Magpie 27

This short poem in honour of Magpie 27, should be sung "largo e doloroso" to a fairly well-known tune . . 

"Mind where you tread, the plumbing's on the blink.
See - water spurting underneath the sink.
You hold the flashlight, I'll look for the leak.
I've had to wear my wellies all this week"

"Oh, not again! Those pipes, so thick with rust

 finally snapped, the whole jingbang is bust!

 Rot and decay in bend and valve and T,

 no hot, no cold, no shower, no lavat'ry!"

Psssst . . . stuck for a tune?  Try "Abide With Me."

Some Limericks Won't Stand the Test of Time

A young beauty queen called Claire Voyant

whose bosom was ample, and bouyant

on the cat-walk one day

declared "Oh, I say . . .!"

(There's NO RHYME!  How very annoyant!)

Try again!

A young beauty queen named Claire Voyant

whose bosom was ample, and bouyant

said "Now I'll look a sap!

I've broken a strap!"

(There's no rhyme for 'brassiere' either)

Staying with the gardening theme (see post below this)

A prize winning gardener from Harrow

said "I don't want to damage my marrow.

And so when I go

To fair, fete or show

I need an upholstered wheelbarrow."

OHWELLHEREGOES!

This NobelPrizeWorthy effort is in reponse to Magpie Tales Mag 26

                                          

"A waterin' can without a complete spout?  

However do you pour the water out?"

Now then, Doc, you're just being VERY SILLY!   Go down a different road, but stay with the watering-can . . .

There was a keen gardener called Ned

  whose children set fire to his shed.

  With one can of water

  he extinguished his daughter

 (Doc! Slow Down! I think you've misread.)

At the Digital Gift Shop

(Try it to the tune "I Gave My Love a Cherry.")

I bought our lass an iPhone so she could ring.

I gave our lad an xBox. It's just the thing.

I gave them both an iPod to surf the net.

And then I gave them iTunes. They're singing yet!

I treated them to iBooks. They like to read.

iPads, iMacs, iPhoto . .  meet ev'ry need!

I gave my wife an iRon.

That was about a month ago.  Haven't seen her since . . .

Verifying The Poetry Bus.

The task, admirably set by NANU, was to use a verification word or words in a poem.  So . .

On the Dangers of Whibal


Stanza Uno

Polsy (she's my neighbour's daughter)
Suped Centora to the water.
Alphyl, watching from the bank
Hid their zilacs . . whibal prank!
Those poor girls! He left them dising
left them with the river rising.
Just in time came Polsy's sister.
Threw a rope and saved their dister!
Both the girls were gridely grateful.
They said "Alphyl is ankeme hateful.
Whibal pranks! We could have drowned,
If Lystome had not been around!
So . . . in future, we girls shall
Avoid him, he's dasypygal!"

Stanza Due

Mrs.Trellis of North Wales
told me off in her eMails.
So, although is seems absurd
One blogcheck's an English Word!
Check them in your dictionairy.
One means "blessed(*) with buttocks hairy"

(*)  Or cursed.  Take yer pick.

You Could Well Enjoy This . . .

. . . but I can't think why . . .

More about them HERE . . and before you all start,  him in the bowler is NOT Dr.FTSE

Another Etheree.

As

a child

I marvelled

at how Windy

Miller always dodged

the savage, whirling blades

of his creaky old mill. Then

one day - they got him! Sliced the poor

creaky old bugger clean in half!  That

day, my childhood ended. (Pass the Hovis!)

Post Script.  Would you believe there is a development of the "etheree" form - the "double etheree."  Try to resist looking it up HERE until you've tried to guess/figure out what it might be.  Then GET BUSY!

A New Poetic Form . .

. . . has arrived in Blogland!  The ETHEREE

You can find a definition of the Etheree form, and a fine example of it HERE.  55 syllables, ten lines, the first line to have but one syllable, then one MORE syllable in each subsequent line.  I want to be sure I have the form firmly fixed in my mind before I apply it to a serious poem in etheree form . . . so here goes.

One

Two Three

Four Five Six

Seven Eight Nine

Ten Eleven Twelve

Thirteen Fourteen Fifteen

Sixteen Seventeen Eighteen

Nineteen Twenty TwentyOne (OH

DRAT! That don't work out any more, do it?)

Oh well, press on . . TwentyTwo TwentyThree!

Good!  I've got the pattern!  Now for a poem!  (Goes to desk.  Opens laptop.  Sucks pencil . . .  )

My Good Friend Mrs. Trellis . . .

. . .  will award POINTS to the first blogger/critic/poet who picks up the allusion in the last four lines of the poem in the post under this 'ere post.  And we all know what points mean!

POINTS.   MEAN.   PRIZES!