Magpie Tales#46

The irrepressible Willow throws down the gauntlet(s) this week and challenges us to duel with . . 

Why in the Name of All That's Wonderful Doesn't English

Tidy Up It's Pronunciation!

There was a young fellow from Hove

who lost (from a pair) the left glove.

He said with a sigh

"How will I get bigh,

If the temperature downwards should move"

Poetry Bus 27th. December.

To enhance the Festivities, Muse Swings asks for poems to celebrate the worst, most useless present you ever  were given . .  or, if you're brave enough, ever gave!

I phoned my friend, who said
"I fear I'm going bald!"
He will be glad I called!
He should anoint his head
from which the hair has spalled
with Preparation ZED.

I sent some as a gift,
and thought that that was that.
He'll soon have a fine mat.
My present caused a rift.
"ZED" did not baldness shift -
He now talks through his hat!

VEGEREE

Sprouts!

Christmas 

curse.  Brussels

shall never have

dominion(*) in this

house, where Christmas diners

lurk in unfragrant corners,

buttocks pursed against prevailing

winds, kitchen a No Go Area.

Airwick sweet, uncork!  Out! Out! Brussell Sprout.

(*) You see the ethereeist's problems?  "Dominion"? Thee syllables or four?

    "Area"? Two syllables or three?

   

Doc's Microfiction Monday #62

Stony River offers this charming picture prompt. Let's see whether we can use it to subvert the whole spirit and ethos of Christmas . . .

"I don't think the silly prats have seen us yet! Keep out of sight behind the trees . .  then we'll mug them for the pig AND the pudding!"

(138 characters, inc. spaces)

Microfiction Monday #61

Here is Stony River's prompt for the week: a delightful scene. Need to see about this!

Glenn Close – You Have Much to Answer For.

"There! That's my horrid Big Sister's bunny thoroughly drowned. Now -  fire up the boiler!"

(135 characters, inc. spaces)

Magpie Tales#44

Willow's picture prompt this week ideally suits the UK weather . . . 

CAVEAT SLEDGEOR

What's become of our friend Esther Crun?
She always thought sledging such fun.
But one day, silly dope
with her heart full of hope
she pushed off. Without rope
she soon drew her last breath
as she whizzed to her death
down the tricky, high-speed Cresta Run.

Poetry Bus - Pub Names

Kat Mortensen asks us to write a poem, preferably funny, on the subject:-
Pub Names, My "Local"

. . . can you believe it?

A Grammarian Considers.

If "Bishops" is a plural noun

"finger" must be a verb.

So - what do bishops finger

as they wander this sad world?

Perhaps they finger choirboys

or poets at their verse.

But whereso e're  their fingers stray

they always could do worse.

They could finger the five pound notes

left for Church Bell repairs.

(And the plural "Bishops" seems to say

they sometimes work in pairs.)

Gangs of roving bishops

want to finger your best watch,

and the very, very worst of them

will be eyeing up your c****h.

But on the Other Hand

If "Bishop's" a possessive noun,

minus its apostrophe (*)

then "finger'" is a singular

and the choirboys have no hope.

A friendly blogger told me

"You're going o'er the top.

Grammatic truth's all very well.

But I think it's time to stop!"

So!  Flame me with your angry words.

Make your blogcomments vocal!

This grammar buff's in need of drink . . .

Nowwww  . .  dare I risk my "local"?

(*) You gotta pronounce it "ap-os-troaf". The correct pron. screws up the rhyme scheme. Sorry

Microfiction Monday #60

Stony River offers microfiction fans the following gloomy prompt: -

He:  Come over to my place?

She: Where's your place, then?

He:  Bury. 

She: I wouldn't be seen dead in a dump like Bury! Bury's a graveyard."

(136 characters including spaces)

 Bury . . fairly depressing town in Lancashire, UK.

Not Another Limerick, Doc, Please!

But of course!  This one specially for Willow's wonderful Magpie Tales#43, prompted by -

LOCKOUT.


There was a young man from Lahore

who lost the latchkey for his door.

So he seized his sharp axe

and with one or two whacks

and a great deal of din

he soon let himself in.

But his door in Lahore was no more.