Tag Archives: #Wednesday

A Wet Wednesday in the Week

There’s always a Wednesday in the week,

a ‘hump’ day, if another name for it

you need to seek;

but, when it’s wet and weary

it seems so bleak

until you consider the alternatives…

… it could be a Monday,

or a Tuesday –

and, so, don’t be unhappy with your midweek day,

that is cold, wet, and dismal,

“This can’t be May!”

and, perhaps, you should think about the poor animals

that don’t have a Wednesday

from which they can survey

a Saturday and Sunday,

for them,

every day

is just

another count-your-blessings day.

Wednesday – like ‘Happy!’

I woke up this morning…

(da dada da da!)

and it was… (fanfare)

Wednesday!

It wasn’t one of the other weak

week days (Monday, Tuesday)

or one of the stronger ones (Thursday, Friday);

nor was it the delicious (to my mind)

weekend ones (you know which ones those are)

which seem to pass by at double speed,

when all I ask is to chill and relax,

tootle upon my (altogether non-existent) alto sax (the Baker St. solo)

and melt some soy wax (for the business’s need).

Anyway, ‘Wednesday’ is here,

so alliteration means

it’s a wonderful weekly Wednesday –

Woo-hoo!

Wed-nes-day Sen-ry-u

Wed-nes-day: Bin Day;

since ‘twas Midnight, I would say;

but, that’s just my way.

Wednesday Haiku

My Wednesday Hai-

ku doesn’t quite fit the for-

mat of a Haiku.

It all started last Wednesday. (A LIskeard Writers Group Prompt).

It all started last Wednesday… at about… eleven o’clock in the morning, no later than eleven fifteen… at the latest. But, by twelve o’clock, it was all over. Done. Finished. Fi-into!

And, then, it started again.

This starting and stopping carried on for the rest of the day, finally stopping for good (or so I thought) at about half past ten late that evening.

It had been quite a difficult day, neither one thing or the other for long, and never both simultaneously – which, I think, was a bit of a Godsend (if that’s the right word).

I slept but little, and when I did, it was a fitful sleep full of the stuff that dreams are made on, if I may be so bold as to quote Prospero from ‘The Tempest’ by William Shakespeare here – if it isn’t alright to do so… I won’t, and please consider that last part… unsaid.

The next day was a Thursday, as much like a Wednesday as you can get without repeating the Wednesday in a Groundhog Day sort of fashion – if you haven’t seen the film Groundhog Day you might not get that reference, if you have… then you probably might.

So, Next day. Thursday. Started off as most Thursdays do, with the morning, followed by the afternoon, it proceeded to the evening and on into the night. No problems there, right?

Wrong! it kept on starting. And stopping. And starting up again. Sometimes it went on for quite a while, and you thought ‘hooray!’ and then it would stop.

When it stopped, it did it with no warning, no screech of brakes (which is just a motoring metaphor) and no— warning (have I already said ‘warning’? I do tend to say ‘warning’ too much, so that the word becomes almost a cliché, and if not a cliché how about… a hackneyed phrase, although I do know that one word upon its own is not really a phrase. I’m not that silly… well, I am, but let us not get into name-calling.

Rupert! Wendy! Nathaniel!

Sorry, I do so dislike it when I do that.; I still do it, but I do dislike it. Obviously not enough to stop doing it, but, hey, you know me. And if you don’t… ‘hello, my name is *insert own name here*

As you can tell, this is an unfinished piece at the time of its writing. That is until it ends, when it will be a finished piece… of sorts, after a fashion, possibly.

So, where were we? Or should I say ‘when?’

I should? Okay, ‘when’. ‘When! When.

I feel much better now, thank you for asking – and if you didn’t ask, thank you for not asking (I am nothing if not polite).

Thursday, that is when.

When it all started again.

When stop it was not,

and the starter’s gun was hot,

and off it went!

It ran, and ran, and ran, and ran, and ran…

until all it’s running was spent!

And then it stopped.

It did this a lot.

Not, that I minded a minuscule jot.

Because I was becoming used to it by now,

the unfamiliar was becoming familiar somehow,

the rare was becoming common,

the extinct did live again

(If that is possible)

and that is when…

… two of them started up.

Not just one… but two.

Which is double.

At this rate I shall soon be overrun

by the starting stopping things!

Do you see the trouble that a new day brings?

Do you?

I so wish it was Wednesday again,

before all this began to begin;

and that time would stop there,

and not start again.

It all started last Wednesday… at about… eleven o’clock in the morning, no later than eleven fifteen… at the latest. But, by twelve o’clock, it was all over. Done. Finished. Fi-into!

And, then, it started again.

This starting and stopping thing,

which I mentioned earlier.

Tuesday is the new Monday, (or should that be Wednesday?)

Tuesday is here,

until it’s gone

(see Lynyrd Skynyrd’s ‘Tuesday’s Gone’ for more on that last part),

and it followed closely on the heels of Monday

(see Shakespeare’s ‘Hamlet’ for more on that),

precursoring Wednesday

(precursoring is a made-up word)

and claiming to be ‘Hump Day’

(see a camel for details about ‘humps’).

So, should we worry about what the day is called,

or where it lays in the ‘seven’?

(or ‘eight’ – see The Beatles about ‘eight’).

Well, I may have a lot of questions;

but, answers?

What do you think?

Any Wednesday in November

Any Wednesday in November

I can’t remember

any Wednesday,

in November,

better than this one;

which is not saying

that they were any wetter

or any drier;

but, this one is more recent,

half decent,

and I’m snuggled

in front of the fire.

When am I (and where?)?


Is is Wednesday?

Is it Thursday?

Is it still Tuesday?
Well, it all depends

Upon where in the world you are

Or I am.
You might be on the previous day

Or the next

Or the same

But, teetering upon the brink of changing the date upon the calendar.

As might I.

If you are in my time zone

You might not be in my rhyme zone

To steal a moment

You could be in a crime zone

Or a lemon and lime zone

If that’s how Cockneys might describe it.
All I am saying is

That wherever you are

And whenever you are

Please spare a second to think of those that are currently languishing in the past

And also those that are ploughing their furrows in the future.

Just a moment though;

You wouldn’t want to waste your rhyme

Contemplating just any old miment in time.