Tag Archives: #streamofconsciousness

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,


#SocS ‘Card’ @LindaGHill

#SoCS prompt ‘card’

See herefor all the info


“If I discard ‘this’ card…?”


“Will it be of a benefit to me?”

“I don’t think that you can be sure ‘now’ what the consequences will be. Time will tell, as they say.”

“Oh, they do do they?”

“It is a turn of phrase… an axiom… or an idiom… or something like one of those.”

“Are you saying that I am an ‘idiom?’ “

“Not in so many words, no. But, there are times when we all seem to be less than what we actually are.”

“ ‘Nobody told me there would be days like these.’ “

“Pre-cisely! “

“Quoting some lyric or other is always a way of getting my meaning across.”

“Yes. You wear it well.”

“Ha! Touché! You are always on my mind.”

“That’s neat, that is very neat.”

“Thank you for the praise.”

“By the way, I really love your tiger feet.”

“I didn’t think you’d noticed.”

“Not notice! They are the finest in the whole of the zoo.”

“Well, there are only the two of us here. Hardly a one in a million is it?”

“Fifty ways to leave your plover!”

“Really? We are on to punning song titles now?”

“You have to do something to pass the time.”

“True. You can’t* even get a decent crossword to do around here.”

*The 10-minute timer that I had set went off here – luckily for you, otherwise I would have been off along the various other paths that this was leading to.

S-o-C-Saturday #SoCS Linda G Hill’s ‘Hot & Cold’ 

#SoCS (Hot / Cold)

Lindaghill’s SoCS (For school terms and weather conditions)

Sig.ra Freddo: Ciao, classe!”
Classe: Ciao, Sig.ra Freddo!
Sig.ra Freddo: Welcome to week 2 of your 52 week course of Italian for beginners.
Today we shall be going over what we achieved in week 1: Saying Hello Informally – Ciao, classe!
Class: Ciao, Sig.ra Freddo.!
Sig.ra Freddo: And moving on this week to the informal goodbye.
After me: Ciao, classe!
Classe: Ciao, Sig.ra Freddo!
Sig.ra Freddo: And next week we shall move on to the Italian for ‘thank you’ which is…? Anybody…?
Giulio Caldo: ‘Grazie!’ Sig.ra Freddo.

Sig.ra Freddo: Sì, Giulio Caldo! È ‘grazie! Molto bene! 
(Giulio Caldo blushes)
Okay, until next week – Ciao, classe!
Classe: Ciao, Sig.ra Freddo.
Sig.ra Freddo: Ciao, Giulio Caldo!
Giulio Caldo blushed even more.

“Not another S-o-C thing, please!” she screamed.

“Not a Stream-of-Consciousness piece!” she screamed.
“No, it’s a finely-crafted, lovingly-skilled, highly-polished Haiku.” I replied, hoping to calm her down.
It didn’t work.
“A Haiku!!” 
Two exclamation marks meant something to me. I had better let her cool down for a moment.
“Don’t worry, my love;

It won’t be too much to bear,

You won’t feel a thing.”
She then visibly calmed down.

“Promise me that it won’t hurt.”
“You won’t even know when it’s over” I replied, truthfully.
“Thank you, Alberto;

You are truly a darling.”
She ‘was’ a sweetie.

#SoCS ‘Vol’ as a Prompt and managing 180 words in my 5 minute time allowance. 

Courtesy of Linda G Hill at lindaghill.com


(This post is part of SoCS)

The Italian for ‘To fly’

I try

But, I am grounded at the moment,

My weight obeying the laws of gravity

And, so, I will keep my attachment to the Earth

For all its worth

It gave me birth

And has a mighty fine girth

Which is a bit of Rhyming for you

As if you needed more.
Actually, I washed up

Upon the shore one day

– as you do –

– But the plates were not as clean as I’d like

– And so I cycled off upon my bike

– Which was strange as I haven’t

– Or hadn’t

– Got a bike

– And now I seem to be writing in bullet-points

– Which is the only time I use bullets. 

Ah! That seems to have stopped

As by being observed the item that was then under observation


I am sure that somebody should look into this ‘evolution’

Of things

Or maybe they have.

Is my time on this up yet?

No? Okay, I shall just tell you about an amazing thing that happened to me just the other day…

I was-*

Larkin or Auden?

image image

Larkin or Auden
Auden or Larkin
Larkin or Auden
Auden or Larkin
Adlestrop stop
Thomas or Auden
Auden or Thomas
Thomas or Auden
Auden or Thomas
Thomas the Tank Engine?
No, Edward Thomas.
Edward Thomas or Aldgate
Aldgate or Edward Thomas
Edward Thomas or Aldgate
Isn’t that upon the underground?
Circle Line or Northern
Jubilee or Piccadilly
District or Waterloo
Bakerloo or…


PS  I would here like to say that WP Admin  is ‘NOT’ a poet. Yet. G:)

A Man Walks Into A Bar… (A twenty-minute stream-of-consciousness write)


A man walked into a bar…
But, who is that man?
And where was that bar?
What is his purpose in entering that bar?

We need more information. Detail.

Has he a name?
And if so, what is that name?
We shall call him… Monty!
The bar is in San Antonio.
And Monty is going in there to meet… Skimpy!
San Antonio in… Mexico?

That is better; we have some detail. Information.

Skimpy is late; she has missed the tram and will catch the next one.
Monty is going to think that Skimpy is not going to turn up. As of yet he has not seen that Skimpy is not there – he is still hopeful that she is sat waiting his arrival. He is not late; he arrives exactly at Eleven (as planned).

Skimpy is not Skimpy’s real name; but a nickname that she has had for so long that no-one (even her) remembers what her real name is.
Monty checks the bar again; his hopes fading.

Skimpy talks to an old lady on the tram; and realises that the old lady is actually her long, lost grandmother who has been riding the trams for nearly twenty years. Skimpy finds out that her real name is Edith and vows never to tell anyone.

Monty gives up and leaves the bar.

Skimpy gives her grandmother a bar of soap before she leaves the tram (you choose which one leaves the tram) and they all live to live another day.

Information. Detail.

There could have been more.

What colour hair?
Tall? Thin?
Religious? Educated?
Anyway, we have quite a bit more about our cast than we started out with.


The Lady Vanishes


The lady vanishes!
Would she be up for vanishing my staircase?
It needs a rub down and a coat or two.
And if it’s really cold
A hat and scarf would help
Wrap up warm, I say
I say I say
What do I say?
It’s no joke.
When she cries she calls another’s name
Which is the lyric from a song
Spirit of the Age I think
I think I think
By Hawkwind
From way back long ago.
Anyway, what’s the cost of a revarnish of a set of stairs?
Sounds most reasonable.
Next Tuesday?

How I Write (six minutes of time well spent?)

Let's not be hasty...

360 seconds…

(Start 21:59)

I write as I see fit

I don’t put extremes of thought into it

I just let the words flow

And see where they go

Which means that they surprise me sometimes

More often than not

What I write has ‘some’ quality in it

Just a bit


If I have some luck with the flow.

Sometimes, the rhymes are cool

Often they make me out to be a fool

Who doesn’t know the Arsenal from the group Elbow

It goes to show that I am shallow and fleeting

Not a proper poet who confers the greeting of peers

Whose fears at their vulnerability

Are not threatened by my limited ability;

Hence, my agility in writing  at speed

Will lead to the above…

And when push comes to shove…

Can I write a proper poem?

Well, if I had to.


(End 22:05)

Randomness is a virtual virtue (or is it?)

Warning - portal possibilities!

Warning – portal possibilities!

No matter if you can’t be a sayer
Of onomatopoeia.
Or if you get your ‘Euphoria’
Mixed up with your ‘Hypochondria’
They are only words
That in some quarters
(Or thirds)
Are no more relevant
Than an Indian elegant.
What matters is
Your passion
To avoid the trap
Of fashion
And whether you care
About the letters there
In order to put your best
In order, lest they fail to achieve
Their potential in another dimensional vista.
Platitudes at latitudes
And attitudes to longitudes
May change
Be re-arranged;
But ‘nothing’ lasts for ever;
And ‘something’ always changes
Strange is the thought that
That’s the way of things
C’est la vie!