Tardy

I'm late posting my Monday poem - what can I say, I was feeling under the weather yesterday and was far too busy feeling sorry for myself to put up a poem. But sure, better late than never as they say.

This weeks task was to write a poem based on our favourite word.

My favourite word is 'Vehicular'. What can I say? I just love saying it. Try it. But it must be out loud. Feel how the word grabs hold of your entire mouth and makes you work to say it. Great stuff.

But really, a poem based on this word, not necessarily the most exciting. Or I was just being lazy. Okay, I was just being lazy. I am quite sure one could compose quite the epic using this wonderful word.

Instead I went for a word I really like a lot. 'Firkle'. How could you not like that word? If you're unfamiliar with this word, it's belongs to the same world as Niamh B's 'guddle'. It does have a generic meaning to look/search but it's generally used by those who grow potatoes. It describes the process where one sticks ones hands in the muck and feels up the growing potatoes to see if they are big enough to be harvested. It all sounds rather rude.

So, to the poem.

(email me for the poem!)

Tardy

I'm late posting my Monday poem - what can I say, I was feeling under the weather yesterday and was far too busy feeling sorry for myself to put up a poem. But sure, better late than never as they say.

This weeks task was to write a poem based on our favourite word.

My favourite word is 'Vehicular'. What can I say? I just love saying it. Try it. But it must be out loud. Feel how the word grabs hold of your entire mouth and makes you work to say it. Great stuff.

But really, a poem based on this word, not necessarily the most exciting. Or I was just being lazy. Okay, I was just being lazy. I am quite sure one could compose quite the epic using this wonderful word.

Instead I went for a word I really like a lot. 'Firkle'. How could you not like that word? If you're unfamiliar with this word, it's belongs to the same world as Niamh B's 'guddle'. It does have a generic meaning to look/search but it's generally used by those who grow potatoes. It describes the process where one sticks ones hands in the muck and feels up the growing potatoes to see if they are big enough to be harvested. It all sounds rather rude.

So, to the poem.

(email me for the poem!)

Total Feckin' Post...

Who thought this educating children was a good idea?

There was I, innocently wishing misfortune on all those picked for publication over me supportively reading my blog chums (- henceforth to be known as blums -) posts, when my eldest child starts reading over my shoulder... 'What's that?' he said, squinting, puzzling - 'totalfeckin'eejit'? He tried it again and realised what it said.

When you're nine, there is nothing funnier than swearing.

I had an entire afternoon of the nine year old, and then of course, the seven year old yelling 'Total Feckin' Eeejit!' and then collapsing in giggles. Thank God the baby has speech delay or we'd have been in real trouble. She just joined in the hysterical giggles.

It was eldest sons first bit of news when Mr Oubliette came home.

"Hi Daddy."

"Hi son."

"Guess what Daddy?"

"What son?"

"Mammy knows someone called Total Fucking Eejit!" (Yes, it had become 'Fucking eejit' by then.)

Sigh.

Keep them ignorant I say.


On further news, it may have become clear to some people that I might not have managed to get my genius amazing mindblowingly brilliant work into a publication (or two!) this week. Of course, being me, I am used to rejection. And, you know, I don't really mind if there is a delay in my complete supreme talent being recognised. It's just the other people doing well I don't like. Makes me bitter. Worse than a lemon. Everyone must fail. Okay, now that that's clear, I'll move on.

Just don't expect my congratulations to sound sincere.

Total Feckin' Post...

Who thought this educating children was a good idea?

There was I, innocently wishing misfortune on all those picked for publication over me supportively reading my blog chums (- henceforth to be known as blums -) posts, when my eldest child starts reading over my shoulder... 'What's that?' he said, squinting, puzzling - 'totalfeckin'eejit'? He tried it again and realised what it said.

When you're nine, there is nothing funnier than swearing.

I had an entire afternoon of the nine year old, and then of course, the seven year old yelling 'Total Feckin' Eeejit!' and then collapsing in giggles. Thank God the baby has speech delay or we'd have been in real trouble. She just joined in the hysterical giggles.

It was eldest sons first bit of news when Mr Oubliette came home.

"Hi Daddy."

"Hi son."

"Guess what Daddy?"

"What son?"

"Mammy knows someone called Total Fucking Eejit!" (Yes, it had become 'Fucking eejit' by then.)

Sigh.

Keep them ignorant I say.


On further news, it may have become clear to some people that I might not have managed to get my genius amazing mindblowingly brilliant work into a publication (or two!) this week. Of course, being me, I am used to rejection. And, you know, I don't really mind if there is a delay in my complete supreme talent being recognised. It's just the other people doing well I don't like. Makes me bitter. Worse than a lemon. Everyone must fail. Okay, now that that's clear, I'll move on.

Just don't expect my congratulations to sound sincere.

I Hate Poem

So, I'm on board with TFE's Monday poem. He requested that we wrote a protest poem. I know that such a poem really should be a dignified affair, highlighting injustice, righting wrongs etc... but mine is just a hate filled rant. What can I say? I've got issues.

And just for my international reader's enjoyment of the below poem - an explanation - Twink, (aka Adele King) is an Irish 'entertainer'. She's remarkably annoying. Though the leaked phone message she left on her ex-husband answering machine a few years ago was quite amusing. (click here for the famous - Zip up your mickey)

Okay, let the unpleasantness begin..


I HATE


I hate litter, I hate graffiti,
I hate the ancient bust of Queen Nefertiti
Tenuous rhymes in protest poems
mobile charges when one roams
All inspire spiteful moans.
Politicians, bankers, those infectious cankers
(I bet you thought I'd say wankers)

But I do try to be original
as I spew my hate filled rant.
What else do I think is really pants?
Can't feel the love for annoying teens
Demeans me to say it -
but I've got reams of revulsion just for them.
I scorn all those born after me.

I have an abhorrence for Josie Lawrence,
(Her real name's Wendy, did you know?)
A big aversion to the Cherry Coke version
of that delicious sugary drink.


I think that I could happily murder Twink
Tie a stone around her neck, watch her sink.
Hmmm...Maybe I've just crossed a line
in this mucky malevolent rhyme
I'll reprieve Ms Adele King - as long as she
promises not to sing.
Or act. Or ever go again on TV.
On these conditions I'll set her free.


Rain and traffic jams
Mussels and stinky clams
in fact shellfish of any sort
really get my goat.
Caught short, much too fat,
people who say 'apartment' instead of 'flat'.
Long hair, Truth or Dare,
the incorrect classification of the Koala as a bear.
Rare blood types, laddering tights
toddlers with gnashers who are inclined to bites
Make the steam come out my ears
shortens my life by many years.

What else annoys me, let me see
Reality programs, boring telly
(but not that one with the songs - Glee
for some reason this show really appeals to me.)


This is a protest ditty
railing against all that's crap and shitty
which seems to be quite a lot
a melting pot of this and that
random tat that invades my brain
give me pain, a grey existential nimbus of
psychic rain.

I seem to have resentment, for contentment
Thankful for the rancor of my black heart.
Perhaps I should go back to the beginning
When it was good to be winning, not spinning
webs built from bile, spun out a mile a minute.

Okay, I'll be happy from now on.
As the French say, it'll all be 'bon'.
But just before I change my ways,
there is just one thing I want to say.

I've always inexplicably hated guitarist Phil Lynott.

I Hate Poem

So, I'm on board with TFE's Monday poem. He requested that we wrote a protest poem. I know that such a poem really should be a dignified affair, highlighting injustice, righting wrongs etc... but mine is just a hate filled rant. What can I say? I've got issues.

And just for my international reader's enjoyment of the below poem - an explanation - Twink, (aka Adele King) is an Irish 'entertainer'. She's remarkably annoying. Though the leaked phone message she left on her ex-husband answering machine a few years ago was quite amusing. (click here for the famous - Zip up your mickey)

Okay, let the unpleasantness begin..


I HATE


I hate litter, I hate graffiti,
I hate the ancient bust of Queen Nefertiti
Tenuous rhymes in protest poems
mobile charges when one roams
All inspire spiteful moans.
Politicians, bankers, those infectious cankers
(I bet you thought I'd say wankers)

But I do try to be original
as I spew my hate filled rant.
What else do I think is really pants?
Can't feel the love for annoying teens
Demeans me to say it -
but I've got reams of revulsion just for them.
I scorn all those born after me.

I have an abhorrence for Josie Lawrence,
(Her real name's Wendy, did you know?)
A big aversion to the Cherry Coke version
of that delicious sugary drink.


I think that I could happily murder Twink
Tie a stone around her neck, watch her sink.
Hmmm...Maybe I've just crossed a line
in this mucky malevolent rhyme
I'll reprieve Ms Adele King - as long as she
promises not to sing.
Or act. Or ever go again on TV.
On these conditions I'll set her free.


Rain and traffic jams
Mussels and stinky clams
in fact shellfish of any sort
really get my goat.
Caught short, much too fat,
people who say 'apartment' instead of 'flat'.
Long hair, Truth or Dare,
the incorrect classification of the Koala as a bear.
Rare blood types, laddering tights
toddlers with gnashers who are inclined to bites
Make the steam come out my ears
shortens my life by many years.

What else annoys me, let me see
Reality programs, boring telly
(but not that one with the songs - Glee
for some reason this show really appeals to me.)


This is a protest ditty
railing against all that's crap and shitty
which seems to be quite a lot
a melting pot of this and that
random tat that invades my brain
give me pain, a grey existential nimbus of
psychic rain.

I seem to have resentment, for contentment
Thankful for the rancor of my black heart.
Perhaps I should go back to the beginning
When it was good to be winning, not spinning
webs built from bile, spun out a mile a minute.

Okay, I'll be happy from now on.
As the French say, it'll all be 'bon'.
But just before I change my ways,
there is just one thing I want to say.

I've always inexplicably hated guitarist Phil Lynott.

The End

This is a day that I didn't think would happen.

The seas may have turned red and crows flown backward and other such prophecy stylee happenings.

Uh huh.

120,000 words plus 2.

That 'plus 2'?

- THE END

If these insane ramblings are not quite clear - (is that a contradiction in terms? Surely all insane ramblings are incoherent, if they weren't they wouldn't be mad etc...)

Well, yes, I have finally finished my novel!! Yay! Woohooo.

Ticker tape!

Young soldiers kissing blushing young women in the streets!

Old men crying, saying 'I remember when this happened in 1905. I was a little boy. I never thought I'd live to see it happen again!"

Two headed cats are born!

Doves are released into the air!

Children are given the day off school!




Now the redraft. Sigh.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The End

This is a day that I didn't think would happen.

The seas may have turned red and crows flown backward and other such prophecy stylee happenings.

Uh huh.

120,000 words plus 2.

That 'plus 2'?

- THE END

If these insane ramblings are not quite clear - (is that a contradiction in terms? Surely all insane ramblings are incoherent, if they weren't they wouldn't be mad etc...)

Well, yes, I have finally finished my novel!! Yay! Woohooo.

Ticker tape!

Young soldiers kissing blushing young women in the streets!

Old men crying, saying 'I remember when this happened in 1905. I was a little boy. I never thought I'd live to see it happen again!"

Two headed cats are born!

Doves are released into the air!

Children are given the day off school!




Now the redraft. Sigh.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Poetry Train

Here we are. TFE's latest task was a poem inspired by/including etc a Train.

Here is my effort. I can't decide whether its really quite brilliant or not.

Ah, it's brilliant, who am I kidding???

I give you...



Plot 426

You must stay at the gate, 'no dogs allowed'
Glowery growling you can wait.
While I embrace this lingering Eden,
a green golden Eldorado
I know relief, relief amid the muck
simplicity in stones
A primal imprint that speaks of this
forgotten past, a time
when this just was.
Bare branches sleepy stretch
scribbles against the sky
holding spring close for us,
A pheasant, speckled startled darts
Rabbits, rampant, here are kings,
supplicant squirrels their loyal squires.
And chugachuga the trains passes
peeping through the hedge, Mesmer's edge,
I want to wave at those inside
enslaved to 9 and 5
To say 'come join me' here where
I smile. Press pause for the while.
And chugachugachuga you pass
leaving me behind, happy
with dirty nails and calm
turning phototropic new disciple of Ra
Ready to preach.
Content.
Born again.

Poetry Train

Here we are. TFE's latest task was a poem inspired by/including etc a Train.

Here is my effort. I can't decide whether its really quite brilliant or not.

Ah, it's brilliant, who am I kidding???

I give you...



Plot 426

You must stay at the gate, 'no dogs allowed'
Glowery growling you can wait.
While I embrace this lingering Eden,
a green golden Eldorado
I know relief, relief amid the muck
simplicity in stones
A primal imprint that speaks of this
forgotten past, a time
when this just was.
Bare branches sleepy stretch
scribbles against the sky
holding spring close for us,
A pheasant, speckled startled darts
Rabbits, rampant, here are kings,
supplicant squirrels their loyal squires.
And chugachuga the trains passes
peeping through the hedge, Mesmer's edge,
I want to wave at those inside
enslaved to 9 and 5
To say 'come join me' here where
I smile. Press pause for the while.
And chugachugachuga you pass
leaving me behind, happy
with dirty nails and calm
turning phototropic new disciple of Ra
Ready to preach.
Content.
Born again.