Yay! Total Feckin' Eejit's poetry fun is Back! Back! Back!
Christmas themed... here is my contribution.
Mr Creosote's Christmas
Predatory Pringles mingle with tipsy tins of Roses.
Roast potatoes dip delightedly into bowls of keys,
Selecting salacious selection boxes,
disappearing together to dark corners.
Sprouts pout wallflowers unwanted, get their coats and go.
Mince pies laugh as they leave
cleaving brandy butter to their bosoms.
Trifles tickle tousle with the Christmas pud -
wanton lovers devouring each other, unconcerned.
The turkey and ham, wriggle giggle gravily writhe,
beckoning the mash for a threesome.
The Christmas cake hunts the chocolate orange
for a bit of rough.
But the citric circle is occupied elsewhere,
climatic orgasmic with a coquettish chocolate kimberley.
Lonely, a sad After Eight lazily masturbates.
In the cloakroom, icing and marzipan plan
to run away together, once the night is over.
Upstairs in the back bedroom the whipped cream teases the stuffing
tied with tinsel on the duvet, ecstatically prostate.
Oh fucking hell, its the end of Christmas day
I can't believe all I've ate.
Wednesday, December 23, 2009
TFE Poetry Pressie
Yay! Total Feckin' Eejit's poetry fun is Back! Back! Back!
Christmas themed... here is my contribution.
Mr Creosote's Christmas
Predatory Pringles mingle with tipsy tins of Roses.
Roast potatoes dip delightedly into bowls of keys,
Selecting salacious selection boxes,
disappearing together to dark corners.
Sprouts pout wallflowers unwanted, get their coats and go.
Mince pies laugh as they leave
cleaving brandy butter to their bosoms.
Trifles tickle tousle with the Christmas pud -
wanton lovers devouring each other, unconcerned.
The turkey and ham, wriggle giggle gravily writhe,
beckoning the mash for a threesome.
The Christmas cake hunts the chocolate orange
for a bit of rough.
But the citric circle is occupied elsewhere,
climatic orgasmic with a coquettish chocolate kimberley.
Lonely, a sad After Eight lazily masturbates.
In the cloakroom, icing and marzipan plan
to run away together, once the night is over.
Upstairs in the back bedroom the whipped cream teases the stuffing
tied with tinsel on the duvet, ecstatically prostate.
Oh fucking hell, its the end of Christmas day
I can't believe all I've ate.
Christmas themed... here is my contribution.
Mr Creosote's Christmas
Predatory Pringles mingle with tipsy tins of Roses.
Roast potatoes dip delightedly into bowls of keys,
Selecting salacious selection boxes,
disappearing together to dark corners.
Sprouts pout wallflowers unwanted, get their coats and go.
Mince pies laugh as they leave
cleaving brandy butter to their bosoms.
Trifles tickle tousle with the Christmas pud -
wanton lovers devouring each other, unconcerned.
The turkey and ham, wriggle giggle gravily writhe,
beckoning the mash for a threesome.
The Christmas cake hunts the chocolate orange
for a bit of rough.
But the citric circle is occupied elsewhere,
climatic orgasmic with a coquettish chocolate kimberley.
Lonely, a sad After Eight lazily masturbates.
In the cloakroom, icing and marzipan plan
to run away together, once the night is over.
Upstairs in the back bedroom the whipped cream teases the stuffing
tied with tinsel on the duvet, ecstatically prostate.
Oh fucking hell, its the end of Christmas day
I can't believe all I've ate.
Thursday, December 17, 2009
My Weak Week...
I appear to blog once a week. Either a Wednesday or a Thursday.
It takes a week for me to find something to say. And it's debatable whether what I've said was even worth it sometimes.
So, what did this week hold for Oubliette's of the Domestic kind?
Well, I didn't win that competition I was shortlisted for. Obviously my story was far, far, far too good. But it's that cosy blanket of superiority that keeps me warm at night. Sure the winner is out there somewhere, probably rolling naked on a bed over, under and around their winnings. But, they are deluded. They, as well as the judges, don't know that my story was better than theirs, and should have won. When, like a ego crushing blow, the truth dawns, I will be expecting a full written apology and any winnings that can be salvaged from the naked tumblings to be forwarded to me.
What else did I do?
Mr Oubliette and I saw Eddie Izzard at The Point on Monday ( I will not call it the *2) It was about the forth time we'd seen the comic genius. Sadly, we may have overdosed on the Izzard magic and while we enjoyed ourselves, and he was funny, we just weren't loosing control of our bladders as we once would have.. oh well. I had to console myself with onion rings and a 'bacon big boy' from Eddie Rockets afterwards.
Yes, the 'bacon big boy' is as deliciously vile as it sounds. It was worth the vicious assault by my weight watchers leader afterwards. As I drifted out of consciousness as one more blow from the electronic scales rained down on me, I licked my lips and muttered 'bacon'...
The Lovely Lucan Creative Writers had their annual Christmas shindig as well since I last blogged. It was a wonderful evening - visit Becketts in Leixlip, its a gem. We managed to peer pressure Various into drinking - cause she couldn't be in our gang if she wasn't like, cool, and like, drinking - but despite being in the pub till 2 am (well, the stragglers at any rate) it didn't feel quite as mad as previous years. Are we all getting old? Or was the fun just concentrated? Condensed? If you had added water, perhaps we'd still be partying now.
I should go. Junior Oubliette wants to spray fake snow on the windows. And who am I to stop him?
Till next Wed/Thurs.
It takes a week for me to find something to say. And it's debatable whether what I've said was even worth it sometimes.
So, what did this week hold for Oubliette's of the Domestic kind?
Well, I didn't win that competition I was shortlisted for. Obviously my story was far, far, far too good. But it's that cosy blanket of superiority that keeps me warm at night. Sure the winner is out there somewhere, probably rolling naked on a bed over, under and around their winnings. But, they are deluded. They, as well as the judges, don't know that my story was better than theirs, and should have won. When, like a ego crushing blow, the truth dawns, I will be expecting a full written apology and any winnings that can be salvaged from the naked tumblings to be forwarded to me.
What else did I do?
Mr Oubliette and I saw Eddie Izzard at The Point on Monday ( I will not call it the *2) It was about the forth time we'd seen the comic genius. Sadly, we may have overdosed on the Izzard magic and while we enjoyed ourselves, and he was funny, we just weren't loosing control of our bladders as we once would have.. oh well. I had to console myself with onion rings and a 'bacon big boy' from Eddie Rockets afterwards.
Yes, the 'bacon big boy' is as deliciously vile as it sounds. It was worth the vicious assault by my weight watchers leader afterwards. As I drifted out of consciousness as one more blow from the electronic scales rained down on me, I licked my lips and muttered 'bacon'...
The Lovely Lucan Creative Writers had their annual Christmas shindig as well since I last blogged. It was a wonderful evening - visit Becketts in Leixlip, its a gem. We managed to peer pressure Various into drinking - cause she couldn't be in our gang if she wasn't like, cool, and like, drinking - but despite being in the pub till 2 am (well, the stragglers at any rate) it didn't feel quite as mad as previous years. Are we all getting old? Or was the fun just concentrated? Condensed? If you had added water, perhaps we'd still be partying now.
I should go. Junior Oubliette wants to spray fake snow on the windows. And who am I to stop him?
Till next Wed/Thurs.
My Weak Week...
I appear to blog once a week. Either a Wednesday or a Thursday.
It takes a week for me to find something to say. And it's debatable whether what I've said was even worth it sometimes.
So, what did this week hold for Oubliette's of the Domestic kind?
Well, I didn't win that competition I was shortlisted for. Obviously my story was far, far, far too good. But it's that cosy blanket of superiority that keeps me warm at night. Sure the winner is out there somewhere, probably rolling naked on a bed over, under and around their winnings. But, they are deluded. They, as well as the judges, don't know that my story was better than theirs, and should have won. When, like a ego crushing blow, the truth dawns, I will be expecting a full written apology and any winnings that can be salvaged from the naked tumblings to be forwarded to me.
What else did I do?
Mr Oubliette and I saw Eddie Izzard at The Point on Monday ( I will not call it the *2) It was about the forth time we'd seen the comic genius. Sadly, we may have overdosed on the Izzard magic and while we enjoyed ourselves, and he was funny, we just weren't loosing control of our bladders as we once would have.. oh well. I had to console myself with onion rings and a 'bacon big boy' from Eddie Rockets afterwards.
Yes, the 'bacon big boy' is as deliciously vile as it sounds. It was worth the vicious assault by my weight watchers leader afterwards. As I drifted out of consciousness as one more blow from the electronic scales rained down on me, I licked my lips and muttered 'bacon'...
The Lovely Lucan Creative Writers had their annual Christmas shindig as well since I last blogged. It was a wonderful evening - visit Becketts in Leixlip, its a gem. We managed to peer pressure Various into drinking - cause she couldn't be in our gang if she wasn't like, cool, and like, drinking - but despite being in the pub till 2 am (well, the stragglers at any rate) it didn't feel quite as mad as previous years. Are we all getting old? Or was the fun just concentrated? Condensed? If you had added water, perhaps we'd still be partying now.
I should go. Junior Oubliette wants to spray fake snow on the windows. And who am I to stop him?
Till next Wed/Thurs.
It takes a week for me to find something to say. And it's debatable whether what I've said was even worth it sometimes.
So, what did this week hold for Oubliette's of the Domestic kind?
Well, I didn't win that competition I was shortlisted for. Obviously my story was far, far, far too good. But it's that cosy blanket of superiority that keeps me warm at night. Sure the winner is out there somewhere, probably rolling naked on a bed over, under and around their winnings. But, they are deluded. They, as well as the judges, don't know that my story was better than theirs, and should have won. When, like a ego crushing blow, the truth dawns, I will be expecting a full written apology and any winnings that can be salvaged from the naked tumblings to be forwarded to me.
What else did I do?
Mr Oubliette and I saw Eddie Izzard at The Point on Monday ( I will not call it the *2) It was about the forth time we'd seen the comic genius. Sadly, we may have overdosed on the Izzard magic and while we enjoyed ourselves, and he was funny, we just weren't loosing control of our bladders as we once would have.. oh well. I had to console myself with onion rings and a 'bacon big boy' from Eddie Rockets afterwards.
Yes, the 'bacon big boy' is as deliciously vile as it sounds. It was worth the vicious assault by my weight watchers leader afterwards. As I drifted out of consciousness as one more blow from the electronic scales rained down on me, I licked my lips and muttered 'bacon'...
The Lovely Lucan Creative Writers had their annual Christmas shindig as well since I last blogged. It was a wonderful evening - visit Becketts in Leixlip, its a gem. We managed to peer pressure Various into drinking - cause she couldn't be in our gang if she wasn't like, cool, and like, drinking - but despite being in the pub till 2 am (well, the stragglers at any rate) it didn't feel quite as mad as previous years. Are we all getting old? Or was the fun just concentrated? Condensed? If you had added water, perhaps we'd still be partying now.
I should go. Junior Oubliette wants to spray fake snow on the windows. And who am I to stop him?
Till next Wed/Thurs.
Thursday, December 10, 2009
Things Domestic Oubliette Learnt since she last posted yesterday...
1) Don't go out for a few drinks with writing buddy and leave hubby alone with baking Christmas Cake.
2) Don't forget that the recipe you're using to bake your cake was written long before fan assisted ovens were even thought of.
3) Don't cry when it burns.
4) Don't go on a crusade over the little things in your child life.
5) When they want you to drop it - sometimes its just right to drop it.
6) Don't stay up watching 'There's Something About Mary' till after midnight. (No matter how funny it is.)
7)Sometime missing your writing targets isn't such a bad thing. Maybe the 900 words you came up with instead of the 4000 you were meant to, could be the best 900 words ever.
8) Sometimes, even if you didn't get slaughtered in a budget doesn't mean it was an okay budget.
9) Though, sometimes things just aren't fair.
10) There is one instance of the phrase 'domestic oubliette' other than my blog on the world wide web. There are no new ideas.
2) Don't forget that the recipe you're using to bake your cake was written long before fan assisted ovens were even thought of.
3) Don't cry when it burns.
4) Don't go on a crusade over the little things in your child life.
5) When they want you to drop it - sometimes its just right to drop it.
6) Don't stay up watching 'There's Something About Mary' till after midnight. (No matter how funny it is.)
7)Sometime missing your writing targets isn't such a bad thing. Maybe the 900 words you came up with instead of the 4000 you were meant to, could be the best 900 words ever.
8) Sometimes, even if you didn't get slaughtered in a budget doesn't mean it was an okay budget.
9) Though, sometimes things just aren't fair.
10) There is one instance of the phrase 'domestic oubliette' other than my blog on the world wide web. There are no new ideas.
Things Domestic Oubliette Learnt since she last posted yesterday...
1) Don't go out for a few drinks with writing buddy and leave hubby alone with baking Christmas Cake.
2) Don't forget that the recipe you're using to bake your cake was written long before fan assisted ovens were even thought of.
3) Don't cry when it burns.
4) Don't go on a crusade over the little things in your child life.
5) When they want you to drop it - sometimes its just right to drop it.
6) Don't stay up watching 'There's Something About Mary' till after midnight. (No matter how funny it is.)
7)Sometime missing your writing targets isn't such a bad thing. Maybe the 900 words you came up with instead of the 4000 you were meant to, could be the best 900 words ever.
8) Sometimes, even if you didn't get slaughtered in a budget doesn't mean it was an okay budget.
9) Though, sometimes things just aren't fair.
10) There is one instance of the phrase 'domestic oubliette' other than my blog on the world wide web. There are no new ideas.
2) Don't forget that the recipe you're using to bake your cake was written long before fan assisted ovens were even thought of.
3) Don't cry when it burns.
4) Don't go on a crusade over the little things in your child life.
5) When they want you to drop it - sometimes its just right to drop it.
6) Don't stay up watching 'There's Something About Mary' till after midnight. (No matter how funny it is.)
7)Sometime missing your writing targets isn't such a bad thing. Maybe the 900 words you came up with instead of the 4000 you were meant to, could be the best 900 words ever.
8) Sometimes, even if you didn't get slaughtered in a budget doesn't mean it was an okay budget.
9) Though, sometimes things just aren't fair.
10) There is one instance of the phrase 'domestic oubliette' other than my blog on the world wide web. There are no new ideas.
Wednesday, December 9, 2009
Shortlists, Christmas Cakes, Budget Cuts and Chapters to Write. (I've a lot on my mind today)
A lot on my mind.
I should have baked the Christmas cake last October like all the true domestic goddesses. Come Christmas day, my cake will crumble like a Fianna Fail politician in the face of a public service union. 'A bit immature' my mother will say, and I'll want to make like the cake and stamp my foot and storm off to my bedroom.
But, regardless, once I put down this laptop, off I'll trot to my kitchen and start the long, laborious process...
It'll take my mind off this afternoons budget though. 'Everyone' begrudgingly admits that Lenihan is the cleverest of the bunch of them (Not hard that said - my Christmas cake will have more brains than at least 96.7% of FFers.) I wonder what joys this budget will contain - it appears most of it has been leaked. Do hope there are no major surprises. Of course, I wouldn't say no if it contained a provision for all women, say, aged 37, and with an O in their names to get a brand new car. I think this would be a great initiative. We all know that women, aged 37 and with an 'O' in their names are big shoppers, and so, a new car would get them to the shops more often and therefore stimulate the economy. Phew. Goodness. I'm a great economic thinker. Who knew.
I wonder if my eggs are at room temperature yet? (No snickering at the back there.)
Can't start the cake till the eggs are warm.
Can't start till I've blogged either.
Why oh why don't I just buy a bloody cake? Its not as if anyone eats it round here...
So, what else has camped in my brain and is refusing to leave?
Ah, yes, was delighted to receive an email yesterday informing me of a shortlisting for a story wot I wrote for the 'Stop the Clocks' competition that one of the libraries was running there a few months ago. Various had received an email about her shortlisting agessssssssssssss ago, so I was despondent. Down. Drowning in feelings of wretchedness and worthlessness. I hadn't even gotten an acknowledgement of my entry! But, low, and behold. A pretty little email in my inbox yesterday informing me that I was shortlisted after all! Hurrah!
But the scales tipped once more - I won't be able to go on the night to find out who (me, me, me, me, me, me, me, me, me, me, me, me, me, me, me, me, me, me, me, me, me, me, me, me, me, me, me, me, me, me) has won :( I will have to rely on my arch rival MsV Cushions to let me know what happens... Can she be trusted? I think we all know the answer to that one...
Anyways. I best go.
Because not only do I have a cake to bake (which will take all day, I am not kidding, it is an epic undertaking), a budget to watch, and shortlisting glory to wallow in, but I am meeting writing chum tonight and AS USUAL I have precious little written. 400 words to be precises. Gah. Said I would have 4000. Oh well. So, let see if I can set some targets.
100 words before I collect the kids from school (remember, I have a cake to bake!)
1600 while I watch the budget.
800 After tea, and before chum arrives.
That'd be 2500 written today. Not ideal, but a damn sight better than nothing.
Okay. Must go.
Update:Forgot to get greaseproof paper - have to make a run to the shops. No writing going to be done before lunch :(
Shortlists, Christmas Cakes, Budget Cuts and Chapters to Write. (I've a lot on my mind today)
A lot on my mind.
I should have baked the Christmas cake last October like all the true domestic goddesses. Come Christmas day, my cake will crumble like a Fianna Fail politician in the face of a public service union. 'A bit immature' my mother will say, and I'll want to make like the cake and stamp my foot and storm off to my bedroom.
But, regardless, once I put down this laptop, off I'll trot to my kitchen and start the long, laborious process...
It'll take my mind off this afternoons budget though. 'Everyone' begrudgingly admits that Lenihan is the cleverest of the bunch of them (Not hard that said - my Christmas cake will have more brains than at least 96.7% of FFers.) I wonder what joys this budget will contain - it appears most of it has been leaked. Do hope there are no major surprises. Of course, I wouldn't say no if it contained a provision for all women, say, aged 37, and with an O in their names to get a brand new car. I think this would be a great initiative. We all know that women, aged 37 and with an 'O' in their names are big shoppers, and so, a new car would get them to the shops more often and therefore stimulate the economy. Phew. Goodness. I'm a great economic thinker. Who knew.
I wonder if my eggs are at room temperature yet? (No snickering at the back there.)
Can't start the cake till the eggs are warm.
Can't start till I've blogged either.
Why oh why don't I just buy a bloody cake? Its not as if anyone eats it round here...
So, what else has camped in my brain and is refusing to leave?
Ah, yes, was delighted to receive an email yesterday informing me of a shortlisting for a story wot I wrote for the 'Stop the Clocks' competition that one of the libraries was running there a few months ago. Various had received an email about her shortlisting agessssssssssssss ago, so I was despondent. Down. Drowning in feelings of wretchedness and worthlessness. I hadn't even gotten an acknowledgement of my entry! But, low, and behold. A pretty little email in my inbox yesterday informing me that I was shortlisted after all! Hurrah!
But the scales tipped once more - I won't be able to go on the night to find out who (me, me, me, me, me, me, me, me, me, me, me, me, me, me, me, me, me, me, me, me, me, me, me, me, me, me, me, me, me, me) has won :( I will have to rely on my arch rival MsV Cushions to let me know what happens... Can she be trusted? I think we all know the answer to that one...
Anyways. I best go.
Because not only do I have a cake to bake (which will take all day, I am not kidding, it is an epic undertaking), a budget to watch, and shortlisting glory to wallow in, but I am meeting writing chum tonight and AS USUAL I have precious little written. 400 words to be precises. Gah. Said I would have 4000. Oh well. So, let see if I can set some targets.
100 words before I collect the kids from school (remember, I have a cake to bake!)
1600 while I watch the budget.
800 After tea, and before chum arrives.
That'd be 2500 written today. Not ideal, but a damn sight better than nothing.
Okay. Must go.
Update:Forgot to get greaseproof paper - have to make a run to the shops. No writing going to be done before lunch :(
Thursday, December 3, 2009
International put your Poem in a Shop Month - The Bandwagon Begins!
Well, I'm nothing if not a follower! Not so great with the original ideas, but not too bad at slavishly following someones else initiative.
Well, MsVarious, there are now TWO poems in shops as of a hour ago. I was pottering about in my fave place - The Orchard Garden Centre and Cafe on the Celbridge road, and I thought - I gotta put a poem in a shop. Of course, the problem was I didn't have a poem. So, over a large Americano, and as the baby poured chocolate milk over herself I penned this instantly forgettable poem...
Nonchalant gnomes, propagation domes,
Homes and Gardens beautiful
Bonsai, Birch, Gerbera, Poinsettia
Cushions, throws, aspirational a-plethora
Coffees and cakes among the shrubs, hoses and rakes
Feed our hunger and thirst.
Outside these high walls, recession calls
But, goddamn, they've got to catch me first.
So, I lurked like a giddy flasher, attempting the oh-so-casual positioning my poem. I felt like I was about to dump toxic waste on a kids playground, the urge not to litter is so strong. But, as Various says, I am adding to the cultural enrichment of our world... ahem. (All comparisons of my poem to toxic waste will be instantly deleted!)
And here's the proof!
Hurray for "International put your Poem in a Shop Month"!
Well, MsVarious, there are now TWO poems in shops as of a hour ago. I was pottering about in my fave place - The Orchard Garden Centre and Cafe on the Celbridge road, and I thought - I gotta put a poem in a shop. Of course, the problem was I didn't have a poem. So, over a large Americano, and as the baby poured chocolate milk over herself I penned this instantly forgettable poem...
Nonchalant gnomes, propagation domes,
Homes and Gardens beautiful
Bonsai, Birch, Gerbera, Poinsettia
Cushions, throws, aspirational a-plethora
Coffees and cakes among the shrubs, hoses and rakes
Feed our hunger and thirst.
Outside these high walls, recession calls
But, goddamn, they've got to catch me first.
So, I lurked like a giddy flasher, attempting the oh-so-casual positioning my poem. I felt like I was about to dump toxic waste on a kids playground, the urge not to litter is so strong. But, as Various says, I am adding to the cultural enrichment of our world... ahem. (All comparisons of my poem to toxic waste will be instantly deleted!)
And here's the proof!
Hurray for "International put your Poem in a Shop Month"!
International put your Poem in a Shop Month - The Bandwagon Begins!
Well, I'm nothing if not a follower! Not so great with the original ideas, but not too bad at slavishly following someones else initiative.
Well, MsVarious, there are now TWO poems in shops as of a hour ago. I was pottering about in my fave place - The Orchard Garden Centre and Cafe on the Celbridge road, and I thought - I gotta put a poem in a shop. Of course, the problem was I didn't have a poem. So, over a large Americano, and as the baby poured chocolate milk over herself I penned this instantly forgettable poem...
Nonchalant gnomes, propagation domes,
Homes and Gardens beautiful
Bonsai, Birch, Gerbera, Poinsettia
Cushions, throws, aspirational a-plethora
Coffees and cakes among the shrubs, hoses and rakes
Feed our hunger and thirst.
Outside these high walls, recession calls
But, goddamn, they've got to catch me first.
So, I lurked like a giddy flasher, attempting the oh-so-casual positioning my poem. I felt like I was about to dump toxic waste on a kids playground, the urge not to litter is so strong. But, as Various says, I am adding to the cultural enrichment of our world... ahem. (All comparisons of my poem to toxic waste will be instantly deleted!)
And here's the proof!
Hurray for "International put your Poem in a Shop Month"!
Well, MsVarious, there are now TWO poems in shops as of a hour ago. I was pottering about in my fave place - The Orchard Garden Centre and Cafe on the Celbridge road, and I thought - I gotta put a poem in a shop. Of course, the problem was I didn't have a poem. So, over a large Americano, and as the baby poured chocolate milk over herself I penned this instantly forgettable poem...
Nonchalant gnomes, propagation domes,
Homes and Gardens beautiful
Bonsai, Birch, Gerbera, Poinsettia
Cushions, throws, aspirational a-plethora
Coffees and cakes among the shrubs, hoses and rakes
Feed our hunger and thirst.
Outside these high walls, recession calls
But, goddamn, they've got to catch me first.
So, I lurked like a giddy flasher, attempting the oh-so-casual positioning my poem. I felt like I was about to dump toxic waste on a kids playground, the urge not to litter is so strong. But, as Various says, I am adding to the cultural enrichment of our world... ahem. (All comparisons of my poem to toxic waste will be instantly deleted!)
And here's the proof!
Hurray for "International put your Poem in a Shop Month"!
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