Storm winds and rain still coming from the west;
don’t venture out if you’re not fully dressed.
Say what you like about storms, wind and flood,
they only leave heartache, and debris, and mud.
Monday morning, drab and drear,
Waiting for the sky to clear.
Responses to flooding from Storm Dennis around St Valentine’s Day
Wee hours of the morning
It’s brass monkey weather
It comes without warning
We’re wondering whether
Dare we shrug off the blanket
Kick out the cold bottle
Whether we’ll tank it
Or leap out full throttle
And run to the en suite
Begin that fierce widdle
Before we complete
Weeing, right in the middle
Will toilet lid fall
Causing pain as it crashes
Damn Nature’s loud call
And its uncalled-for splashes
An ode to the male prostate (actually, there isn’t a female prostate)
Armed with the fabled fine-toothed comb, thinking verse should work well as a prose poem, I offer this crit as a well-meaning skit if it’s sure to convince all and hit home: write all serious verse out in long form if you want to weather the shit storm which goad online trolls; make them score only own-goals by asserting that stanza’s the norm.
This is a kinda
… whatchamacallit …
on the tippama tongue,
if I knew it I’d bawl it.
But I ain’t got a clue, it
just hasn’t a home
in my mind — wait, I knew it!
They call it … a POEM!
There’s a man on the roof.
He’s supposed to be there!
He is fixing two holes
Using skill and much flair.
But he’s put in a third hole
Which the light can come through.
He has put in a third hole
And he’s looking at YOU!
A Twitter challenge to complete a found poem: we were given just the first three lines and this was my offering.
Image: WordPress Free Photo Library
Said the fly, “As would-be boarder,
If I could fly I’d quickly flee,
I’d rather not sit in your larder
Enquiring what’s the time for tea.”
“I’ll sit beside yer,” said Madam Spider,
(for know ye that they’re mostly ‘she’)
“It’s simply ages since I’d tried a…”
“Sorry, now I need a pee.”
“Please stick around,” said Madam Spider,
“For I’d welcome your advice
On web-design, a little programme
That I’ve long time kept on ice.”
“Sorry, really need the toilet,
Can you kindly point the way?
I truly wouldn’t want to spoil it
— what you’ve done — excuse me, pray.”
Sadly, here the conversation stopped
For that was all the fly could say,
As onto both Miss Moffat dropped
Which really spoiled for them their day.
when the lecture
was much drier
A response to this:
I reached for a thriller
as holiday beach reading,
my spine a whole lot chiller
while corpses lay a-bleeding:
What evil under the sun?
I confess to no remorse:
‘And Then There Were None’
by grande dame Christie, of course!
A response to a fine tweet by Neil Philip, folklorist:
Eleven baskets full of promises
Seventeen kissing cousins
A packet of mixed flowery phrases
Throw in a soupçon of nepotism
Half a ton of antique groats
100 kilos of hush money
Ten thousand popular votes
Seven hectares of all three
Three quarters of the world today
Fifty years of the moon’s phases
Five million tons of earth
And coral reefs may go to blazes
Mix, allow to ferment,
cook for half a century,
slather in oil,
garnish with plastic sprigs
… and serve
A picture calendar: images generated from each verse using t2i.cvalenzuelab.com
Shapeshifter, Scryer, Spellcaster, Seer,
Wartcharmer, Water diviner and Wizard,
Prophetess, Sorcerer, Conjurer, Soothsayer,
Magician, Astrologer, Cunning-man, Witch:
Let us all call upon them to save us from goblins
And spirits departed who aren’t yet at rest,
Protect us from curses and corpses from hearses
Which haunt us severely because they’re unblessed.
We’ll cross palms with silver and pray them deliver
Us mortals from devil, from demon and djinn.
For now is the hour, and theirs is the power:
We fear we shall suffer what follows our sin!
Image credit: WordPress Free Media Library
Image: WordPress Free Media Library photo
Sunshine wall to wall day
Mind you stay in the shade day
Choose sun protection factor 30 day
When’s it going to stop day
Frying under the sun day
So autumn comes to southern climes:
bid farewell now to summer,
the best of times. The worst of times?
When fingers get much number.
Dog days are the really hot days of summer when Sirius the ‘dog star’ briefly appears before the sun dawns in the northern hemisphere. Doggerel days can be at any other time
This piece of doggerel was inspired by a post on the blog Gert Loveday’s Fun with Books.