The quality of spam is much declin’d.
It droppeth as the state of public discourse
Upon our eyes and ears is daily ‘smirched.
It blasteth him that gives and him that takes:
‘Tis mightiest in the mightiest: it ill becomes
The thronèd tweeter in his office,
Whose textspeak shows the force of ignorant power
(No attribute to awe and majesty)
Wherein doth sit his wanton spiteful thoughts.
But spamming sits below this septic sway;
It is embedded in the hearts of those
Who think to embody the soul of wit itself;
Their online power resembleth trolls’
Whose cruelty seasons hate.
If ever forced to try out swordplay
I’d fail to be a Cyrano.
And as for impro wordplay,
expecting puns? Oh, sirrah, no!
Clash of steel best fitting crossed swords
(whether epées, foils or rapiers),
flash of real wit suiting crosswords
(often met in broadsheet papers):
all would go from bad to worse
(same as when I’m writing verse).
I’m as like to win a duel as
write a gem fit for a jeweller’s.
Tumour fame, Al!
Abe, Ian, shut a door.
Keller ate eel? Eel? Ace sank her.
Sand ferry Ann. Ah, Bea — and tow!
________ Continue reading
ay, en, oh,
how you go
me, fah, soh
lah, tea, doh
Domino sounds his
Poulenc pounds a
Practise now our
A B C
Twenty scales be
fore high tea
Come read me my riddle
Sing hickory dickory dock
For down came a spider
A gossamer glider
And landed on Bo Peep’s blue frock
This creature so lowly
She brushed off real slowly
Then played on her didgeridoo
She charmed not just creatures
But parsons and preachers
Who featured in France’s Who’s Who
Her sheep were not fazed
For they grew fat and grazed
Till a wolf with a weasely grin
Slipped the sheep, plus a goat,
Past his jaws down his throat,
By the hairs on his chinny chin chin
The spider then teased
The old wolf till he sneezed
Who then coughed up sheep, plus the goat,
And a cat with a fiddle, a rope round its middle,
Attached to a lifebelt and boat
So now ends my riddle
Puss played on its fiddle
And Bo Peep her didgeridoo
I hope you find pleasing
My rhyme without reason
Au revoir, tally ho, toodle-oo!
Close-up of grotesque in Thwaite church, Suffolk
Yah boo! said the yahoo,
the boho yobbo hobo,
whose hobby is playing on the oboe
(though he can’t tell his arse from his elbow)
which he plays all day in Soho
while they film it all in slo-mo
Monday was Hug-an-Atheist Day
but I found that my arms
couldn’t reach all the way
round my body
Tuesday was National Book Lovers Day
but I missed it
I was too busy
reading in bed
Next came International Xenophobia Day
and I spent all Wednesday
Thursday was National Paradox Day
but it took me till nighttime
staying in bed
to puzzle it out
Friday was Who Gives A Damn Day
and I decided to do
just that and go
back to bed
Saturday was the thirteenth
day of the month
and my luck
Sunday was the seventh day
when God rested
Who can argue with that?
No matter if some one searches
for his essential thing,
so he/she needs to be available
that in detail, therefore
that thing is maintained over here.
More spam poetry – keep it coming, spammers!
Death unto me thou Warning gave
But sent me sudden to my Grave;
Therefore prepare without delay
For no one knows his dying day
Epitaph, Llangattock church, Powys
three score years alive
but to die on Christmas Day
when birth’s on all minds!
Our Blessed Lord so full of love
An angel bright did send
To come and fetch this little child
To Joy that never ends
Epitaph, Llangattock church, Powys
Mary Moses, but think on
Philip’s missing joy
Christmas comes but once a year
Lots of gifts for girls and boys
Presents brought from far and near
Books and games and food and toys
Must we shop until we drop?
Must we spend in search of fun?
Who is brave enough to stop
The madness, when all’s said and done?
Keep it simple, keep it calm,
Keep it low-key, yes, that’s right!
If you wish to do least harm
Do shop local. So, good night!
The Canada goose likes to wander
To sites far from way over yonder
From seas off Newfoundland to Europe it’s bound and
Once here looks for stream, lake and pond.
Er, why leave lands to fly over water?
It’s water that ought to support her!
It’s proved of great use as resource for the goose
And also resource for the gander.
But I’m told there’s no need to migrate:
We’ve long known that it’s grass that they ate.
Where there’s grass there is home — there’s no reason to roam —
Just a spot to go eat, swim, laze and mate.
Canada geese with goslings, Great Chesterford, Essex
Beginning with this post the blog features a short series of posts about birds, many of them reposts. A few subsequent reposts will cover a period of house-moving: normal service will be resumed as soon as possible!