Poetry cornerPosted: 17/10/2014 Filed under: Poetry corner | Tags: almost funny, love, lunar, moon, nonsence, poetry 1 Comment
You celestial thing you – by Jenny Hatswitch
Oh moon why is it that,
At evening time you make me swoon,
When you are gibbous it sends me a flutter,
Your colour akin to some slightly off butter.
Your evening display quintessentially lunar,
After which I feel like having a bhuna,
I know that this sounds so strange to you moon,
But that you’re a rock to me is a boon.
So Moon, never leave me here all alone,
I wish for your heavenly body to be shown,
While I’m not quite sure that I’d be suicidal,
I do feel my mood swings are massively tidal.
Further adventures of the time travelling dishwasher tablets…Posted: 15/08/2013 Filed under: Time travelling dishwasher tablets! | Tags: almost funny, dishwasher, Pompeii, space travel, tablets, washing Leave a comment
Time-travelling dishwasher tablets
FINISH QUANTUM POWERBALL DISWASHER TABLET: “Al? Speak to me buddy! Where have we leapt to this time?”
AL: ‘Ziggy’s got us pinned down to 23rd August in the year 79 AD. We’re somewhere in the Campania region, Italy and, looking at that giant smoking mountain, I’d say we’ve arrived in down-town Pompeii.’
FINISH QUANTUM POWERBALL DISWASHER TABLET: “That’s less than 24 hours before the place is enveloped by hot ash Al!”
AL: “That’s right Finish Quantum Powerball Dishwasher Tablet. Everyone in this city will die, frozen in time forever. Sorta’ like my ex-wife!”
FINISH QUANTUM POWERBALL DISWASHER TABLET: “How?”
Al: “Doesn’t matter…”
FINISH QUANTUM POWERBALL DISWASHER TABLET: “Soooo…. Do you think they need any solidified washing agent at this moment?”
AL: “I can’t think that they do, no.”
FINISH QUANTUM POWERBALL DISWASHER TABLET: “Probably best be off then.”
More adventures from FQPDT and Al as soon as is likely folks!
Poetry cornerPosted: 09/08/2013 Filed under: Poetry corner | Tags: almost funny, funghi, oak, poetry, trunk, weird poetry 5 Comments
The mighty oak – by Judy Juxtapositions
I threw my hand down hard,
Upon it’s gnarly bark,
It bit back with a shard,
A splinter like a shark
I’m desperate by now to see,
Its rings, its roots and fungi,
And difficult it is for me,
To fall for just any one tree.
Its filthy leaves and taunting trunk,
Beckoning like an oaky hunk,
Some think I should know better by now,
Oh those dirty-minded boughs.
To those that damn me – if they could,
Be out alone and spanking wood,
Their minds would change within a flash,
To come across a nice young Ash
Oh those waving hungry boughs…