Big Ears

BIG EARS

Big Ears and Noddy were great friends.

Enid Blyton's tale depends

On their spending time together.

But someone started wondering whether

They were gay! Such idle chatter!

And, honestly, it doesn't matter.

But rumours perpetuate themselves

And the books were taken off the shelves!

Look for problems and you will find them;

Sometimes nothing at all's behnd them

But I think it was rather shoddy

Casting aspersions on dear little Noddy.

In any case he's been reinstated.

Gay aversion is rather dated.

*

--------------------------------------------------------

REDDILY AVAILABLE

What an intriguing piece of work!

Was the artist 'seeing red'?

Bodies, expressions, googly eyes,

And every type of head.

The patches of black between the reds

Add menace the scene;

The whole thing would have seemed benign

If they'd been painted green.

Then we'd have seen a fairy tale

With hobgoblins and elves,

Sporting in some leafy glade

And enjoying themselves.

But, because the background's deepest black,

This seems a scene from Hell,

With souls in torment thrashing about

And not getting-on too well.

Some of them look quite cheerful,

Despite the mess they're in.

Ah well, I know there are some folk

Who like a little sin.

All in all a painting

That's filled with mystery.

I'm intrigued. I'd like to ask

'What is your history?'

*

Metrophobia

ABC WEDNESDAY

METROPHOBIA

(The fear of poetry)

To think that there could actually be

People afraid of poetry!

I can understand being just luke-warm

About this literary form.

There are some who think there's nothing worse

Than reading lines of rhyming verse.

I understand that attitude

Although I think their taste is crude!

But to be afraid! That's quite excessive!

My verses may not be impressive

But surely no-one shakes with fright

When they read the words I write!

Do they cower beneath the bed

When words in rhyme are heard or read?

Although I know it seems absurd,

Metrophobia is a word!

'Fear of poetry'.....it exists!

Add it to your strange-word list.

*

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                                       Margaret Gosden

THE GREAT INVENTOR

The sky invented geometry,

That is plain to see.

Angles and dissections,

Perfect geometry.

Some lines may be man-made,

Hanging there on high,

But the canvas shows the blue and gold

Of an English summer sky.

*

Looming



ABC WEDNESDAY

LOOMING

If one is five foot three

It is impossible to

Loom.

To loom one must be at least six foot three

With an abnormally large head.

Another essential is darkness.

Whoever heard of anyone

Looming

On a sunny day?

It pays to be indistinct too.

Try to have hands that appear

Huge and claw-like

With a hint of dried blood

In the nails.

Make sure you are in shadow

Before you loom.

One always has to loom out of something.

Your victim should be supine.

It is impossible to

Loom

Over someone halfway up a ladder.

Silence is essential.

Loomers have tried creaks and groans,

But the classiest loomers are

Always silent.

Let your victim hear her own tortured breathing.

Stout loomers

Aways have more success

Than skinny ones.

There is always the threat of suffocation.

Bulk

Is an added

Frightener.

Loomers should practise

Imperceptible movements.

The approach should be definite,

But smooth,

Noiseless,

Almost slippery.

At the last moment

Allow yourself

A saturnine laugh.

I hope I have been some help

To would-be loomers.

And, again,

Do not attempt looming

If you are five foot three.

*
----------------------------------------------------------------

Margaret Gosden

HARVEST MOON?

Margaret publishes her Harvest Moon....I'd forgotten it existed!

Of all my memories of 'home', this one had not persisted.

Yet now I vaguely do recall I saw this years ago,

A moon belonging to Autumn, honey-coloured, hanging low.

But now I see it differently, the reason being because

I now see the self-same moon  hanging in the skies of Oz.

And it cannot be a harvest moon, because, with us, it's Spring,

And so the harvest concept is just a local thing.

There's nothing special about the moon ; we just clothe it with our dreams.

A Harvest Moon is just a moon, quite  run-of-the-mill it seems.

One thing is certain, it seems to me......one thing is clearly clear;

We see the world quite differently in the Southern Hemisphere!

*

Immortelle



ABC WEDNESDAY
http://abcwednesday-mrsnesbitt.blogspot.com/2011/09/i-is-for-insightful.html

IMMORTELLE

The French do have a way with words.

Dried flower? That is for the birds.

But 'immortelle' is pure romance,

A word to make an old heart dance.

It speaks of love pressed between pages,

Meant to last throughout the ages.

It brings to mind a musty scent

Where sweetness lingers, heaven sent.

It makes one think of loving glances

And sweethearts making the most of chances

In shadowy corners and garden bowers.

It speaks of the Language of the Flowers.

'Dried flower?' That cannot cast a spell.

But oh the charm of the Immortelle!
*
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THE FLOWERING

The struggle for existence

Pushing up between unyielding slabs

Graceful, golden and undaunted.

*

VISIT ME AT

http://rinklyrimes.blogspot.com/2011/09/scrapbooking.html

for a great prize.

Nesh?

ABC WEDNESDAY
http://abcwednesday-mrsnesbitt.blogspot.com/2011/04/nuts-about-abc-wednesday.html

NESH?

I was from the South and I didn't know the word.

'Nesh' was a part of language that I had never heard!

It was a sort of insult but a comment more or less.

What did they mean when they said it? I could only guess.

Yet, after a while, I used it, and I understood it too,

And I knew that there were times when only 'nesh' would do!

For this was wartime Staffordshire! I was an evacuee

And the dialect of Staffordshire was difficult for me.

The word means 'feeling the cold a lot'; feeling each chilly breeze;

When others feel quite comfortable, if you're 'nesh' you feel you'll freeze.

But it can mean 'namby-pamby' if it's said a certain way;

'Don't be so nesh!' is something that somebody might say.

'Nesch' in Dutch means foolish and also damp as well,

So it seems to be the same word, only not the same to spell!

It's a very useful word to have in one's vocabulary!

Though it's many long years since anyone has said the word 'nesh' to me!

*

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SHOW-OFF!

What constitutes a show-off? I should know, for I am one.

Why do I find centre-stage the most enormous fun?

I'd like to be a modest sort of person, yes I would.

To be valued for my modesty would be, I'm certain, good.

But every time an audience is waiting for a joke

I get all sort of hyped-up, not at all like normal folk!

The adrenalyn starts pumping and I go right overboard,

Sometimes (this has happened) I may fall on my own sword!

Then I start getting silly and everybody groans!

Thankfully, up to this date, they haven't pelted stones!

When I meet another show-off I find I'm not attracted,

I find myself embarrassed by the silly way they've acted.

I there and then make up my mind to be much more controlled

No longer brash and silly, egotistical and bold.

But the urge to have an audience just will not be gainsaid

Although , these days, I draw the line at standing on my head!

In this shot I'm in the shadows trying hard to disappear.

Does that mean I grow more modest?

I'm sorry folks!

No fear!

------------------------------------------

The British Poetry Competition is now open.


For details visit

http://poetrysociety.org.uk/content/competitions/npc/

Eccentric Endeavour

ABC WEDNESDAY
http://abcwednesday-mrsnesbitt.blogspot.com/2011/02/e-is-for-excellent.html


ECCENTRIC ENDEAVOUR!

Someone has to be the first in any new endeavour.

Some may be simply foolish, and some just very clever.
Someone had to take the risk and be the first to try
Throwing themselves from a pinnacle into an empty sky!

*
Base-jumping is a hobby I would never have embraced.
"What! Jump off that there pinnacle! Certainly not my taste!
Free fall and then just parachute? Are you out of your mind!
To be the first to try it it, I'm simply not inclined!"
*

Then take the egg, a curious thing, looking like a rock,

Someone had to taste one first and risk an awful shock.

It might have tasted terrible! The taster might have died!

But, somewhere, there was someone who stepped right up and tried.

*

If I'd been prehistoric I never would have dared;

Friends could have called me cowardly but I would not have cared!

"What! Eat that thing! It looks so hard and it's full of jelly stuff!

I'm hungry, yes, but look at it! I'm just not brave enough!"

* 

Many of life's pleasures have been found by those who've 'tried';

But some have been disasters and the trying-types have died!

I'll simply wait here patiently while others do their worst.

I'm a follower, not a leader!

I wont try anything first!

*

---------------------------------------------------------------

WHAT IS LIFE?

Life is awareness.

I am sure that

When I cease to be aware

The world will end.

Why should the sun bother to rise

If I am not there to see it?

Why should the world bother to spin

If I am not there for the ride?

The age of the universe will

Exactly match the length of my life.

Because my awareness

Has created it.

And my aware life is eternal.

My mind can only know life;

Therefore I shall know

Life without end.

And if it has no end

It is

Everlasting Life!

Even as I am thinking

'Here comes Death'

I shall be alive.

My brain will not tolerate Death.

And neither will I.

Death is the absence

Of awareness.

If I am unaware,

I am not dead.

I am nothing

In nothing

And of nothing.

There will be nothing of which to be aware.

Because it will have all ended with me.

*

You see, I made the whole thing up

In the first place!

*

Bantling

ABC WEDNESDAY
http://abcwednesday-mrsnesbitt.blogspot.com/

BANTLING

Poor little bantling, without a Father's name!

Always to know his wretched Mother's shame!

A bastard! What a cruel word! And what an innocent child!

By the actions of others, evermore defiled!

Today we tend to overlook the torments of the past,

The youthful mothers castigated, spat-on and out-cast.

And we forget that, often, they were 'thrown out in the snow'

To wander along the highway, with nowhere else to go.

It's not a joke of melodrama, the fate of girls back then;

It happened in an unfair world, dominated by men.

Servant girls were often 'used' and then were cast away,

Their masters just forgetting them in less than half a day.

As for the little bantling, it was evermore derided

As someone less than human, to be sneered at, to be chided.

*

Yet 'bantling' is a gentle word, unlike its counterpart;

'Bastard' is much crueler; it could strike one to the heart.

'Bantling' comes from the German; it means 'bench', a sort of seat,

On which a person can relax to rest their weary feet.
Well, it doesn't come from any old bench.....I swear that this is true!

It means a bench ....wait for it..... capable of holding two!

*

A little bit of history, with some nudge and wink thrown in!

Who knows where memes will lead us..... often into sin!'

*

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WOOD, TURNING

The memory of a tree transformed,

Circled, burnished , the rings highlighted.

Does it dream of the dank, dark woods?

*

--------------------------------------------------------------

PS 

My longtime friend, Margaret from New York, has asked me what I give Mike for breakfast! I mentioned I was 'having breakfast in the garden with Mike' and I suppose that sounded rather grand! Here is the menu.... some Weatbix , toast and marmalade and tea! Nothing cordon bleu in this house. Anyway, here we are eating the said breakfast! My odd expression is due to a mouthful of muesli!



*

Zomotherapy

ZOMOTHERAPY

Have you got a blood disorder?

Is your patience wearing thin?

Are you searching for a cure-all

That will ease the state you're in?

Raw-meat therapy might help you!

Zomotherapy to the fore!

Some raw-meat soup might be the answer!

Can't do you much harm, for sure!

Here's the recipe to help you.....

Take half a pound of minced raw meat,

Mix with milk to make a paste.

(Alright! Alright! I can hear you!

'This isn't really to my taste!')

If you wish, add some tomatoes;

Even risk a little cream!

Open up and toss it downwards!

It may work just like a dream!

Zomotherapy is the treatment

Often mooted for T.B.

I got all this stuff from Google;

If you're 'put off' don't blame me!

*

PS. This is a serious treatment suggested by specialists! Forgive my levity!

 BB

----------------------------------------------------------

ROAD RAGE

Sonny, driving rather fast, down a country lane,

Sees a car approaching; treats it with disdain.

Doesn't dream of pulling over, though there's not much space;

For drivers such as Sonny driving is a race.

Nita, who's the other driver, winds her window down;

As she's passing yells a greeting, accompanied by a frown.

'Pig!' she shouts out very loudly! (Well, I'd shout it too;

When you meet a lousy driver what else can you do?)

He responds with some expletives, one of which is 'Bitch!'

Then, round the corner, he meets the Pig

And ends up in the ditch!

*

-----------------------------------------------------------

PS

A minor irritation occured the other day. I was due to give friends a lift to The Cricketers' Arms in my car, but when I tried to start it the battery was flat. Someone came to my aid, of course, but I spent a considerable time pacing up and down outside my house in the interim. When I next saw Malcolm I said 'We need a seat of some sort out the front.' And lo! When I came home yesterday, there it was!

Incidentally, while trying to get an artistic view of it through the foliage, I photographed this piece of greenery by accident! Enlarge it to see how gorgeous it is! I might give-up poetry and go in for botanical photography!

 

Vespamania!

ABC WEDNESDAY

http://abcwednesdayround3.blogspot.com/

VESPAMANIA!

Hail to thee, thou Vespa, with thy thrilling zoom,

Swooping down the city streets yelling out 'Make room!'

You sped right through my girlhood with your sophistication!

Riding one was the very height of juvenile elation!

Thy colours! And thy sleekness! The fact that thou wast cheap!

Thy honking horn designed to wake the whole world from its sleep!

Forget about old Mr Ford and his well-known Model T,

That little 'Italian job' was just the vehicle for me!

Hail to thee, thou Vespa, thou Prince among transporters!

Part of the folk-memory of the fifties' sons and daughters!

*

--------------------------------------------------------------------

I scribbled this little verse when I was on my recent cruise. When I worked on a cruise-ship in the 1960s one of the joys was having visitors swarming all over the ship when we were in port. When the ship was due to sail they were advised to leave! Now, however, a cruise ship is as hard to get into as Fort Knox. It made me a little sad.

ALL ASHORE…..

'All Ashore who's going ashore!' Remember that pronouncement?

When all the visitors on board obeyed the ship's announcement?

I recall life was relaxed in 1964

When visitors swarmed everywhere and then returned to shore.

Everyone from everywhere was free to come on board;

Friends and strangers chatted; security was ignored.

We didn't really understand 'security' as such.

The world was much more trusting and now it's changed so much.

'No visitors allowed' of course, and each passenger is frisked,

Checked and photographed as well. Our well-being's not risked.

Electronic gizmos block our way; our passports are perused.

We're in a kind of fortress where we cannot be abused.

We're safe inside our little world, but I still long to hear

'All ashore who's going ashore!'

Ringing out loud and clear.

*

Imps

ABC WEDNESDAY 

http://abcwednesdayround3.blogspot.com/

Letter 'I'

IMPS

'You're a little imp!' we say of a child

Who may be rather rude and wild.

We say it rather tenderly,

To the 'little imp' in our family.

And yet, in Germany of yore,

Imps, appearing in old folk-lore

We're rather nasty little creatures,

With crafty minds and ugly features.

Admittedly they were lesser sprites

Than the evil Demons who gave men bites,

Stole their children and scared their wives,

And made a mess of the peoples' lives.

Imps were, in a way, depressed,

They even longed to be caressed;

To get attention they acted badly,

Jumping out and laughing madly;

Hiding in boxes and under beds,

Tearing the newly-washed sheets to shreds.

Like children they got up to pranks;

Knotting the Granny's knitting hanks,

Making the milk in the pail go sour,

Putting insects in the flour!

But these 'little ones' were not attractive,

Just wild and silly and hyperactive.

A toddler human is quite delicious;

These little imps could be malicious.

But it shows that people then understood,

That the needy aren't always the good;

That a cry for help can come from a soul

That seems to others as black as coal.

That the ugly, the wicked, the dispossessed

May need affection more than the rest.

The old-time Germans, it seems to me,

Knew a great deal of psychology!

*

There was a time when I believed.....here:

http://rinklyrimes.blogspot.com/2008/07/48-buttercups-and-daisies.html