Brrrr . . and Baa . .

G-Man asks for 55 words.  I offer this thought for a wintry evening.

UK weather has turned cold so I'm wearing my fleece. It's blue with elastic at the wrists. It has no pockets. Hardly surprising. Whoever saw a sheep with pockets? It has a zipp, although I for one have never seen a sheep with a zipp even though they'd be easier to shear.  What do you think?

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Sprung.

A Homage to Our Other National Poet, and another Vote of Thanks to the unquenchable Tess Kincaid who has raided the lumber room of Willow Manor to bring us this week's prompt.

(To be sung to a well known Ayrshire Air)

I used to love this old red chair 

till it snapped a spring last June.

And when I sat me down today,

it twanged a Scottish tune.

I punctured am where most it hurts, 

and wounded to the quick.

My butt's now like a red, red rose -

Oh what was a horrid trick!

Chorus: -

That was a horrid trick, dear chair,

That was a horrid trick.

I'll post you on FreeCycle's site

dispose of you real quick.

But no one came to take my chair -

maybe they had no van.

And so I stood me up to think (*)

of a new disposal plan.

Well, soon to he who wrote this song

I found that my thought turns.

I dragged my chair out to the yard - 

Just see how well it burns!

Chorus:-

Just see how well it Burrrrns, my dears

Just see how well it Burrrrns.

The Bard of Ayrshire helped me out,

So thank you Rabbie Burrrrrns. (**)

(*)    Can't sit down, remember?

(**)  The Scots roll their Rrrrr's on the least provocation.  Mine still hurts too much.

Sung by the lovely EDDI READER it doesn't hurt a bit . . .

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Isadora Gruye from the Imaginary Garden with Real Toads challenges poets to explore their guilty pleasure for the shivery delectation of fellow bloggers.  Here goes

Sweet Nothings are my Guilty Pleasure,
soft, succulent and in good measure
I drip them in reluctant ears.
It soothes their minds and dulls their fears.
My honeyed tones excite the Birds
and Bees. They fall for sugared words
Alright for you out there to scoff -
They help me get the wrappers off.

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Noises Off.

Wow! Jeez! Kersplatt!  Biff!  Bang!  Shazam!
Kerplunk! and Zapp! are just a few.
Yuck! Yechh! Blecchh! Barf! Zounds! Ee By Gum!
Gosh!  Golly!  and The Same To You!
Owww! Ouch! and Aaarrggh! mean someone's hurt
Stop Thief! means someone's lost his shirt.
There are many more, but I prefer
the consternation in Ooooerrrr!

55 . . is a "triangular" number! (*)

Here's a joke that my optician told me. It's an example of the "Professionally Contiguous" joke -  for instance, a joke about meat told by a butcher.  It's terrible.

"Heard the one about the man who wore a monocle in both eyes?"
"I know you're going to slay me with the answer. Proceed!"
"He made a spectacle of himself."

Thanks to G-Man for setting us his weekly 55 word task.

(*) Clue . . so is the number of red balls in a snooker set.

Meanwhile, in the Willow Ball Annexe . . .

out o' the sight o' daycent God-fearing fowk, tae the skirrrrrrl o' the pipes, the mair darin' o' Tess's guests cast caution tae the winds an' their claes inti yon big beskit agin the doooooor. Well, wid ye look at that! A' they hussies a' wearin' the exact same dress . . . 

. . . and horror upon horrors!  Wan o' they buirdly lads tellt me yon dance is called "Strip the Willow"

Tess . . . thanks again for the invitation to the 2012 Willow Manor Ball and for all the work you put into organising the weekly Magpies and your comments on our efforts, and please don't let the hoots and halloos from the Annexe spoil the party.

Midnight Snack

Tess Kincaid asks us to write about Midnight Feasts, prompted by Curtis Wilson Costs's 1984 picture "Midnight Snack"

"I Told Them They Were Out of Garlic!"

It dropped from its perch on the rafter
when slumber had silenced their laughter.
It sank in its fangs
to ease hunger's pangs
saying "Mmmm! This is GOOD!
Fresh, warm human blood!"
Then  it gorged on some lamb chops for afters.


            worthwhile

Many more^ responses to the prompt can be found HERE.

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Quack Quack

Tess at Willow Manor offers Jan Steen's 1665 picture "The Sick Woman" for our prompt this week.

The Doctor came.  The Doctor said

"Madam, I think you're quick, not dead.

Are you breathless? How's your heart?

Is it noisy when you fart?

What's the colour of your rheum?

Have you something in your womb?

Does your hair grow straight or curly?

Do you go to bed quite early?

Is there scurf behind your ears?

Do you suffer midnight fears?"

"None of these" replied the wench.

"I've given my left wrist a wrench."

"Schimples!(*) Let's even up your plight!

I'll sprain the one left on the right."

He gave her other wrist a whack,

a truly unprovoked attack.

"Now both sides match you'll feel at ease.

And that's a hundred schillings(*), please."

(*) The Doctor was Austrian, but this fact is not strictly relevant.

Many worthier Magpies can be enjoyed here.

Grumble, Grumble.

Tess calls up one of Francesca Woodman's oddball photographs for our prompt this week.

It Must Be Time For Lunch Now, 1979, by Francesca Woodman

"So is this one the fork you say you just dropped?  There's loads of them . . and I'm getting cramp under here.  Look for yer own forks, why not?  Besides, I want me lunch. Some people . . "

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A Mile High Tale

Another colourful prompt from Tess at Willow Manor encourages more flights of fancy

Flying Down, 2006, by David Salle

"Do you really need the magnifying glass, Simpleforth?"
"This painting is not as random as if might seem at first sight, sir."
"Really?  Is that Simpleforth's view, or did you read it in Gombrich."
"Gombrich was dead before Salle painted this . . er . . painting, sir."
(Sotto voce) "I never learn!" (Aloud)  "I asked you about the magnifying glass . . "
"Notice the title, sir. "Flying Down"  The title is surely highly relevant to the central feature of the picture.  Or vice-versa."
"The spiral?  You or I can do things like that with the 'Twist' effect in Photoshop."
"Look carefully, sir, and you can see not one but two terrified faces, albeit upside down.  Salle has not only twisted the doomed passengers into a spiral of fear as the Cessna . .  "
"Cessna?"
"The little white plane about to attempt an emergency landing in the fireplace . . as the doomed Cessna spirals into the flames - " (He breaks off.)
(After a pause) "Proceed, Simpleforth. I daresay we have to hear a lot more of your commentary before we get round to the magnifying glass."
"It's not about a Cessna crashing, sir! It's the stack over Heathrow Airport!"
"It's the what?"
"See, sir.  You can't just stop a 757 or whatever in mid-air. They tend to plummet. So if there's no landing-slot available, ATC sends them round and round above the airport in a slow descending spiral, separation about 500 feet. It's called 'the stack'. Now, a plane going round in a circle leans over to one side. And the ground is looming closer every time round the stack. That, and the grinding noise of the flaps  . ."
"ATC? Stacks? Flaps? What are you talking about?"
" . .  of the flaps going down make the passengers think one of the wings has fallen off." (He pauses again) "That probably explains the little crane thing. Looks like a wing-section it's lifting, don't you think, sir?"
"Perhaps. But you don't need a magnifying glass to see the little crane thing -"
"Then again, sir, maybe it is a Cessna crashing after a mid-air collision with the goose that sheared off its propellor.  The goose looks out of control, sir.  But the Cessna's missing propellor is harder to spot."
"Ah!  So that's why you needed the magnifying glass.  You were looking for a propellor."
"No sir.  See that passenger with the bare bum? Maybe she was in the loo when the 'Please Fasten Seatbelts' light came on . . .
"Enough Simpleforth!"
". . in which case she'd be showing a panty-line don't you think, sir?"
(Longer pause, then -) "Pass me your maginfying glass for a minute, there's a good lad . .  "