Snookeree

Man

takes cue

for walk round

the green baize bed. 

 Prowls. Ponders. Crouches. Lies

down. Aims. Squints. Aims. Gets

up. Taps cue on cushion. Points 

at the blue. "Oh Nooooo!" A little

blob of chalk! "Let's keep our balls clean, ref!"

He's on a one-four-seven! Fouls first red!

The poetic form "etheree" has been defined elsewhere.  More demanding than it looks, because one must be able to count as well as think of the right words.  Doesn't HAVE to be centered, but in this case the shape is a bit like the wooden triangle that the red balls sit in at . . . . Oh, Forget it!

More Lifestyle Advice

Never play the trumpet right after taking a laxative.

The Poetry Bus Rumbles Forth Again!

This week, Chiccoreal is driving the Bus, asking us to extemporise on the First Thing We Think of When Waking, or the First Tune That Comes into Our Heads. (Mrs.Trellis has offered to award double points for combining both prompts into a single Musical Extravaganza.)

My morning tune is here, or here, or here.  It's well known and just right for adding Silly Words . . .

Waking with Music

I wake . . . to find my underpants have vanished.

Where can they be? (He'll look and see.)

And fur . . .ther, from the bedroom I've been banished.

Oh, woe is me! (Yes, woe is he!)

Last night . . . I set out early for some drinking,

but got home late. (Inviting fate!)

No doubt . . .  I knew what Dearest would be thinking.

She won't be told. (He's far too old!)

Chorus 1.

So I found she'd locked the bedroom door.

Cried "Try sleeping on the kitchen floor!"

It's such a shame, I'm not to blame,

the bus I hoped for never came!

Pleading was no use,

I just got more and more abuse.

(Repeat)

So here . . . I lie, still half asleep and weary.

My back is sore. (There's worse in store!)

My eyes . . . all bloodshot, terminally bleary

feel full of grit. (He's full of s**t)

She would . . . n't even let me get my jarmies.

It's just not fair! (Why should she care?)

My fro . . . zen botty, legs and both my arm-ies

are in the nude! (How very rude!)

Chorus 2

To recap . . . my underpants have gone,

can't recall where last I had them on.

What's this I hear? She's drawing near!

"Goodmorning, Dear . . . why do you leer?"

"You've got them on your head again!"

"Why . . . so they are!  I can explain . . . ."

(Repeat)

Magpie Tales#28

This week, Willow prompts entrants with another picture . . . 

She Counts Her Toes

She

begins

at either 

end. She gets as

far as eight and then

cries "Help! Someone has pinched

my pinky toes! Have they gone

down the drain or up the faucet?

Perhaps they both went walk-about when

I was asleep just now. What a nuisance!
Perhaps I'll count from the right once again.
That little piggy went to market.
That little piggy stayed at home.
Next little piggy ate roast beef.
Next little pig got none.
This little pig cried
'Wee-wee! Wee-wee!'
PLEASE, pigs! Not
in my,
  bath . ."

(Form: Double Etheree.   Verdict: Very Silly)

Please Help Mrs.Trellis

She came across the following out in Blagland . . . oops, sorry in Blogland. She will award a minimum of 500,000 points to any blogger who can tell her what it means. And you know what points from Mrs.Trellis mean . . .

POINTS! MEAN! PRIZES!!

"Artists in literature, fine art and music affect their audiences’ awareness of possibilities in cultural change through their use of iconic realism by representing concepts in need of transformation. The study of iconic realism offers an exploration of semiotic theory and iconic structures within the arts."

Microfiction Monday #44

Microfiction Monday needs 140 characters devoted to this character

Theme . . . .

Variation 1
"What's up Sir Knight, hanging about outside yer TinTent?"
"I washed it. It would dry better if I could see how to turn it inside-out."

(140 characters inc. spaces)

Variation 2
Enter Hamlet, in full armour:
Hamlet.  "To pee or not to pee, that is the question."

(82)

Variation 3
"What's that tin thing, Daddy?"
"It's the Sealed Knot Society's portaloo, son."

(68)

Variation 4
"Oh, what can ail thee, Knight-at-Arms, alone and palely loitering, bollock naked outside thy TinTent?"
"Forgot the entry password, innit!"

(136 characters. Apologies to John Keats)

Variation 5
Juliet:  "Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art thou, Romeo?"
                       Romeo: "Locked in 'ere, you silly moo!  Run and get the tin-opener!"

(102)

Breakfast With Ginger

Somebody needs further training . . .

but I'm not sure it's the retriever . . .

ON-LINE APPLICATION . .

. . .  for a bus ticket, prompted by the picture HERE

ABANDON SHIP!

“You can’t see me!  I’m out of shot.

I’m a WiFi poet. I am not

in training for the Thames Boat Race

in that old punt. I like my Face

Book, Twitter . . all's grist to my mill.

Eight syllables per line. I will

throw off the pentametric yoke

that really has become a joke

in recent odes. But wait! ‘Ang on!

Go back . . that second line’s got nine!
And now I've lost my grip on rhyme!

That's it!  I’m rowin’ home.  Now, where

did I . . .  Yoohoo! . . . oars?  Are you there?
You're hiding! Stop your rowstick prank! 

Without you, on the river bank

I am self-stranded. Get a life

boat, quick. Wait! What’s that noise I hear?

A diesel engine drawing near!

What need have I of oars!  No fuss!

I’ll ride home on the Poetry Bus.”

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)