Today's Pome, could the verse get worse...?

[Katie-Ellen]

Inspired by a current thread posted by @Amber Zade and also in response to a 5 Day Poem Challenge issued to me elsewhere this week, this oh so romantic story. The other stuff I've written this week has been rather seee- reee- ouse; I fancied ringing the changes:

A Wary Tale Romance


The Beast let rip a truly massive fart

Protean creation of performance art

It shuddered, rolling on and on

A Thundering miasma

Impenetrable as plasma

A performance most capable

As he raised his leg high at the table

Smiling serenely, Beauty ate a pea

And sipped her sparkling water

Not for nothing was she sage: Zen

Master’s lotus daughter

‘Damn broccoli’, he growled apology

‘The bloody stuff does not agree

It always does this, cook forgets

This can’t go on, what shall I do?’

Beauty said, ‘You’ve options. Two.’

Agog he leaned, ‘My ass,’ he moaned, ’it’s stinging!'

I could use a kiss? C’mon, babe, whadda ya say to this?’

And beastly, he did loll his tongue

At her, with bits of broccoli still on

‘You ‘ve options, Beast’, she said again,

And actually, the number’s rising,’

The Beast broke in, ‘And that’s not all!

And why is that surprising?’

He pointed. Beauty looked away

He had not won the points to play

‘You could’, she went on, undeterred

(For Beauty never lost her thread

Or let her wits be scattered

Just when it really mattered,

Oh, no, she was a canny bird)

‘Just leave it on the plate, you know,

Or you could sack that useless cook,

If I'm no use, and send me home, and live alone

Again, and cook, yourself,

Whatever’s in the fridge or on the shelf,

Buy cook books and some better pans,

Or, if you like, another plan, for me

A necklace or perhaps a ring

And we will see what we shall see,’

‘You mean’, he gulped, ‘you’ll marry me?’

‘I may,’ she smiled, 'consider, if you clean up your act

You’re a splendid big beast, as a matter of fact

But your manners are dreadful, and as for your odour

Your best bet right now is some bicarb of soda,

And if you want near this Beauty, then bathing is your duty,’

The Beast smiled, princely; bright eyes shining,

(As thinking now of weddings, he forgot to ask for pudding),

He joyfully agreed and they discontinued dining.


KEH

 

[Amber Zade]

LOL I usually don't read poetry ... but that was funny and cute. I like it!

 

[Meerkat]

Cute!

 

[Katie-Ellen]

Anyone else got some verse they'd like to share here? Just for fun...

On a slightly more elevated note: -



Compute Awe

Godatpearlygatesdotcom

Designed a World in RAM and ROM

The Programme’s called Till Kingdom Come

No viruses have crashed it yet

Despite the Devilathelldotnet

He’s tried with 'Horsemen', 'Chaos', 'Sin'

Old Nick the Hacker means to win

So far he’s failed; we’re still plugged in

And hear the God- Computer hum

The universal sound of ‘Ommm’


Creation new and never-ending

In countless files with files still pending

From here to nebulas most far

From a single cell to a giant star

From all a life from birth to death

And in-between it’s every breath

Our highest inspiration

And spirit’s destination

The ROM His Universal Laws

The RAM our choices, chances, flaws

And Life that cannot be destroyed

Its bits and bytes just redeployed


In awe I stand


In hope I pray


The Programme runs till Judgement Day.

 

[Paul Whybrow]

Anyone else got some verse they'd like to share here? Just for fun...

On a slightly more elevated note: -



Compute Awe

Godatpearlygatesdotcom

Designed a World in RAM and ROM

The Programme’s called Till Kingdom Come

No viruses have crashed it yet

Despite the Devilathelldotnet

He’s tried with 'Horsemen', 'Chaos', 'Sin'

Old Nick the Hacker means to win

So far he’s failed; we’re still plugged in

And hear the God- Computer hum

The universal sound of ‘Ommm’


Creation new and never-ending

In countless files with files still pending

From here to nebulas most far

From a single cell to a giant star

From all a life from birth to death

And in-between it’s every breath

Our highest inspiration

And spirit’s destination

The ROM His Universal Laws

The RAM our choices, chances, flaws

And Life that cannot be destroyed

Its bits and bytes just redeployed


In awe I stand


In hope I pray


The Programme runs till Judgement Day.

I immediately started to write the script for the Hollywood adaptation of this poem, in my head at least. I think that Dwayne 'The Rock' Johnson and Jennifer Lawrence would make ideal casting.

 

[Katie-Ellen]

Oh, how fantastic, Paul...please, be my guest....DO ITTTTTTTT

 

[Paul Whybrow]

I've written a lot of poetry, some of it OK, other stuff more confessional therapy and not intended for the public eye! I enjoyed writing three collections of poems for young readers, some of which were fun nonsense verse, others more observational of the world around us and some meant to be of comfort about the sometimes difficult challenges that face a child who is growing up. I've worked as infant teacher and as a counsellor, so am aware that children get the blues and need cheering up sometimes. Hence this poem (which works for grown-ups too, especially lonely writers):

Give Yourself A Cuddle

Give yourself a cuddle

Each and every day.

Be your own best friend,

You're better off that way.


Don't tell yourself off.

Others will do that for you.

Have lots of sunny thoughts,

There's no point in being blue.


You're better than you realize.

You're really lots of fun.

Give yourself a pat on the back

For being the clever one.


It's hard sometimes to be alone,

For life is such a muddle.

But you're sure to make it through,

So give yourself a cuddle.

 

[Paul Whybrow]

Oh, how fantastic, Paul...please, be my guest....DO ITTTTTTTT

Why not ? It's more sophisticated than some of the movies that get made - from cartoons, comic books and video games. I swear that someone will make a film based on the blurb on a box of breakfast cereal one day. The film industry is largely moribund when it comes to script-writing. They'll spend millions on computer-generated special effects and nothing on the story. People remember stories, not unrealistic CGI explosions and car crashes.

 

[Katie-Ellen]

....It's hard sometimes to be alone,

For life is such a muddle.

But you're sure to make it through,

So give yourself a cuddle.


It's a charming poem, Paul.

 

[Bernard Stacey]

I've seen this thread now every day
And read each post and poem,
But always felt that one more fact
I needed to be knowing.

I googled, searched and racked my brains
It nearly had me screaming,
I thought I'd die before I ever
Figured out the meaning.

A pome's a type of fleshy fruit:
How's that concerned with writing?
My sanity was fading fast,
With lunacy I'm fighting.

And so to Peter I do say:
It surely must be vital
To give us hapless authors ways
To edit a thread's title.

 

[Marc Joan]

I've seen this thread now every day
And read each post and poem,
But always felt that one more fact
I needed to be knowing.

I googled, searched and racked my brains
It nearly had me screaming,
I thought I'd die before I ever
Figured out the meaning.

A pome's a type of fleshy fruit:
How's that concerned with writing?
My sanity was fading fast,
With lunacy I'm fighting.

And so to Peter I do say:
It surely must be vital
To give us hapless authors ways
To edit a thread's title.

V. amusing! But I think you'll find that Katie-Ellen's 'typo' was deliberate...Where have I seen it before , K-E, was it in some book that purported to be by a schoolboy and therefore had lost of schoolboy errors?

 

[Marc Joan]

I remembered. As any fule kno, it's from 'The Compleet Molesworth', by [I think] Nigel Williams.

 

[Katie-Ellen]

I've seen this thread now every day
And read each post and poem,
But always felt that one more fact
I needed to be knowing.

I googled, searched and racked my brains
It nearly had me screaming,
I thought I'd die before I ever
Figured out the meaning.

A pome's a type of fleshy fruit:
How's that concerned with writing?
My sanity was fading fast,
With lunacy I'm fighting.

And so to Peter I do say:
It surely must be vital
To give us hapless authors ways
To edit a thread's title.

Sorry if it's annoying, Bernard, but Marc has it. It was a deliberate misspelling, intended to convey that what I was posting could not really be called poetry. As for editing titles, this is a question that has arisen before, but unless someone can tell us otherwise now, 'tis a mystery that still eludes us

 

[Bernard Stacey]

It's not annoying! Of course not.
It just coincided with my noticing that I could edit my posts but not the title of a thread I'd created!

 

[Marc Joan]

You can edit the title of a thread. I've done it. But I can't remember how. And on that helpful note, back to the Ashes! (Yes, I have taken the day off!)

 

[Katie-Ellen]

It would be annoying ME like anything if it had been a typo. I'm always editing typos in posts.

Marc, you tease...after the Ashes, ponder and reveal unto us the secret ...

 

[Marc Joan]

It would be annoying ME like anything if it had been a typo. I'm always editing typos in posts.

Marc, you tease...after the Ashes, ponder and reveal unto us the secret ...

Go to the top of the thread [original post]. Click 'thread tools' [top right]. Et voila.

 

[Katie-Ellen]

Thank, Marc, and, and....yes, let's have another OUROBOROS

The Well of Wyrd


She sits alone; she is casting stones,

Disposing glyphs on graven runes,

No even numbers speak the Norns,

Wyrd runs Water; she must deal,

In whisperings and Fate unsealed,

Winds of fortune shape and shatter,

While Time, disposing of all matters,

Is Serpentine, the ouroboros,

Endless, rolling, still coils sinuous.


KEH


June 2015

 

[Karen Gray]

Ok, I'll play..

Journey

On the road to a brand new start,

White van is packed to the gunnels,

Phone in my hand and joy in my heart,

I lose reception in all the tunnels,



Mum's at the wheel and Gran's to my right,

I'm sitting right here in the middle,

Approaching Glasgow as the traffic gets tight,

No apparent reason, it seems it's a riddle,



Passing the airport,

Sirens all sounding,

Blue lights all flashing,

Hearts are all pounding,



A terrorist crashed into the airport's front doors,

He is covered in flames and won't lie on the floor,

Big brave John Smeaton brings him down at the doors,

A swift kick to the bollocks and order's restored!

K. Gray 2012


Snigger. Love Big Mad Mental Smeaton. Absolute Legend.

 

[Karen Gray]

Just for funzies, and because now that we know Gordon's getting his new puppy (to be trained as an assistance dog) in just under 7 weeks, I am feeling a little tribute to our previous GSD coming on. I wrote this the day she crossed the rainbow bridge xx


Bonnie Black Lassie

Bonnie Black Lassie,
E'er so batty,
She brightened oor day,
Wi a whine and an oof,
The bonniest black dug,
Noo there that's the truth!

Wi thon big wet nose,
That near ne'er missed ye,
Thon big rough tongue,
That slobbered tae kiss ye,
Fluffier ears ye ne'er did see,
And pantaloons tae match,
Oo-eer michty me!

The wag o' yer tail,
Made a'body wail,
When it battered their calves,
Or knocked o'er a vase,
Or scattered black clumps,
O' her hair en-mass,

Tae tumble aboot,
Like all tumbleweeds do,
Tae drive ye insane,
Wi the fluff aw spread through...
The washing and drying,
The sink and the hall,
Yer clothes and yer books,
And the fridge n'all!

Playful expressions,
And woofs o' agreement,
Argument... compliment,
You'd ne'er believe it,
Tae argue yer point,
Tae the dug of all things,
Och but she's so bonnie,
She even sings,
Far special occasions mind,
No all the time,
But when that black dug sings,
You bet she sings fine,

Noo the room feels empty,
We're aw pretty glum,
And the black dug's no here
Tae offer her tum,
For a good dose o' scratching,
Coz that's what she'd love,
Well, that and any food,
She's no s'posed tae huv!

We miss yer lolloping tongue,
And yer scratchedy tum,
When ye'd fart an swear blind,
"Fae me it's no come!"
Yer waggly bum,
And yer fluffity ears,
Will make us giggle,
For years upon years,
It's no even been long,
We can still smell yer pong,
But good god dug,
We're all gonnae miss ye!

 

[Katie-Ellen]

Ok, I'll play..

Journey

On the road to a brand new start,

White van is packed to the gunnels,

Phone in my hand and joy in my heart,

I lose reception in all the tunnels,



Mum's at the wheel and Gran's to my right,

I'm sitting right here in the middle,

Approaching Glasgow as the traffic gets tight,

No apparent reason, it seems it's a riddle,



Passing the airport,

Sirens all sounding,

Blue lights all flashing,

Hearts are all pounding,



A terrorist crashed into the airport's front doors,

He is covered in flames and won't lie on the floor,

Big brave John Smeaton brings him down at the doors,

A swift kick to the bollocks and order's restored!

K. Gray 2012


Snigger. Love Big Mad Mental Smeaton. Absolute Legend.

Tell us more about him? Did he really kick the guy in the bollocks?

 

[Katie-Ellen]

Just for funzies, and because now that we know Gordon's getting his new puppy (to be trained as an assistance dog) in just under 7 weeks, I am feeling a little tribute to our previous GSD coming on. I wrote this the day she crossed the rainbow bridge xx


Bonnie Black Lassie

Bonnie Black Lassie,
E'er so batty,
She brightened oor day,
Wi a whine and an oof,
The bonniest black dug,
Noo there that's the truth!

Wi thon big wet nose,
That near ne'er missed ye,
Thon big rough tongue,
That slobbered tae kiss ye,
Fluffier ears ye ne'er did see,
And pantaloons tae match,
Oo-eer michty me!

The wag o' yer tail,
Made a'body wail,
When it battered their calves,
Or knocked o'er a vase,
Or scattered black clumps,
O' her hair en-mass,

Tae tumble aboot,
Like all tumbleweeds do,
Tae drive ye insane,
Wi the fluff aw spread through...
The washing and drying,
The sink and the hall,
Yer clothes and yer books,
And the fridge n'all!

Playful expressions,
And woofs o' agreement,
Argument... compliment,
You'd ne'er believe it,
Tae argue yer point,
Tae the dug of all things,
Och but she's so bonnie,
She even sings,
Far special occasions mind,
No all the time,
But when that black dug sings,
You bet she sings fine,

Noo the room feels empty,
We're aw pretty glum,
And the black dug's no here
Tae offer her tum,
For a good dose o' scratching,
Coz that's what she'd love,
Well, that and any food,
She's no s'posed tae huv!

We miss yer lolloping tongue,
And yer scratchedy tum,
When ye'd fart an swear blind,
"Fae me it's no come!"
Yer waggly bum,
And yer fluffity ears,
Will make us giggle,
For years upon years,
It's no even been long,
We can still smell yer pong,
But good god dug,
We're all gonnae miss ye!

Scratchedy tum....love that. We're missing our old cat. It's a big gap when they go; the small animal people.

 

[Karen Gray]

Tell us more about him? Did he really kick the guy in the bollocks?

Yeah lol. He's a legend. As far as I know he still works there.
In the words of big John (talking about terrorists) 'Glasgow won't accept that. Glasgow won't accept that. Come tae Glasgow and we'll set about you.'

 

[Karen Gray]

Scratchedy tum....love that. We're missing our old cat. It's a big gap when they go; the small animal people.

With Holly it was a conscious decision. She had a doggy version of dementia from years of high dose painkillers. SHe regressed to early puppyhood stages. As long as she was happy, we were happy, but then she became incontinent and that was that. Kindness overrules everything. It would have been cruel to keep her going after that.

I have to say the hardest one for me was Big Charlie Brown. (in my profile pic) He was a welfare case, mistreated by a yard I worked at and then gifted to me after he lost his eye due to cancer. I took him on at 3 knowing he could die within 6 months. He made it to a fortnight before his 10th birthday Gosh I miss him. One in a million, he really was. I ended up giving him to Gordon and he was almost like his mobility scooter

I remember one really misty day at work. We'd just put him out in his strip to graze and the fog had thickened to soup-like consistency.

One of the riding school kids came running up the drive to say Charlie's gate was lying on the ground, so we all panicked and ran down to check he was still in the strip... which he wasn't. I turned the corner - on to the main road, and there, coming towards me was a wee Nissan Micra (the original teeny-weeny one).

The wee car was reversing frantically up the lane towards me. To most people this would appear odd. However, I had an idea of why they would be in such a rush to retreat up the road. The mist was thick you couldn’t see more than six feet ahead. CLOP, CLOP, CLOP, CLOP… Yes. I was right. There challenging the tiny frantic car was Charlie.

My enormous Clydesdale was bounding energetically down the road towards us. Head up tall, snorting loudly and as soon as he clapped eyes on me he let out a deafening shout! “MUMMY!! WHERE WERE YOU!!?” or something to that effect.

It turns out that he had been cantering about his grazing strip and because of the fog had not seen the fence until it was too late. So he jumped it and then went looking for a ‘person’. He had gotten lost in the fog and decided to follow the first sign of life that he could find… Poor wee car!

 

[Katie-Ellen]

Yeah lol. He's a legend. As far as I know he still works there.
In the words of big John (talking about terrorists) 'Glasgow won't accept that. Glasgow won't accept that. Come tae Glasgow and we'll set about you.'

Fantastic!!