, if that is the case…

Silly, I know, why would it have been a ‘q’? It could quite easily have been a ‘b’ buzzing round.

C what I did there? Actually, ‘I’ did nothing – a big, fat 0 a which is a zero and not an ‘O’. How could u have made that mistake? Perhaps your (or you’re) parrot (it was ‘your’) distracted u with a mis-timed squawk?

Perhaps.

Anyway, all these letters ‘r’ just ‘a’ means 2 an end – which is where we are at.

Solly the Dover Sole #SoCS @LindaGHill

Solly the Dover Sole

#SoCS @LindaGHill

Prompt: Soul / Sole

See Linda’s Site here for more info

Solly was a lonely soul; being the last Sole in the sea. He swam around in the English Channel, a Dover Sole was he. He swam around other places , too – he believed in swimming diversity, ever since he was at school, and all through university.

He sought a like-minded Sole to be his soul-mate; but, he couldn’t find a single Sole, Solly got into a state.

Swimming the seas from Britain to France, Dover to Calais, Solly sought a Sole called Sally; but she had fled, a tad too late, and ended up upon a ceramic plate with a slice of lemon upon her head – in one short word, Sally was dead. Sad face.

Solly didn’t know this, he couldn’t read; he hadn’t learnt, didn’t heed his mum’s advice to learn the Classics, Plato, Dickens, Agatha Christie – where the plot thickens, like gravy or a Béchamel Sauce ladled upon a fish who is now a main course. Sad face with tear.

Solly swam up and down; with a happy face (not) that resembled* a frown (because it was) until he met Annette. Very Sad Face with Tears.

*10-minute timer went off here. Sad face.

Nothing of Substance Here.

Nothing of Substance Here.

There was a hint of mint

in my a la fresco lint –

though why I’d never noticed this before

was a thing of which I am unsure –

and so I thought for a while,

and began to smile…

if you squint at the sun,

not looking at it directly

but, off to one side,

as a monk might have done;

then a tint or two of colour

might come to you

as being of worth to the mind.

Or you might find nothing of the sort;

but, if that is the case,

assistance should be sought.

#Letters 4

#Letters 4

I don’t have letters after my name,

nor bailiffs after my goods and chattels;

I am solely to blame

for any skirmishes and battles

that I have entered into

with the dubious intention

of staking my claim

to the wealth of a nation;

and I have ‘never’ liaised with the Devil;

though, to give him his due,

he has ‘never’ ‘ever’ asked me to.

I don’t receive many letters

with my name emblazoned

upon the envelope;

I live in hope,

not literally, but laterally,

and how long is a piece of rope?

What is there left when all soap is gone?

Why do rhetorical questions matter so little to me;

the former? The latter?

the letter of the law is unsure upon this point,

and, so, I anoint myself with the moisture of sweat,

or, better yet,

a lack of physical and mental debt.

We are ‘all’ living in a material world,

and I am a material;

well, maybe knot.

My D.I.G.N.I.T.Y.

becomes less ev’ry day.

PS Good Luck with the above.

I flowed by upon a little stream of consciousness.

I flowed by upon a little stream of consciousness.

We soon regretted our decision to let the comic turn take the floor. It was immediately obvious, after he had done so, that a floor is essential for the traversing from any point in the room to any other point in the room. This was pointed out by Mad, Bad, Byron – his parent’s ‘actually’ named him this, trying to give him an individuality that only his name possessed – who tried to pop to the bar for a ‘swift half’ and ended up stranded in a no-man’s land that resembled a gravel quarry at dawn – or any other time of day (or night) as the time of day here is not relevant in any universe.

We put up posters, held raffles and tombolas, served cream teas at £2 a pop, and balloon-modelling demos also at £2 a pop. There were old-fashioned fizzy drinks, such as Dandelion & Burdock at £1 a pop, and we press-ganged – literally – our dad’s (Pop, Pops and Pop) to serve the first serve at the fund-raising event that was our inaugural Tennis Competition.

All-in-all, we managed.

#SoCS – ‘Ask somebody for a prompt’ Prompt @LindaGHill

#SoCS – ‘Ask somebody for a prompt’ Prompt @LindaGHill

See Here for Linda’s blog and info for #SoCS

‘Ask ‘somebody what my prompt is!”

Do you think I have prompt-buddies on speed dial? Is there an assistant that I can turn to?

“Ask somebody what my prompt is, Mr Daniels!” Without please or thank you.

I might pop to a neighbours and ask them what my prompt is – but, the hard of hearing and the hard of understanding won’t be much use to me in this dire emergency.

Hold a seance and ask the dead what my prompt is – mmmmm? Well, that may not work without a room full of gulls called Ibble. And the widgee board could be said to have been fixed. Knock once for ‘my prompt is ‘fire’!

And on it goes.

And I only have ten minutes from when I set the 10-minute timer to do all of this!

I’m on a strict deadline here, folks!

I need a prompt, and I need it now – or yesterday would be even better.

Where is it – I’ll check the post box, under the settee, behind the cooker… no, no, and a big fat NO!

None of those places is where my prompt is. Perhaps I. Oils just use last week’s and say that ‘I’m terribly sorry, but my house was ill and my cat fell down.’

That might work in some other,, less stringent, Universe – but not this one – Oh, no.

I shall just have to wing it and work on the basis that if I choose any old prompt there is a 1 in 50,000,009 chance of it being the one – it’s probably a better chance than that, but if you put 50,000,009 on a calculator and turn it upside down you will find the word ‘oooooo’ – now isn’t that interesting? Rhetorical! Question!

Oh, well, I shall have to admit the feet (de feet) and just await a proper prompt so that I can write a proper stream* of Consciousness Saturday piece.

G:)

*Is where my 10-minutes ended.