Tuesday, January 31, 2012




It's not as though there were monsters swimming off our beach today!
It's not as though a battleship was heading-in our way.
I shaded my eyes with my hands and looked at the unremarkable waves,
I couldn't see any swimmers being saved from very close shaves!
The sea was flat and quite benign with hardly a sea-gull in sight
And the sky was blue and peaceful and the sun was an average bright.
What was this little man waiting for, there on the deserted beach?
Was it some passing dolphins he hoped to come within reach?
He was there when I walked along westward, and there when I came back east,
And nothing in the world seemed to worry him in the least.
Quite motionless he stood there: he must have had time to kill! 
I'll have another look tomorrow! He might be down there still!


It's dangerous stuff, spontaneity!
I've tried it and I can attest 
That thinking things over quite calmly
Is always undoubtedly best.
I've opened my mouth far too often
With what I consider a quip
To realise I should have waited,
Avoiding a terrible slip.
It's pleasant to make people giggle,
One feels like a really bright spark,
But the horrible pause on completion
Shows I've been over-stepping the mark.
I've made more than one nasty boo-boo,
Upsetting the people I love.
Avoid those spontaneous wisecracks
Like those in the picture above!

Monday, January 30, 2012




As in very many cases seek for moderation.
Action's fine but never when it leads to perturbation.
Inaction's merely laziness, and not to be admired,
So what to do when a worthy cause gets ones spirits fired?
Sitting in an armchair and bemoaning this and that,
Being utterly inactive except for winge and chat,
Does nothing to improve life or help a worthy cause.
Things will always stay the same.....even unjust laws.
But go out and join a rabble, spill blood along the way,
And no-one takes much notice of the things one has to say.
The message is forgotten in the screaming and the din,
And, when there's too much action, no-one's going to win.
It's hard to tread the tightrope between mobs and lazy sloth;
But we have to find a middle course; we've certainly tried both.
Only civilising discourse can improve a situation.
Action's fine but only when it's tinged with moderation.


Long lissom legs;
Luscious lips, half parted.
Corrugated hair, blonde, bottle blonde.
The Beauty Spot.
The Widow's Peak.
The Kiss Curl.
The Cupid's Bow.
All gone.
Eyes wide! But not with innocence.
Fixed smiles,
With nerves chattering at the corners of the mouths.
Bountiful thighs, no longer fashionable.
Eager faces.
Oh so eager....
For Fame.
'Please let him notice me!'
'I kick higher than she does!'
'Is my lipstick smudged?'
'This is my last chance.'
We see them, time and time again, in the background of old movies.
Fred and Ginger take centre-stage.
And, behind them the girls line-up.
This could be IT!
Kick! Kick! Kick!
Higher! Higher! Higher!
Arms around another's waist,
But not out of affection.
More like hatred.
'Surely Busby Berkely looked my way!'
The Tin Pan Alley music is full of hope.
And so are they.
But we know something they don't know:
That they will never make it.
Time will defeat them.
They will join us at the kitchen sink.
And a new crop of dewy-eyed babes will come along.
These are not great tragedies, as tragedies go.
At least, one day, they will be able to say to their grandchildren
'I was in a film once'
That will be their only reward.
Maybe now they're high-kicking on a cloud!
Maybe now they're looking down at us thinking
'I bet you never danced with Fred Astair.'


Dare to be Different


supplied the illustration


Try to see the world anew;
Not the way that others do.
Artists with a new perception
Send the world in a new direction.
 Kandinsky was right out on a limb
And nobody thought much of him,
When he painted the above;
They said 'What are you thinking of?'
(Forgive my ignorance, it could be
That this was painting thirty-three!)
Though this work is so surreal
I can see some apple peel;
You may see a fair-ground scene
Or a dance on the village green.
All he saw was a 'Red Spot'!
Like the painting or like it not,
His work, at the time, was a surprise;
He had looked through different eyes.
Don't let society dictate
What is acceptable and great.
Dare to be different! You may find
The world is following-on behind.


I wish I were a tattered bear
With not a single stitch to wear,
With paws all worn and velvet scuffed
And fur a single mangey tuft.
I wish my eyes were not quite there
Giving a sort of anguished stare.
I wish my nose hung by a thread,
Not central, but side-on instead.
I wish my mouth had come askew,
As mouths of old bears often do.
I wish my ears had lost their lift,
Doing a sad and downward shift.
I wish I were lying by myself
On someone's high neglected shelf!

Why do I wish for this sad fate?
Because, I know if I only wait.....
That Someone will rescue me one day
In a delightful sort of way.
She'll make me paw-pads out of suede!
No finer paws, I think, are made.
With finest wool and thread she'll sew
A mouth like a perfect Cupid's Bow.
And then she'll add a nose as well,
So real it almost seems to smell!
And now the best part, button eyes,
Widening with new-found surprise!
She'll add a jacket, brilliant red,
And a little hat for my furry head.
Two holes where both my ears will go
So that they'll know which way to grow.
Then a gift tag round my neck will say
'A brand new bear for Christmas Day!'

But. alas, I'm human, not a bear
And my increasing wear and tear
Can't be put right with a handy thread,
A loving needle and coat of red.
I'll have to strive and play my part
To preserve the youth of my inmost heart,
So that, though age I cannot hide,
I'll still declare with joyful pride
'The outside's not too debonaire
But INSIDE I'm a brand new Bear!'


Not mellow yellow: British tourist Kwame Ofori 'enjoys' the strange sights and smells of a sulphuric lake. 'Who wants to sit around a pool,' he said


Surely there was some mistake!
When they advertised The Yellow Lake,
He pictured one bedecked with flowers,
Maybe sweet mimosa bowers.
He imagined exotic hills
Decked with something like daffodils!
He pictured yellow birds on high
Under the bright blue African sky.
He imagined sweetness, silly fellow,
When the 'ad' said 'Come to Yellow'.
But his trip to Ethiopia 
Was designed by someone with myopia!
Sulphur is causing this bright hue,
And you know what sulphur fumes can do!
Rotten eggs smell of the stuff!
There! I think I've said enough!
When you get your travel-brochure
Make sure that everything is kosher .
His travel agent will get the sack.
AND he'll ask for his money back!
Gerald Gee


Every colour on earth is there,
Suspended in the middle air!
And every sound on earth is there
Caught in a second rich and rare!
Can't you hear them, Can't you see?
How rich a monochrome can be!

Sunday, January 29, 2012


suggests the topic 'storm'


Suddenly a storm arrives
To cause disruption in our lives
Oh the yelling, stamping, screaming!
Rain in the form of tears comes teeming.
Madam likes to kick and shout.
But, in a moment, the sun comes out!

Aries lacks sophistication, something Libra likes.
I can't see you on a tandem; you should stick to separate bikes!
Your bodies may seem in harmony, but your minds are poles apart,
Though you kid yourselves you’re soul-mates, right at the very start.
When it's just a matter of having fun, you make a perfect pair,
But the good times soon evaporate, off into thin air!
Both of you like socialising, but both need something more;
When it comes to conversation, Aries proves to be a bore.
Libra is a Peace sign and Aries loves a fight;
Conflict makes one uneasy, while the other feels just right.
Libra's indecisive, which drives poor Aries mad,
While Libra finds Aries boorish , which is really rather sad.
Though you're shooting stars in the bedroom, this fact can quickly pall;
When people can't be friends, you see, sex means nothing at all.
Aries acts romantic, but only to one end,
While Libra fantasises about a truly sensitive friend.
Better enjoy a brief affair and get out while you can!
Another case of  'Don't call the Banns!
You’re better with a Ban!

History Repeats Itself

The Wordle

asks us to use the twelve words in the Wordle


It all began in anguish
Our green earth born in flame;
With volcanic shocks
From melting rocks
This peaceful planet came.

And then our earth was frozen;
The permeable soil turned to ice.
All was white
And hard and bright
Not just once, but twice.

And now our earth seems settled, 
Serenity seems the norm,
We wash our feet
In fields fresh and sweet
Apart from the occasional storm.

But, sometimes, something startles
Us out of our seeming calm.
Intimations of slaughter
By fire, ice or water
Still fill us with alarm.


I've never been to Lincolnshire
And the time to go is past.
But the lovely lanes of Lincolnshire
Have caught me and held fast.
The dreamy curves all overhung
With shades of vivid green.
The gate-posts and the fences
And the tufted grass between.
The wondrous ways of England
That I didn't know I'd missed.
And the lovely lanes of Lincolnshire
Leading on into the mist.
The land I've chosen spreads so wide
It's greens are muted, soft.
The gums shine silver overhead
And hold their leaves aloft.
The brilliant blue of summer skies
Arcs daily overhead
And the heart of this great country
Is like blood, a brilliant red.
But a lingering love of England
Is still with me, so it seems
And the lovely lanes of Lincolnshire
Lead on into my dreams.
The cottages, the village greens,
The cricketers in white
The 'chintzy chintzy cheeriness'
The misty moisty light.
They tell me life has undergone
Some sorry alterations
They tell me mine's the biased view
Of older generations.
They tell me nothing's permanent
And dreams aren't made to last.
But the lovely lanes of Lincolnshire
Lead back into my past.



incited me to write this vulgar limerick
She supplied the first line.


A woman was trying to lead
A dog of a very smart breed
When the dog got the urge
And rushed up the verge
Cocked its leg up a tree and then pee-ed. 


It slid quietly down the stairs
And settled itself on the carpet.
It was multicoloured,
Flat, throbbing with life,
And infinitely strange.
The boy looked at it fearfully.
'Don't be afraid!' I chortled.
'It's only sunlight!'
But the boy knew better than I did.
He knew that he was face to face with magic.
He knew he was right to be afraid.
I saw in him a man of ancient times
Trying to make sense of it all.
Positioning rocks to capture the sun
On Midsummer's Day.
The echo of my voice
Sounded banal.
'It's only sunlight!'
The echo of his two-year-old voice
Sounded aware,

My Motto

asks for an original motto


Try it! Pretend
Everyone is your friend!
It may not be true but you'll find
That this odd little ruse
Will give rise to good news.
It helps to try tricking your mind.

I suppose the actual motto is
'Pretend everyone is your friend'.

But please don't let this be true!



I'd love to astound everyone by saying my last words in rhyme!

Dear one and all,
Don't stand and bawl
Because I'm on my way.
Dear treasured friend,
Life has to end;
Night always follows day.
Remember Mum,
In days to come,
As one who did her best.
I'm nackered now!
I'll take a bow.
I deserve a damn good rest!




A gardener, I am not.
I shove things in a pot
And they either grow or, usually, they don't.
Some manage to survive,
And even, sometimes, thrive,
But the exercise is always 'will or wont'.

Above, see an example,
A local gardener's sample,
Of lilies (well, at least I think they are.)
They were growing in profusion,
Much to my confusion,
Whereas my poor thing was drooping, below par.

Yes, one lily, that is all,
Standing near the garden wall,
Hide-bound in something tolerably ceramic.
A teeny little bloom,
Hardly worth house-room,
And not in any way large or dynamic.

I hadn't realised
That they could be large-sized!
I thought that they were pot-plants, nothing more!
And then I saw this bevy,
All flowering and top-heavy!
One day I'm going to study gardening lore!

Australian Prime Minister Julia Gillard is escorted out for safety by body guards and police through a crowd of rowdy protesters following a ceremony to mark Australia's national day in Canberra, Australia, Thursday, Jan. 26, 2012. (AP / Lukas Coch)



A Prime Minister on the run!
And she wasn't the only one!
An Aboriginal group was giving chase!
We all found it quite amazing
To see all this hell-raising
For Australia's a pretty docile place!
Now we're learning of intrigue!
Were the Laborites in league?
Is there more to learn about this odd disgrace?
All this silly cut and thrust
Leaves most of us nonplussed.
For some Machiavellian insights watch this space!

En Masse

                      Edvard Munch

gave us the words in blue

(Not autobiographical!)

'We know where the bodies are buried'!
I am fixed with a gimlet eye.
There is no point in being defensive!
I wont even try.
The life of a serial killer
Is always fraught with risk,
And here is a policeman
Who seems efficiently brisk.
I started my spree as a young man,
And I'm now ninety-five.
Thanks to me, a lot of folk
Are now dead, that were alive!
It was a sort of hobby,
And I had lots of fun
Thinking-up new methods
For each and every one.
A 'modus operandi' 
Was something I never had,
And now they've finally tracked me down,
That makes me rather glad.
I never had a nickname
Like that 'Unabomber' chap;
I varied my operations
In case of a mishap.
I admit that it was tricky.......
Five hundred variations;
I flatter myself that I did it,
Despite the complications.
Even now, the police aren't certain
That I'm their wanted man.
They want to get inside my head.....
Good luck with that plan!
'We know where the bodies are buried.'
Rubbish! They haven't a clue!
I'm feeling really sorry
For all they're going through.
It'll take five years, for certain,
Till they work the whole thing out.
I always planned to live to a hundred.
I'll do it, without a doubt!
The No. 1 Ladies' Detective Agency (UK) -  Pilot


Oh what a zaftig lady!
And oh what a charming tale!
'The Number One Detective Agency'
Is one that will never stale.
The books were so delightful
And now the TV version
Is carrying us to Botswana.....
A succulent excursion.
Precious doesn't mind being zaftig;
In fact she revels in it;
Sometimes it causes laughter,
And she's the one to begin it.
She's proud, she's strong, she's funny;
She is loved by everyone.
She's brown, she's smart, she's attractive,
All under the African sun.
She relishes being zaftig,
As everybody should,
Being zaftig is being plump
And, sometimes, plump is good.

Reactions Required!



All you have to do to win the prize
Is give me your reactions, in this wise:
How do you react to the above illustration?
Does it fill you with despair or with great elation?
Comment, simply, in a line or two,
And I will reveal what I can do.
Your response will reveal to me
Your underlying personality!
Yes! I make that solemn claim!
To miss this chance would be a shame.
And the prize presented to the winning entry,
Be you peasant or landed gentry,
Will be a reprint on 'Rinkly Rimes.'
Golly! These are exciting times!


He was a Hillbilly father, in town with his little son;
Neither of them had much idea how city things were done.
They chanced upon an elevator and the boy said 'Dad,
I've never seen a thing like that! Are you sure it isn't bad?'
The father said 'To find out we'll keep watch on the door.
We'll wait until it opens up then we'll know much more.'
A portly lady ambled up; she was old, her hair was grey.
She pressed the button marked as 'UP' in a very casual way.
She went inside; the door was closed. The father was perplexed.
He said 'I can't imagine what's going to happen next.'
Well, after a while the elevator came back, again, to the ground.
And father and son stood watching with eyes all big and round.
The door slid open and  my goodness, what a great surprise!
A beautiful luscious blonde appeared right before their eyes!
She was young and sweet and pretty and only about eighteen!
She'd gone in as a Granny and come out as a Movie Queen!
Father and son were astounded. Open-mouthed they looked at each other!
Then Dad said 'Run to our hotel room!
 I want you to fetch your mother!'


asks us to use the final words from 
Margaret Mitchell's 'Gone With The Wind', in blue.


What a trite little statement to receive world-wide acclaim!
To be so often quoted and agreed to!
'Tomorrow is another day'!
 I've quoted it myself,
Often when I really didn't need to!
What if it said ' Tomorrow will be exactly like today'?
Now that would be a statement to amaze!
What if tomorrow replicated everything here and now?
What if we had two truly matching days?
We'd wake up on the second day with 'Here we go again',
Quite overwhelmed by an awful deja vu,
Remembering the insults or the queuing or the rain,
That once again we'd all be going through.
We wouldn't feel excitement at the possibilities,
Because we'd know they weren't going to appear.
We'd already know the coming day would have it's share of joys
But, we'd also know that it would be austere.
But that isn't going to happen, because a brand new day
Is always 'another', that's the reason why
 Scarlett O'Hara's statement is a load of balderdash,
Even though it brought a tear to every eye!
After all, she had to say something before the credits rolled
And  'Look on the bright side' is a trifle trite.
But one thing Scarlett could rely on.....
She would definitely be proved right!


I'm one of those annoying people who wakes up feeling bright!
I'm quite refreshed, nearly always, after a restful night.
I don't look like this lady I hasten to admit,
But I do reflect her attitude more than a little bit.
As the sun peeps into the bedroom I yawn and stretch and say,
' I feel ready for anything Life can throw at me today!'
But my come-uppance comes in the evening, when I literally droop;
When all my morning energy has simply flown the coop!
I'm a terrible party-pooper! I keep on thinking of bed!
'Dance all night'? I think not! I want to sleep all night instead!
I'd like to tell you more about the hours that I keep,
But I just haven't got the energy.
It's already time for sleep!



At the local market he sits and plays;
He plays the didgeridoo,
An Aboriginal instrument
That's mastered by very few.
Circular breathing is required;
That's tricky, without a doubt.
You have to learn to breathe in with your nose
While your mouth is breathing out!
This makes the continuous droning sound,
With never a pause for air!
It's very hard, though you may find
You end up playing with flair!
Below see the instructions;
You'll learn, without a doubt.
But only males can play didgeridoos,
So I fear that cuts me out!
Practice Exercises
Exercise 1: Fill your mouth with water and push a stream of water out using only your tongue and cheek muscles. Make sure not to use any pressure from the lungs to help. Stay relaxed and breathe in and out with your nose while making the stream. Keep trying until it feels very comfortable. This is a good exercise to do in the shower!
Exercise 2: Get a straw and a cup of water. Twist the end of the straw so that almost no air can come out. Push air through the straw and into the water creating bubbles. Breathe in and out with your nose while doing this as in exercise 1. Keep the pressure even and the flow of bubbles smooth.
Exercise 3: Slowly transition to just breathing in with your nose and keep the bubbles going nonstop. Master this until the muscle contractions you are using feel totally comfortable and the bubbles are flowing smoothly.
Exercise 4: You are now circular breathing. Keep your cup and straw right next to you. Try to play your didge and circular breathe (it is just a bigger straw). You will find this difficult so go right back to the straw and water to practice again. Then, try on the didge again. Keep going back and forth between the cup and water and the didge until you can successfully do it on your didge.



It was the day I disappeared.
And it happened outside the Library!
Passing by,
I saw the imposing couple
In the foyer.
A photo opportunity
Presented itself!
Reflection, shade, comparison,
All were suggested.
The green trees,
The threatening shadows,
The sheen of glass.
And I would be there!
The fat little photographer
Caught in the act!
It would be amusing!
Later, I viewed my work.
There they were,
The long-armed couple
With their featureless features.
Or barring the way
To the world of literature?
There they were,
The lush green trees in the park,
Preening themselves
Against the blue.
But where was I?
So it will be, eventually.
The monuments will be standing firm.
The foliage will be growing brightly.
But don't waste your time
Looking for me.
I will have disappeared.

Saturday, January 28, 2012

King Charles and Winston

                      Daryl Edelstein

supplied the illustration


King Charles and Winston were the best of friends,
They lived in the best of styles;
Often enjoying holidays
Or nights out on the tiles.
And it was Winston who first declared
'Why don't we buy a car?
Then we wont have to walk to the cinema
Or down to the nearest bar.'
King Charles replied 'What a great idea!
I fancy an Italian job;
I know they're pretty expensive,
But we've both got a few bob.'
So they bought the latest model,
And two red collars too,
And they set-off in their vehicle
With everything spanking new.
Lo and behold! At the corner,
They were stopped by the police,
Who said ' We've had enough of you.
This behaviour  must cease!
You're always getting drunk in bars 
And stealing other dogs' wives!
Why don't you settle-down a bit
And lead proper canine lives?
Stay at home in the evenings
And read each other's blogs!'
And the boys replied in unison
We can't read! We're only dogs!'



Tidy drawers and cupboards; everything just so.
With Virgo saying 'Yes' to this, and Aries saying 'No!'
It doesn't look too promising; you’ll see, on looking back,
That Aries was impulsive; Virgo hadn’t got the knack.
At first your differences had charm and you thought them quite a boon,
But the positive and negative can’t survive the honeymoon.
Opposites attract each other when you're first aquainted
But soon the 'first fine rapture' dies and what is left is tainted.
Initially, the Leo spark seemed something to brag about,
But later Virgo’s carping and all Aries does is shout.
Aries has quite a temper; Virgo is a scold.
I really think you should avoid the bit about 'have and hold'!
Virgo likes a schedule; Aries can't be on time,
And every bit of tardiness is treated as a crime!
Virgo likes to keep to rules; Aries can't abide them.
The flaws are just so obvious you’ll simply never hide them!
Leo and Aries, have some fun; enjoy that initial 'Wow!'
Then turn around and walk away
Before you have a row!


supplied the illustration for a VERY brief story


Hands in pockets,young and free.
Whistling a song! What's this I see?
Hell's Bells! A great big oak!
Over the handle-bars! That's no joke!
(140 characters)



Ruby Smith was eighty-five but spritely for all that,
And, Marlene, her daughter, found her trying-on a brand new hat.
'Where are you off to, Mother?' Marlene then enquired
For Mother had been gadding ever since she had retired!
'I've got a date!' Mother giggled, 'With our next-door neighbour, Hugh!'
And Marlene remonstrated 'Mother! He's ninety-two!'
'He's good for his age' said Ruby 'At least, I hope he is!
Let's hope his glass of vintage wine hasn't lost all its fizz!'
'Oh, Mother! You are awful!'  Marlene looked askance.
This Mother of hers for years and years had led her a merry dance!
'Are you going out for afternoon tea?' Marlene wanted to know.
'Not on your life!' said Ruby. 'We'll have dinner and see a show!'
'Well, I'll be waiting-up for you' said her daughter, 'You wont be late.
After all nothing much will happen on a geriatric date!'
At three a.m. poor Marlene was still playing the waiting game,
When Mother burst in, crying! She was sobbing as she came!
'Have you had a really awful time?' Marlene was quick to say;
'Well, don't get upset about it; there's always another day.'
Ruby said 'It was awful! My evening was a disgrace!
Three times! Three times, my darling, I had to slap his face!'
'Don't tell me he got fresh with you! I can't believe it's true!
Not with you at eighty-five and him at ninety-two!'
'It was really quite embarrassing' finally Ruby said.
'I had to slap his face because I thought that he was dead!'


                              Brenda Bryant




Creatures made of flesh and blood often say they 'gaze';
But cherubs, made of sculptured stone see life in different ways.
A human being gazes for, maybe, one whole second,
If something really wonderful or horrible has beckoned.
They widen eyes and stand agape, as though they're turned to stone,
But cherubs gaze in a different way, that humans have never known.
Cherubs gaze for eternity, while holding-up a dish;
They see a view of reflected trees or maybe a passing fish.
They think the sky is watery, with fish up in the air;
They think that trees grow downwards, a view that we don't share.
Pity these little cherubs who have to spend their days,
Back-to-back with each other, with nothing to do but.........gaze.
A Poem using slang.

When I woke up this-morning
And made an attempt to blog,
I found the computer had problems
(Maybe a minor cog!)
Well, I had a conniption fit right there!
How dare it be so janky!
What a way to start the day!
My! Did I feel cranky!
I fiddled here, I fiddled there,
Much fortified by gin!
And in the end I took it
And kicked it in the bin!
'Scooch!' I yelled, with vehemence;
'Get going! On your way!'
So that is why I cannot write
A poem for today!

Mystery Photograph



A strange shot for a memento!
A female on a roof!
But it brings back happy memories
And the following is proof.
I went to Teachers' College
In Brighton, by the sea,
Which occupied old terraces,
Of the type known as Regency.
(Those of you knowing Brighton
Will know the association
With the Prince Regent of the time,
The buffoon of the nation.)
Our bedrooms were cramped and stuffy,
But up among the tiles,
From whence the views were dazzling;
We could see miles and miles.
When we did our studying
We climbed to chimney height
And lolled around on the roof-tops
As any tom-cat might.
A funny un-focussed picture,
But photos such as these,
Which will never win any prizes,
Evoke great memories.
An old post-card of the era, showing the view from our cat-walk. Note the 'heavy' traffic!


Consider size if you will.
That great moon
That illuminated
All your youthful follies;
That ballooned over you in majesty
And filled your sky;
That squeezed the blackness of night
Into the dusty corners
Of the universe.....
Is a speck!
Against the azure firmament
It is a mere morsel,
A pea,
A pin-head
A little dot of dust.
Easily lost.
Easily overlooked.
Compared to a planet
It is nothing!
So what are we?
We who gasp at the 'huge' moon,
Who bathe in its harvest splendour,
Who are certain it fills the sky?
We are less than
A pea,
A pin-head
Or a dot of dust!
It is almost Biblical!