Spring

Spring must have arrived as the Rowan Tree has sprung into life.

My partner loved these plants. She thought every garden should have at least one in a prime location. We had a beautiful one next to the front door. Poignantly it died the winter just before our partner left us. It’s taken a few years to grow a replacement but now she would be pleased again.

These days the replacement is in a large pot in the back garden. Now that’s my running is restricted to endless circuits of our little garden the tree forms a helpful obstacle to run round. On my last epic run I rather sadly counted how many times I passed the little tree. 213 times….. Yes I can count that far.

So according to the Rowan Tree and the daffodils it is Spring. Can someone tell the weather. It’s freezing. Even the bird bath is frozen every morning. This means the path is icy. That explains my latest fashion statement. My son looked at me with one of those Paddington Bear stares, shock his head and sighed.

Dad in most cases the human species has been evolving for millions of years. Clearly there are one or two exceptions to that.”

I had just finished my early morning workout and has decided to feed the birds. On my way to the bird table I slipped on the icy pavement. When I say slipped I mean a full ‘arse over tit’ moment. Most of the bird seed, bread crumbs, surplus rice and water landed on my very large head. It was a fetching look especially when it was merged with a white T-shirt and pink compression leggings.

Don’t you bloody love Spring.

While on the subject of Spring let’s seamlessly transition into our weekly fix of terrible poetry in the form of Chelsea Owens weekly challenge. This week Chelsea has set the following task

  1. The Topic is Springtime -or Autumntime if you’re South. You can haiku, limerick, free verse, acrostic, tanka, cinquain, sonnet
  2. Length is wholly dependent on the type of poem you write. If you go with an epic ballad, please cut things off before page 54.
  3. Rhyming also depends on your creation.
  4. The goal is to make it terrible. Mother Earth must rise from her seasonal slumber to smack you with an olive branch of peace.
  5. Keep the Rating at PG or cleaner.

You have till 8:00 a.m. MST next Friday (April 3) to submit a poem to Chelsea.

It’s Springtime in Yorkshire

The Sun is still on vacation

Still waiting for it to be a scorcher

Oh the pigging frustration

The path is covered in ice

And I’ve just landed on my bum

Now I’m wearing last nights rice

And I feel a right dumb dumb

The washing on the line is frozen rock solid

The gale force wind screams over the barren field

The weeds and broken branches makes it look so squalid

The poor garden birds hide in the bushes seeking any decent shield

So Springtime is here which means dust down the garden chair

Now I’m off inside to find my extra thick thermal underwear

Terrible Poetry

****No actual birthdays here warning****

One of the most memorable tips to come out over the last couple of months has been to wash your hands for 20 seconds. To help work out what 20 seconds is – wash while singing Happy Birthday to You. Never sung so many Happy Birthdays.

On the subject of Happy Birthdays it’s time for a bit of terrible poetry in the form of Chelsea Owens weekly challenge. This week she has set the following guidelines

  1. The Topic is birthdays. You all don’t know this, but March and April are our second Christmas around here. Even my birthday is this time of year.
    So, as a birthday gift to me, write a horrible parody of the classic song you sing for someone’s birthday.
  2. The Length will depend on the length of the song you honor.
  3. Songs usually rhyme, so I expect your poem will most likely rhyme as well.
  4. It’s my party, so make it terrible ’cause I want you to. You would cry, too, if I sang, “Happy Birthday to you.”
  5. I’ve got children listening! Keep the Rating a G.

You have till 8:00 a.m. MST next Friday (March 27) to submit a poem to Chelsea.

Happy Birthday to You

Happy Birthday to You

Happy Birthday Dear

Happy Birthday to You

How many birthdays you have seen

So many decades since you were a teen

Happy Birthday Dear Has Been

Happy Birthday to me, now sod off and pour me a Jim Beam

**** it’s not my birthday for ages, so this is dedicated to all those of you like me who have entered the ‘have you seen my keys’ age.

Terrible Poetry

It’s time for this weeks bit of panic poetry in the form of Chelsea Owens weekly Terrible Poetry competition.

Here are the specifics for this week:

  1. Topic: Stockpiling against a worldwide disaster, in limerick form.
  2. Length: A limerick. They’re five lines: AABBA, in anapestic meter.
  3. Rhyming: Yes. In AABBA anapestic meter format.
  4. Make it terrible! Got it? Make it terrible!! The world’s ending, after all!
  5. Rating: PG-13. This is the perfect time to panic …poetically.

You have till 8:00 a.m. MST next Friday (March 20) to submit a poem to Chelsea.

******************************

Shelves stripped bare including the Gluten free

Load your boot with every single last frozen pea

You can keep your 10 year supply of toilet roll

Fill your trolley with all the Chicken casserole

But keep your pigging hands off my Yorkshire Tea

Terrible Poetry

It’s time for a bit of terrible poetry thanks to the wonderful Chelsea Owens and her weekly competition. This week the game is a foot with the following modus operandi…

  1. The Topic is the cute (or ‘cute’) things that kids say. I’ll admit I’m more inspired by the parenthetical version after our dinner conversations lately. What is it with young children (perhaps just with boys) and potty humor? Do they really think meals are the best place to discuss vomit?
  2. We’re talking kids here, so the Length may be quite short (barely learning to talk) or quite long (talks your ear off about Minecraft).
    …Don’t make the judge suffer too much.
  3. Rhyming is optional, or entirely concerned with the word ‘fart.’
  4. It’s likely to not need much help in this department, but try to make it terrible. Make my young children giggle and start chanting lines from your poem whilst pointing at a brother in an insulting way.
  5. Kids sometimes say words they ought not to, but let’s keep the Rating an optimistic G.

You have till 8:00 a.m. MST next Friday (the 13th!) to submit a poem to Chelsea.

So here goes with the philosophy of our very own wise one. So many to go for yet so few will rhyme…

‘Apart from his girl like eye lashes, thankfully no sign of dad in me’

‘Of all the festive colours, my muppet Dad bought a black Christmas Tree’

On a packed French TGV ‘why does the food smell of wee’

To someone from Ireland ‘apart from the rain, wind and cold is it like Hawaii’

Shouting ‘he’s got rabies’ to a poor bearded man on a train

To a mum in the playground ‘my dad fancies someone called Shania Twain’

‘Dad it’s rude to say fart you need to call it a bottom burp’

‘My Dad is a muppet, funny but such a twerp’

‘I can’t eat that carrot, it looks like a willy’

‘That looks like sick’ the day school served chilli

To his nursery teacher ‘my dad let’s me watch Frankenstein’

‘My teacher broke a cup and said a funny word, what does FUCK mean’

**** important note ‘my dad let’s me watch Frankenstein’ actually means ‘my dad let’s me watch Scooby Doo which featured Frankenstein’.

Terrible Poetry Contest

Photo from Inside Croydon

It’s Thursday so it must be Terrible Poetry time thanks to Chelsea Owen. This weeks challenge is set out by Chelsea.

“I normally encourage entrants to follow basic rules; today, however, I’ve decided we need to bring back a type of poem that’s terrible for a reason other than cliché composition. I speak of the Little Willie poems.

Here are the specifics, copied from the last time we tried these:

  1. The Topic is to write a Little Willie poem. The name comes from a way of writing poetry that was popular in the early 1900s.
    From A Treasury of Laughter*:
    “Every paper began to print ‘ruthless rhymes,’ and every contributor tried to invent a catastrophe more gory in event and more nonchalant in effect than its predecessor. The favorite ‘hero’ was Willie, and although other characters sometimes crept into the quatrains, the terse lines became known as ‘Little Willies.’”
    I included three of the tamest examples at the end of this post.
  2. The Length is about four lines, a quatrain. Some were written as limericks or a double quatrain; but most were short, clever, and darkly humorous.
  3. Rhyming is imperative. These poems usually follow an A/A/B/B pattern.
  4. As I said, this week the poems are terrible because of their message. I expect darker tones, questionable humor, and stretches into creative venues writers never knew they had. If you’re sensitive, stay away. If you’re twisted, come on in.
  5. One might be tempted to up the Rating, but this is the sort of clever writing that makes readers uncomfortable but stays in the PG range.

You have till 8:00 a.m. MST next Friday (February 21) to submit a poem.”

********************

So here goes then

Poor little Willie lived in England but was an immigrant

Posh Boris didn’t like Willie so his deportation was imminent

But Willie worked in a Care Home looking after the sick

But Boris didn’t care because he’s such an uncaring slippery dick.

Terrible Poetry

It’s Thursday so it’s time for Chelsea Owens Terrible Poetry contest. This week the instructions are

Love is (still) in the air, for our 58th Weekly Terrible Poetry Contest! -For nothing says “terrible” quite like the pain and embarrassment of our very first crushes.

That’s right! I’d like every one of you to remember your First Love. What did he or she look like, smell like, eat his/her boogers like? MOST IMPORTANTLY: if you were to write that person a poem, in exactly the advanced writing abilities you had at the time, what would that poem look like?

Specifically:

  1. The Topic is an awkward first poem to your awkward first crush.
  2. I don’t know how prosaic you were then, but I’ll assume the Length will be on the shorter side. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if, like me, all of your poems took on the form Rose are red, Violets are blue…
  3. Rhyming? Maybe, maybe not. How poetic were you?
  4. Naturally, without trying, make it terrible. I want the younger version of you to read over your composition, sigh in romantic ecstasy, and imagine the love of your life rewarding your efforts with that elusive First Kiss.
  5. I’ll give Past You the benefit of the doubt and assume you’ll keep the Rating at PG or cleaner.

You have till 8:00 a.m. MST next Friday (February 14!) to submit a poem to Chelsea.

*****************

There’s a girl in my class so shy and so cute

She’s so clever as she can work out a cube root

She the star of athletics team and her name is Anita

Runs for the county as she is as fast as a Cheetah

One day at lunch she came over to talk

I fumbled my words and started to squawk

One hot summers day I found my voice and asked her out in the end

We became good pals but never lovers as she already had a lovely girlfriend

*****************

Unbelievably no reference to Boris or politics. Hopefully it’s terrible but it is based on real life. Anita was a good friend and lovely human being. Life wasn’t very kind to her. Sadly we lost touch years ago. Last time I heard she was living in a kibbutz in Israel. Hope your smiling Anita.

Terrible Poetry

It’s terrible poetry time again curtesy of Chelsea Owens. This week the impeachment case rules are as follows

  1. Anyone who knows me knows I love Half-Priced Chocolate Day (February 15th) more than the holiday the day before -BUT, this is the Terrible Poetry Contest! Nothing gets poemed to death more than the topic of ❤LOVE!❤
    So, the Topic is LOVE LOVE LOVE! Write me a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad sonnet. Give me alliterations, adjectives, allegories, and aneurysms.
  2. Keep the Length long enough to capture your love’s interest without putting her to sleep.
  3. Rhyming? Up to you, but I recommend you do.
  4. Make it terrible! Cupid needs to pull out the real arrows after catching wind of your attempts.
  5. Keep the rating PGish.

You have till 8:00 a.m. MST next Friday (February 7) to submit a poem to Chelsea.

*************

Bearing in mind I’m about to publish a post basically venting my spleen on the horrors of Valentines Day – keeping to PGish may prove beyond me. But he goes let’s see if I can find my inner terribleness.

Missing the warmth of your dear sweet love

Valentines goes on which annoys me, kind of

Feeling unloved as our romance is no more

Will get as many cards as a grumpy Wild Boar

No red roses for me sat on my sofa for one

No lovers wine to drink as I’m suffering a dry run

Can’t even have chocolate as I’m currently dairy free

So sat here writing of love with a bloody black tea

Trying to find ways to avoid pigging Valentines Day

Maybe games of solitaire and a stinging nettle bouquet

Mr Grouchy sat here with love sadly deserting me

Nursing a snotty nose and an annoying sore old knee

So Valentines is coming and I’m enduring all those red rose adverts

Well excuse me if I say to me it’s all a huge pile of steaming turds.

Terrible Poetry

It’s Thursday so it time for a bit of terrible poetry in the form of Chelsea Owens weekly competition. This week the rules are

  1. The Topic is an epic poem about a great adventure. Laudable deeds and grand gestures will be your comrades-in-arms, even if your adventure proves to go no further than locating a missing sock.
  2. These sorts can run rather long, so let’s cap the poem at a Length of 200 words. Yes, Fishman, you may write fewer than 200.
  3. Rhymes are unnecessary, yet contestants will be awarded bonus points for archaic ones.
  4. Make it terrible, I say! A great shout must be heard from deep within The Woods of Whispering that Princess Sock has been found, and is begging you to stop singing your ballad. Forever.
  5. If the Rating must, it may rise to PG-13. Remember that insults from these times moste often ran the gamut of brigand or knave.

You have till 8:00 a.m. MST next Friday (January 31, 2020) to submit a poem to Chelsea.

We start out on this crazy epic adventure

A divided party for such a risky reckless venture

Saying goodbye to friends is always hard

Especially when they neighbours in our backyard

Off on our own into the great wide open

Led by our leader who is so outspoken

Into the massing storm clouds we strike out

On a wing and a prayer without any real clout

Many wolves circling claiming to be our new friends

Sign on the dotted line and you can reap the dividends

But only if you agree to the orange wolfs demands

Give me your NHS and we can happily shake hands

Don’t forget as part of the deal you take our chlorinated chicken

It’s full of good stuff honest and it won’t make you sicken

An epic adventure without any real plan

Hoping countries are nice to us including Kazakhstan

Even before we leave the lies and untruths are beginning to appear

While those making hedge fund fortunes continue to sneer

On any epic adventure you need a swashbuckling hero

Sadly we have no Aragorn to lead us just a bumbling self centred zero

This adventure of ours has a name called Brexit

Please excuse me now as I try to leg-it.

Terrible Poetry

It’s time for of hopefully terrible poetry in the form of Chelsea Owens weekly competition. This week the rules are.

  1. The Topic is The Bleak Midwinter. Yes, I know some of you are not experiencing cold weather and do not feel bleak. Maybe come stare out my window for inspiration…
  2. Try for a Length of a standard 3-75.5 words.
  3. Rhyming is wholly up to you.
  4. Make it terrible. I want your poem to force travel agencies to contact your therapist to make appointments for themselves after reading it.
  5. Keep things PG or cleaner. It’s about the bleak midwinter, for heaven’s sake.

You have till 8:00 a.m. MST next Friday (January 17, 2020) to submit a poem to Chelsea.

************

Boy it’s bleeding bleak

Low chance of me doing a streak

Every day it rains

An everybody complains

Keep hoping for some snow

More chance of seeing Marilyn Monroe

In every lane and field

Dreaded mud congealed

Wind so strong

It blows over King Kong

No chance of seeing the sun

This is no bloody fun

Every day is exactly the same

Redonculous Boris that’s whose to blame

Vanish

A wall which needs to be crossed, damp moss and a spare pair of trainers with hardly any tread left. That my friends is a recipe for disaster. Today’s woodland trail run was blocked by a tree felling operation. Either that or Yorkshire is clearly the location for Texas Chainsaw Massacre 25. The deafening roar of multiple chainsaws close by. For what ever reason the trail was taped off. So two options. Turn back or cross the wall. An attractive downhill path swung the decision in favour of the green wall. Twenty seconds later I’m lying face first in a muddy puddle. Forty minutes later I am stood semi naked in front of the washing machine trying to work out how much Vanish I need to add for caked mud clothes. Two hours later a fully clothed Neanderthal is now surveying the wonderful job Vanish had done to my running kit. My once blue leggings are now a mottled light blue psychedelic design. The dark blue leggings colouring had now jumped ship and transformed my once white running top. But the muds gone. That Vanish is good stuff.

For that time when the runner has gone thud

And his clothes are covered in filthy mud

When soap and water won’t do the job

And that runner doesn’t want to look a slob

In need of rescue after that mossy wall

Which hero are you going to call?

With just 5 scoops your colours will banish

But that mud will be gone thanks to VANISH.

I was lost for an idea for the returning Chelsea Owens Terrible Poetry contest. But thanks to chainsaw wielding lunatics and a mossy wall a terrible poem was born.

If you fancy a go then this weeks rules are

  1. Let’s start off with a fun Topic: commercial jingles. Pick a product and *wow* us with an awful little diddy.
  2. Most commercials have a short runtime, so keep theLength fairly short as well.
  3. Do you need to Rhyme? No, but catchy tales bring in more sales.
  4. Look, chum: just Make it terrible. Make your audience sit up, take notice, and frantically push the Mute button until the horror passes.
  5. This needs to be appropriate for General Audiences. Write accordingly.

You have till 8:00 a.m. MST next Friday (January 10, 2020) to submit a poem to Chelsea’s site.

One final irony. Vanish normally comes in bright pink containers. I went on Amazon to see if I could find a cheap pair of running leggings. One pair stood out. Unbelievably cheap. And the colour. Bright Pink. Yorkshire you have been warned…..