Tag Archives: humor

Sea of Creepy Monsters (Warning: Not Suitable for Tillys)

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bb-wcuts1I don’t believe in god or Intelligent D, But if I did, it would seem to me, While creating things wot live under the sea, He was high on coke or LSD.

Sea of Creepy Monsters

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Weekend Prompt: Childhood Revisited

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bb-ch1

It wasn’t smells or tastes or dear old Patchy,
or Teddy or Polly or clothes that were scratchy,

but bright orange blossoms beaming out from my walls,
retro symbols of happiness from ceiling to floor –
my first bedroom’s wallpaper sticks like glue
in my mind to this day  (my sibling’s too –
at the time they thought he had chronic colic
but, it seems, brother’s wall-art was making him sick –
all those racing-cars whizzing about his head
(he confessed, years later) made him dizzy in bed).

So my first memory – wallpaper, and subtropical heat,
and the tickles of mum’s kisses under my feet.

bb-ob

In response to the Daily Post’s Weekend Prompt: Childhood Revisited – What is your earliest memory? Describe it in detail, and tell us why you think that experience was the one to stick with you.

Search Engine Poetry: The Laughing Housewife

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My linguistics professor would call it “spooky action at a distance“, and, indeed, it is a sort of blogging quantum entanglement, a weird close encounter of the blogging kind.

I speak of The Laughing Housewife, a.k.a. Tilly Bud.

Not that I’m saying Tilly’s weird, you understand (although once you’ve read her Search Engine Poem, you might disagree) – what I’m referring to is the strange coincidence that although we’ve never met, and know of each other only through our blogging connection, twenty years ago we were in the very same room at the very same time. (You’ll have to read this post’s comments if you want to know more).

So, anyway, what to say about Tilly?

A monumental intellect, a resilience that’s instructive, and a sense of humour that can shine a light through the darkest disposition. Nothing can wipe the smile off her face.

Quite like a worldwide shortage of Maltesers (I suspect this (second photo) was one of those times),
dodgy punctuation and grammar (any evidence of this in her found poem below is purely intentional),
or sycophants and flatterers (“no Maltesers for you!“).

She loves to cook, dance, sing, and do I’m-not-going-to-ask-what to the long-suffering Hub. 

But we forgive her all that ;-), because, besides making us laugh and being a loving mother, Tilly is an accomplished poet.

Not only has her poetic talent been showcased in poetry journals and other interesting places, but she’s also about to release what promises to be a very interesting book of poetry memoir, and has another (on poo) in the pipeline ;-).

In the meantime, here’s her entry to my Search Engine Poetry challenge.
(Warning – not suitable for those suffering from Chaetophobia)

girls that dont shave

a found poem for Bluebee

irish women don’t shave
welding women don’t shave
freak americans don’t shave

hairy women armpits
bushy sweaty arm pits
kerala housewife armpits

air in armpits, girls

————————-Thanks, Tilly! 😀 (let’s hope you never find yourself in the same room as these internet-search weirdos)———-

Search Engine Poetry

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???????????????????????????????

orange worm in mandarin

bluebee militant

???????????????????????????????

people’s shadows

picture of non living things never alive

????????????????????????????????????????

what is hoohoooo

Richard Dawkins

???????????????????

large hadron collider

subatomic beauty

?????????????????????

People look up some weird stuff, don’t they? (Just ask Tilly :))

So, a fun challenge for you this weekend – in the tradition of  Book Spine Poetry, create a Search Engine Poem of your own (or an artwork, Benedicte and Renee),  send me the link and we’ll have a vote on the weirdest and wackiest at the end of  the weekend.

To see all the search engine terms that found your blog in the last 30 days, go to Stats > Search Engine Terms > Summaries > 30 Days

PS –  how would one say  “orange worm” in Mandarin? The Good Greatsby, can you perhaps enlighten us? 🙂

The Same By Any Other Name

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Names of affection,
(Little Eddie, Sweet Baboo)

projection and deflection,
(Camille, Flame, Agapanthus)

colours and food,
(Pumpkin, Bean, Red, Blu)

some, unmentionably rude 😉

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

Prompted by this post at Go Jules Go

Wild Conspiracies

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I wrote this in September for Gabrielle Bryden’s National Poetry Week Challenge.

For more animal-flavoured poetry check out Gabrielle Bryden’s Penguin Week series.

***

I ask scribbly gum moths:
Why this graffiti on trees?
“Mind your own business,
they’re just doodles, if you please”

I ask a plodding snail:
Why the squiggles on the path?
“There ain’t nothing in it –
I just do it for a laugh”

I ask the sly hyena:
Why the tunnels ‘neath the trail?
“Well! Installation art’s
not only for the snail!”

I ask the bower bird:
Why that hoard of shining bling?
“Oh, poppet, it’s no mystery
objets d’art are my thing”

I ask the primping zebra:
What’s with the barcode?
“Poor darling, don’t you know?
Stripes are back in vogue”

But, you know, I don’t believe them –
It’s a vast conspiracy
It’s clear that they are sending
secret messages to me…

***

Dreams of a Love Gourmand

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He ate Suzi’s paella

and dreamed of Ipanema,

of romance in Marbella

and Rio de Janeiro

–

He ate Fleur’s rindless blue

his dreams were psychedelia

he dreamt he was Theroux,

da Vinci and Ophelia

–

He drank Ping’s green absinthe

and dreamt he was a fairy

with eyes as green as minthe

his wand, a blue canary

–

He ate Fang’s chou dofu

her durian, then balut,

and napped as King Shi Chu

at war with King Canute

–

He ate Ann’s cherry duck

nightmared of Gordon Ramsay

who served confit of muck

with jus of some philandery

–

Then came Maeve’s Irish Stew,

no dreams his sleep disturbed

and as he woke he knew

his food of love’d been served

No Worries

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The esky’s packed with ice and toots,

we’ve phoned for fish ‘n chips,

dressed down in thongs and ugg boots,

for the nuptials of His Nibs

—-

Our PM, a Republican daggy,

an atheist, and unmarried to boot,

will schmooze at Westminster Abbey

with First Bloke, toasting our roots

—

‘The Chaser’s been given the flick,

Beeb and not-amused Charlie to blame,

Instead, Antipodean kicks

will come from that dodgy old Dame

—-

Yes, for today, we’ll forgo real news,

indulge in some frivolous folly,

chuck a sickie from workaday blues

and quaff a few bottles of Bolly

—

Poems that rhyme

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I love my two grown nieces,
my man is just divine,
I like prose poetry pieces
but moreso, poems that rhyme.

I love to eat red meat
while quaffing fine red wine,
dark chocolate is a treat
but not like poems that rhyme.

I like to swim butt-nude
at night in summertime;
it elevates my mood
but so do poems that rhyme.

I’ve slept out in the Sinai
dived there in summertime
but nothing could be finer
than dreams of poems that rhyme

I like to read Steve Pinker,
Mark Baker is sublime,
I like a critical thinker
but mostly, poems that rhyme.

I know Lew Carroll’s poems by rote,
Will Shake’s a fave of mine,
ee cummings get my vote,
‘cos he wrote poems that rhyme.