Another day

Another day and yet more mist.

It’s been one of those days when apart from Hawklad, I haven’t seen another member of my species. Not one person walking the fields. No one walking in the village. Not one soul. In fact I haven’t even see one moving car. With the mist no chance to see aeroplanes. Nothing. No sign of human life. Its officially a GHOST TOWN. Time to FROWN…

Well Ghost Village. Time to PILLAGE. That maybe is my Viking ancestry.

The only other option entering my frazzled mind is. Living in a Ghost Village. Better listen to some Steve Hillage. I once had one of his albums.

Anyway you get the picture. ISOLATION.

Definitely the perfect metaphor for 2020. ISOLATION and learning to really appreciate what I have. It’s definitely been a defining year. Sadly the year has done nothing for my poetry skills….

Terrible Poetry

Stand by your Panic Rooms it’s that time again. Yes it’s time for truly terrible poetry.

Its time for Chelsea Owens mused poetry contest. This week the theme is…

  1. In light of our lucky end date of Friday the 13th, the Theme is Bad Luck.
  2. Length: 113 words or fewer.
  3. Rhyming is optional, but recommended.
  4. There’s not much risqué about superstition, so keep the Rating at PG.
  5. The goal is LAUGHTER. Make black cats funny, Karma amusing, and ill-timed fate hilarious.

You have till 10:00 a.m. MST next Friday (November 13) to submit a poem to Chelsea.

Our cat is not black. Not sure I’m allowed to paint him. Given his immense size it would take an awful lot of emulsion. So imagine it’s a black cat….

So here goes. Wish me luck. I’m struggling to think of a word to rhyme with LUCK….

Oh no it’s Friday the thirteenth

Which is one less than fourteenth

Started the day by breaking a bedroom mirror

To find my huge tax bill just got a whole lot dearer

Then I mistakenly opened an umbrella indoors

And now my garden is full of rowdy dinosaurs

I foolishly walked under a builders ladder

And got bit on the bum by an angry adder

With a sore butt I then I stepped on a crack

Only to be attacked by a rabid wolf pack

Finally a Black Cat crossed my path

And now I’ve just fallen into the bath

Time to be scared

It’s time to get scared, very scared. Almost Halloween and time for a bit of truly awful poetry. Admit you love it! What YOU don’t…. Oh pants…..

It’s time to try Chelsea Owens weekly A Mused Poetry contest. This week most surprisingly it’s as follows

Here are the spooky specifics:

  1. Our Theme is What’s behind the mask? Did two socially-distanced first-daters face a nasty surprise? Perhaps the Phantom of the Opera revealed an embarrassing birthmark? You decide, and you write a poem about it!
  2. Keep the Length manageable, at between 3 and 153 words.
  3. Rhyme if your crystal ball tells you to, but don’t if it’s not in the cards.
  4. There’s no need for tricks regarding Rating. You can scare your victims readers and keep things clean.
  5. However you choose to cast your spell, my dear, ensure your Halloween brew is brimming with humor.

You have till 10:00 a.m. MST next Friday (October 30) to submit a poem.

******

So here goes. I will stick to my terrible poetry as that’s all I can manage. Look at it this way, at least it stops me baking……

So many years and so many Halloween’s

Desperately trying to create a scary smokescreen

Always searching for the perfect Mask

The truly frightening one which is up to the task

I’ve tried them all but they end of just being lame

Freddy Kruger was just do ridiculously tame

Dracula and Frankenstein were as scary as the lovely Joan Hickson

Jason and Michael masks made me look like the unlovely Richard Nixon

But now I’ve seen the path to the perfect scary look

Maybe I should don a Chefs hat and carry a cookbook

Maybe I should dig out my old French Can-Can costume

Maybe a morning mirror photo of me from the bathroom

Actually there is a much simpler way for me to truly scare

Me just going unmasked is the perfect psychological warfare.

Terrible Poetry

Oh no, it’s time for the panic rooms. I’m doing poetry. How can I Tweet you this bad.

It’s that time of week for Chelsea Owens mused poetry challenge. This week the challenge is

These are the specifics for this week:

  1. At Ellen’s suggestion, the Theme is the wittiest message inside your next anniversary card. (And, coincidentally, happy anniversary to her and her husband!)
  2. The Length needs to be short and sweet and easy on the ink. Let’s keep it under 122.5 words.
  3. Rhymes are a popular and catchy way to sell greeting cards, but it’s not a requirement for this contest.
  4. The Rating can be PG-13 or cleaner (please avoid cussing).
  5. The years have been kind to your sweetheart …or, maybe not. Either way, make him/her laugh. They’ve put up with you this long, after all…

You have till 10:00 a.m. MST next Friday (October 9) to submit a poem.

As I am old fashioned and as it’s a great excuse for hiding my complete lack of poetry talent – I will stick to terrible poetry. See Terrible Poetry still lives….

If I get an anniversary card from my partner these days then it is the stuff of Ghost or the Twilight Zone. And a few years back if I received a 122 word message in my card it would either be a shopping list or divorce papers. Only joking. My partner would always write the sweetest messages. My messages would normally start with either ‘sorry it’s late’ or ‘I thought we had an anniversary last year…’.

So sorry this card is late

So sorry I’m a bit overweight

I thought we had an anniversary last year

Do we really get them every year, my dear

Just 122 words is perfect for a food shopping list

Or divorce papers which I have chosen to miss

I’ve really got no idea why you put up with me

Especially as I’ve just spilled coffee over your settee

The return of terrible poetry…

Chelsea Owens has another poetry challenge on the go. This week it is….

Hey! It’s the A Mused Poetry Contest! Make a gaffe, cause a laugh!

Here are the specifics for this week’s contest:

  1. The Theme is commercials: try radio, newspaper, halftime show, or a high-pressured letter you get in the mail.
  2. The Length needs to run between 5 and 155 words.
  3. Rhyming is at the discretion of the poet (you).
  4. The Rating can be PG-13 (though I’m not fond of cussing). Hear that, E??
  5. MAKE US LAUGH. I wanna hear your ditty passed around online meetings, morning talk shows, and incessant chatting from children at the dinner table.

You have till 10:00 a.m. MST next Friday (October 2) to submit a poem.

The problem is that I started writing a poem. A terrible one. I lime making my poems terrible. It hides how bad I am at being a bard, but it allows me to call myself one. But I went for the wrong subject. Adverts and Brexit. Just couldn’t make it funny. I failed. So I won’t be sending my words to Chelsea this time. It’s terrible. I could make it terrible. Definitely terrible but not funny this time. Sorry just not a funny subject. It’s just very sad.

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

Cue the patriotic music and views of the White Cliffs of Dover

It’s time to sell Brexit to the masses, to buy into the dream, moreover

Just think of the future with our new brightly coloured passports

The fun of all those new travel checkpoints and long queues at the ports

The joy of telling our kids that we have taken away their right to free travel

Watch as our worker rights and environmental standards begin to unravel

Be happy as we sell the NHS to American Insurance Groups in the hope of a deal

Any deal as we cut ourselves adrift, is it time for chlorinated chicken to be revealed

Let’s not forget the rich brexit backers who for some reason have now moved abroad

Let’s be proud that now as a country we are free to rip up international accords

Enjoy the sight of all those companies now moving jobs away from our now free island

Yes remember those glossy Brexit adverts that told us to dream, smile and

Strangely failed to mention all the crap that is about to happen to our country

That’s the problem with adverts, they sell you stuff you don’t need, that’s speaking bluntly…..

Oh no it’s a poem

Stand by yours beds people. It’s kind of back. Chelsea Owen’s weekly poetry challenge. Ok it’s not officially Terrible Poetry anymore, but this is me, I can only do it one way. That’s Terrible. Do this challenge once a week and I can myself a bard. A bad bard….

This week Chelsea is back with

Where once I told everyone to write terrible poetry, I now tell you to write terrible poetry with the intent to make us all laugh:

  1. The Topic is eccentrics. Collector, streaker, hermit, or superhero? I read about the British variety in Henry Hemming’s In Search of the English Eccentric and now I’m hooked!

  2. The Length will be a limerick. How else would you poem about eccentrics?? A limerick is five lines: AABBA, in anapestic meter.

  3. Rhyme? Naturally -unless that would run against your hero’s …idiom.

  4. Don’t worry too much about the details! Wake up at 2 a.m. from the strangest dream you’ve ever had, roll over to your notepad to write it down, then turn it in as poetry the next morning.

  5. Keep the Rating at PG or cleaner.You’re too clever to stoop to crass jibes for humor. I know it.

You have till 10:00 a.m. MST next Friday (September 11) to submit a poem to Chelsea.

Brace yourself, here goes….

I am English and I am most certainly very eccentric

I drive a car the shape of a teapot but don’t worry, it’s electric

I have a fine collection of pink britches with matching bowler hats

Let’s not forget I live underground with my cross dressing pampered cats

And pray tell what’s wrong shopping in a musical codpiece when it’s authentic

It’s been too long without some Terrible Poetry

It’s been far too long since I’ve inflicted some terrible poetry on you. Just like my baking and my terrible Yorkshire jokes – YOU KNOW YOU LOVE IT 💓. So here goes then, but wait….. the last time I did one of these, it was pointed out that I couldn’t write these without having a go at the Government. As we know having a pop at The Government can be fun. But it can also be just a little grinding. So this is a politics lite poem (honest, well I might have accidentally slipped in one subliminal message, can you spot it…..). Remember I’m not very good at this sort of thing. If you want brilliant poetry then look away and certainly look at the wonderful sites out there. I follow so many and they never fail to take my breath away with how good their work is. These are brilliant sites for a starter.

Tina (Pippi’s Poetry)

Sadje (lifeafter50forwomen)

TanGental

Opher’s World

Ruth’s Scribbles

Blindzanygirl

So here goes let’s make it terrible…….

Basking in a garden full of weeds

One which requires no expensive seeds

Requiring absolutely no tiring weeding

It’s good on the knees with 100% chance of succeeding

Such a source of endless colours

Just perfect for my crappy watercolours

Oh I hear you shout, I didn’t know you could paint

He is that good I could be paintings patron saint

Should see the mess I made of son’s bedroom wall

One would think I did it after a hefty pub crawl

No painting is not my thing, weeds are what I excel in

It’s as natural to me as having a hairy double chin

So why don’t you venture with me into my overgrown garden

A special place which is great at capturing that pesky carbon

Please bring your own cakes as mine might make you unwell

Really bring your own as my cakes are as hard as a bombshell

And we can have a drink you can comfortably settle

Then watch me get stung by that pesky little nettle

****** as pointed out I can’t spell Johnson – makes it even more terrible and clearly indicates my inability to write English.

Other worlds 2

There was a time when my mobile phone was only used for making phone calls. The phone call function now seems to be an optional extra. It’s now basically my camera, runs the house and sons Pokemon world generator….

As the great Terry Pratchett once said

Always be wary of any helpful item which weighs less than it’s operating manual.

As ever Terry in his hilarious fantasy worlds got life better than many so called modern philosophers. And while we let that thought hang in the air, let’s move onto the last Thursday challenge for a while. Yes people you will be safe from my terrible poetry for a number of months. But as Terry P also aptly pointed out

It’s not worth doing something unless you were doing something that someone, somewhere, would much rather you weren’t doing.

So it’s time for Chelsea Owens last challenge for a few months and my poetry….. Chelsea is taking a much earned blogging break over the Summer. This week’s challenge is about writing your very worst poem possible. Bonus points for squeezing in Douglas Adams like Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy references. Truly awful poems need to forwarded to Chelsea by 8.00am MDT on the 29th. As a Yorkshire lad I have no idea what MDT meansbut it does sound kinda cool. Maybe something like Mindless Donald Tweets.

This poem might not mean too much if you have never read the great Douglas Adams books or have not had to endure the UK governments truly disgraceful lies (on a different scale over the last few days). To cut a long story short our PM is not in charge. That honour goes to a bloke called Cummings who is unelected but seems to have plenty of dirt on enough people to make him important. The country followed strict lockdown rules with the police taking action action rule breakers. We were told the rules were not requests, they were mandatory instructions. Stay at home or people will die. Senior People have been forced to resign for breaking them. Well apparently the rules didn’t apply to Cummings. He travelled 250 miles from his home to his parents (also a no no). This was when he and his wife had symptoms. Let’s just hope they didn’t need fuel…. He then decided to apparently test his eyesight by driving his wife on her birthday and with young son and dogs in the back of the car, 60 miles to a tourist site (Barnard Castle). Now this has been discovered the public are what is the phrase I’m looking for – pissed off. But now the government is saying that Cummings acted as any parent should do. So absolutely no action should be taken against him. In fact he’s a great citizen and parent according to Hancock (Health Minister). Basically all the parents who stayed at home and followed the lockdown instructions were stupid mugs.

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

Douglas Adams wrote of other worlds and evil races like the Vogons

He didn’t need to lie and cheat, no need to come up with patronising slogans

Now we have our very own new fantasy story authors

Cummings, Hancock and Boris, the UKs evil lying rotters

They inspire as much hope as Marvin the Paranoid Android

And are as pleasant as a hot curry to someone with a hemorrhoid

They only look after themselves, just like two headed Zaphod Beeblebrox

They gorge on the finest food while the peasants are expected to stay in detox

We all thought the answer to life was forty two

Well apparently not, that answer was a load of poo

The answer to everything is now apparently the tourist site called Barnard Castle

We are instructed to lockdown but for Cummings that is far too much hassle

If you are Cummings you can test your eyesight by driving your kid 60 miles

Just a coincidence it’s your wife’s birthday, ignoring restrictions with many smiles

Now that’s apparently Ok as it Cummings says his little poodle called Hancock

A man so stupid he’s turned this country into nothing more than a laughingstock

So thank you Douglas for writing some of the funniest stories ever told

And thank you those who voted for Boris, a man as useful as the common cold

***********

*** This is version two. The cleaned up version. It’s amazing what words you can find to rhyme with words like luck, fit and flanker…. ***

Survival

These are real survival plants. Will grow anywhere. It’s found on the paths, driveways, curb sides and stone surfaces.

Dad have you noticed how often on the survival programmes like Bear Grylls, they frequently have clean clothes on after a night in the tent or sleeping out in a forest. The hair is perfectly combed and they don’t look like they have had the best sleep ever. Even though the camp is flooded. You can’t even look like that sleeping in your own bed.”

He’s right as usual. I seem to have moved from just needing a little touching up around the face in the morning to a full cement mixer and construction team.

It’s as if they had not bothered with the tent and gone for a good nights sleep at the local hotel.”

Well funny you should say that and Bear. To be fair to Bear, I bet all the survival TV personalities do that. Finish filming, erect a shelter then bugger off to the nearest hotel. Actually it’s an excellent survival strategy. Save the tent for when you really have to use it.

I remember climbing in Torridon (Scotland) with a friend. We got caught out in a dreadful snow storm. We managed to get off the mountain but were completely lost. The blizzard got seriously bad as night fell. Couldn’t see more than a few feet in front of us. We found a level spot and pitched an emergency shelter. We spent a cold, damp and very hungry night in that cramped hell hole. When we woke the next day we found a blue sky winter wonderland. We also found that we had camped in a field only 40 yards from a hotel, bar and restaurant. Drat …. So Bear if you want to sleep in a hotel, well go for it fella.

So while we are on the subject of survival skills…..

It’s Thursday so it’s time for our weekly bit of fun. Wow this blog certainly needs that. So let’s have a little dabble with Chelsea Owens and her weekly hilarity challenge (sorry, not sure that came out sounding entirely decent). This week the challenge is

“Your writing prompt?

  • “…[T]here really is no valid excuse for an able-bodied person going out of his head from being bewildered in the big woods so long as he has a gun and ammunition, or even a few dry matches and a jackknife.”
  • Use it or be inspired by it to write a funny SHORT story.
  • Please keep your response to 200 words or fewer.
  • Remember: make me laugh. I can’t see how you’d go this route, but please also keep things clean.”

You have till 8:00 a.m. MDT next Friday (May 22) to enter at Chelsea’s blog

A mouse took a stroll through a deep dark wood

Unfortunately Bear Grylls was in the neighbourhood

Eating a mouse is great television, so watch for the trap

The mouse is caught, consumed in one, the scene is a wrap

Now time for Bear to light a fire with only a wet leaf and knife

Then tell a story about how he is missing a comfy bed and wife

Time to build a shelter from just some twigs and his underpants

Now Bear shows how to clean his teeth using some angry army ants

Look to camera and announce its time to hunker down for the cold night

Then jump in the car, head to the warm hotel and really satisfy that appetite.

Birds

Every single day we have two pigeons who plonk themselves on the back garden fence. It starts off all very civilised then after a few minutes, it all kicks off. Gets a little bit racy.

I like to think of it as two Pigeons practising for their WWE wrestling trials. Clearly what we are seeing is a spectacular flying elbow seamlessly transitioning into a deadly Coup de Grace finisher. Apparently son is not convinced. He is picking up the courage to explain the birds and the bees to me.

After an all too short wrestling match (or something else) the two move apart and refuse to talk to each other. So like life really……

So last week it was the last Terrible Poetry contest. To much celebrations it looked like I had hung up my poetry pants for good. Well….

This weeks sees Chelsea replace her old contest with The Weekly Hilarity Contest. This week the rules are

  • Write a short story, poem, song, or really long sentence about Birds.
  • Don’t make it too long. We’ve got real life to get back to.
  • The goal is to make me, the judge LAUGH ALOUD. Whoever tickles my funny bone the best will be crowned champion.
  • As a tip, I generally think and live in a G-rated world. I don’t find crude or profane things very humorous.

You have till 10:00 a.m. MDT next Friday (May 8) to let Chelsea have your entry.

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

So my poetry retirement lasted 6 days. Sorry to disappoint everyone. Unusually this poem is not aimed at Boris Johnson. However as Boris is a massive BIRD brain, I did find a way to get a little abuse hurled at him – points will be awarded to the first person to find it in this hopefully truly appalling poem. See Terrible Poetry still lives………

Blimey what are those birds doing

Oh it’s such seedy x-rated viewing

Really, on our back garden fence as well

Is it not behaviour best saved for a seedy motel

Surely they are spoiling our gorgeous farmland view

Interrupting our peaceful world with something so taboo

Spending every day exchanging birdie pleasantries

Always trying to make so many more feathered babies

Fooling around as if there is no tomorrow

Oh having such fun and never showing any sorrow

One overriding thought about those feathered huggers

Lashings of rummy pumpy, those lucky little buggers

My excuse is that we don’t use a G rating in the UK. So I assume that G means Generally any word is Good to use.