Half way through the challenge! For June we have a Limerick, a very popular and well known poetry method.
There is a lovely sunny month called June
Filled with many a lazy hazy afternoon
You're having a laugh
Likely you need a raft
Because it always rains a monsoon!
Here we go, I’m sure these months are getting shorter. This month another style to tackle.
A clerihew has the following properties: It is biographical and usually whimsical, showing the subject from an unusual point of view; it mostly pokes fun at famous people. It has four lines of irregular length and metre for comic effect and has a rhyme structure is AABB; the subject matter and wording are often humorously contrived in order to achieve a rhyme, including the use of phrases in Latin, French and other non-English languages.
The first line contains, and may consist solely of, the subject’s name. According to a letter in The Spectator in the 1960s, Bentley said that a true clerihew has to have the name “at the end of the first line”, as the whole point was the skill in rhyming awkward names.
A well known example being – Sir Christopher Wren
Said, “I am going to dine with some men.
If anyone calls
Say I am designing St Paul’s”
So here are my attempts.
King Charles the third
"This crown is absurd
So heavy one fears
It'll just sit on one's ears"
~~~
Camilla the Queen 'Consort'
A title, insult and retort
Causing such strife
As mistress and wife.
~~~
Charles and Camilla
Appear quite vanilla
Leaked phone calls broadcast
A quite salacious past!
I’ll just take myself to the Tower, I know the way I’ve been there before π¬
Note to self :: next time your brain thinks of something, keep your gob shut!
It was such an innocent thought. I was sitting in a meeting of local residents and complex neighbours about a planned street party for the coronation, with activities and games here too, my brain pondered “hmm, I could maybe create some bunting, must Google for a pattern, maybe” I googled, I oowed and it began.
A series of red, white and blue crowns strung on a triple thread chain. Simples! Well in truth it hasn’t been that difficult, I made a start in batches of six (for no reason) of each colour, tucking ends as each six were completed (I hate tucking ends) and propped them neatly in the basket. After a while there was a neat bunch of batches in the basket and I realised three rows would fill it, nice and neat, all very mathematical and logical. Merrily I continued reciting the pattern mantra sounding like I was summoning up some dark demonic creature, until the basket was full.
While chating to BFF and doing the mental maths I was taken aback to work out, I had completed one-hundred and eight crowns, tucking in two-hundred and sixteen ends, taking approximately fifty-four hours before I began stringing them together.
So what’s the quandry? Well, it’s the coronation itself.
It is a major historical event, more rare than Royal jubilees, weddings or funerals, such an event of poignant pageantry with links back to centuries, literally with the 12th century anointing spoon. Next level with the regalia and symbolism.
But
It’s the heads the crowns are being plonked on; the history, the reputations, the insecurities, the fragilities, the egos and the politics. It’s been awhile since the U.K. has had a divorced King on the throne, We go back to George IV (Jan 1820-June 1830) who didn’t want his wife, Caroline of Brunswick, crowned Queen Consort so issued divorce papers (which were quashed), she was excluded from the ceremony and died suddenly a couple of weeks after her estranged husband’s coronation. So we go back further to good old Henry VIII who wasn’t divorced when he ascended the throne but sure got the Guinness Record Holder by the time he died (twice divorced). Honestly, soap opera scripts have nothing on the absurdity of human behaviour compared to the historical royals.
Which brings me to Charles and Camilla (and Diana). How things happened and how it was played out through the media has not just tainted the institution it has permanently stained the Monarchy in perpetuity. What sits uncomfortably for me, is the behaviour of C&C before, during and after his marriage to Diana. It is a clear fact of families that relationships break down and couples divorce, and it was inevitable that Charles and Diana would divorce. It is almost certain that the divorced partners will go on to establish new romances, but having ‘the mistress’ prominent and even befriending the naive bride seemed especially cruel.
Okay, so nobody wants to carry the moniker of ‘marriage wrecker’ or ‘adulterer’ nor be reminded of past bad behaviour, but trying to gloss over, control the narrative around a person or situation, that sticks in the throat. Mistakes have and will be made, who knows how things will change.
And finally, one huge favour …… for the love of patient nerves, please hang your Union Flags the right way up π¬π§
I set myself a doozy of a challenge this time. I blame Google and the rabbit hole of “types of poetry” search.
Villanelle is another very old form of poetry that came from France and has lots of rules. It is made up of 19 lines; five stanzas of three lines (tercet) each and a final stanza of four lines (quatrain). As you can see from the rhyme scheme; ABA ABA ABA ABA ABA ABAA, this type of poem only has two rhyming sounds. Plus, there is a lot of repetition throughout the villanelle. Line one will be repeated in lines six, 12 and 18; and line three will be repeated in lines nine, 15 and 19. So although this takes out the extra work of having to write 19 individual lines, the real challenge is to make meaning out of those repeated lines.
When April is remembered for its showers sprinkling
Washing the seedlings awake
And the Easter Bunny with eyes twinkling
Thoughts of garden parties bring
Sumptuous BBQ's of sausages and steak
When April is remembered for its showers sprinkling
Amassing eggs into the garden for hiding
Excited little hands to find and take
And The Easter Bunny with eyes twinkling
Maybe a spot of seaside esplanade strolling
Melting ice cream with a crumbly flake
When April is remembered for its showers sprinkling
The aromatic minted lamb roasting
And afternoon tea with toasted teacake
And The Easter Bunny with eyes twinkling
Seasonal attractions begin opening
Days out of fun and excitement to partake
When April is remembered for its showers sprinkling
And The Easter Bunny with eyes twinkling
I shall now go and lie down in a darkened room, lol. Happy Easter everyone π«
I was reminded today about incidents where you have to physically stop your sarcasm and sassy-ness coming out of your mouth.
Many life times ago I worked as a Secretary/Admin/Accounts/Cashier type person at a tourist attraction set in a country park on a Baronial estate, somewhere that had hundreds of years of history and secrecy. The thing about Joe Public on his holibobs is you have to be in semi-holiday mode too, rather than stressed, over tired, is it home time yet mode. Despite the attention given to signage, literature and such, you are constantly asked what sound like obvious questions. Often the question asked isn’t really using the correct words to get the correct answer. For example “can I go out?” what the person is really asking is “If I go out to my car, will you let me back in again without repaying?”
Over time, after the hundredth ask, brain goes into sarcasm mode and you find yourself glazing over as the answer you really really shouldn’t say out loud comes to the forefront. Here are a few common questions and the wrong tired answers…..
Do we have to pay? No, I work for free and the animals don't eat.
is this where we come in? No, it's my front room and you're disturbing my siesta.
What's here? (There's a 20 foot information board beside them) ohh nothing, absolutely nothing.
Do I park there? (Point to carpark) No, you go up to the main road, turn east, go 7 miles, park and get on a bus.
If we come in and we go out? Please do, I want to go home at 6.
Is that the lake? No, that's an illusion, you get a train, turn round three times, recite a mantra and come back tomorrow.
Are you open? (Usually this is a bank holiday Monday) Noooo, we've buggered off to Antigua for the day.
There was only ever one question that stopped us in our tracks and made us go “Huh?” That was – How heavy are your heavy horses? – very, they were big burly Shires and Suffolks, did the person think we were running a horse fat camp.
Well dear reader …. they say with age comes wisdom … they also say there’s an exception to every rule π¬
Today was a sort of monumental day. The first go at getting to the hospital with hospital transport, and (I know, pushing my luck) getting two birds with one stone with the delightful peeps at Orthotics.
Never having used the service before I had visions of waiting ages for transport, sitting at the hospital for hours before my appointment time, the clinic running late and then waiting hours (needing a pee) for transport home.
The rule of thumb is to be ready to go about two hours before appointment time. So just before 1pm I was ceremoniously hoisted into my wheelchair, slipper socks on my feet (saves the faff of shoes), coat out the cupboard and credit card tucked into the bra (listen, if some Herbert is going to try and nab it, I’m getting some fun out of the game). Wheeled through to the lounge to wait……..ticktockticktock.
Two lovely ladies arrived and I was anchored and strapped into the back of the van for the 1.9 mile journey. The corridor at Orthotics was deserted, I mean there was no one, nothing, nowt, not even distant voices! After a short while a smart chap appeared and wheeled me to the room.
The reason I was there was for some soft foot splints to help stretch my ligaments, as now I’m off my feet they will naturally shorten and twist. He discussed options, showed me several pictures and he decided that the custom shaped would be best. This involves plaster casts on both legs from knee to tip of toes, and hands rubbing up and down the muscle as the plaster moulds and hardens. π So moulds could be made.
We also discussed my back brace. Side bar m’lud, earlier in the week I telephoned the Neuro Consult Secretary to see if the referral had been sent, to find that the system says that my December appointment he called me and there was no answer (I feckin well did! 45 minutes late but he called and we talked). I crossed my fingers that they’d get the referral done and walked the three corridors, by today, but nope. He looked at my brace and measured me and flicked through more books and had an ‘ah-ha’ moment. He said he would like to try a ‘this’ style as it supports front and back without the rigidity at the side ….. and ….. ::drumroll:: ….. I wouldn’t have to pay for it!
After that, the Orthotics Secretary wheeled me back to main reception and informed transport I was ready. Before too long the lovely ladies loaded me up and drove me back. Within a snip and a snap I was hoisted back onto my comfy sofa and it was only 3:45pm!
Maybe the reason everything went so well today was because ….. I am wearing my undies inside out π
March marches boldly
Roars it's way in windily
Creeps out sheepishly
Haiku is a type of short form poetry originally from Japan. Traditional Japanese haiku consist of three phrases composed of 17 phonetic units (called on in Japanese, which are similar to syllables) in a 5, 7, 5 pattern; that include a kireji, or “cutting word”; and a kigo, or seasonal reference. Similar poems that do not adhere to these rules are generally classified as senryΕ«. There is no exact equivalent of kirejiin in English, and its function can be difficult to define. It is said to supply structural support to the verse.
No…………Body………..Move or sneeze or burp or
Well, dear reader, it’s been an interesting few days. Just up the road from my new abode they are constructing a third river crossing, it’s been thirty years in discussion, three years in building and should be operational by May this year – providing they are no more snaffoo like this week.
Tuesday morning a little left-over from 1942 was dredged up from the river beside the construction area. A one meter long, 250lb bomb, that for the past 81 years has napped through thunderstorms, heavy vibrating ships and boats slowly trundling over it, the rumbling of lorries and vehicles along the road beside it, even the pile driving of the river wall strengthening and outer harbour construction, not to mention the seismic waves when the nearby power station chimneys were demolished.
Police closed roads and began evacuating homes and businesses, placing a 100m cordon around the area. After the Bomb Squad arrived they extended the cordon to mandatory evacuation up to 200m and voluntary but strongly advised 400m zones. This included a small dementia home, who have stayed put but have their minibus and trailer packed with kit and essentials should it become necessary.
The local newspaper has been keeping a ‘live update’ page going throughout the day, giving much needed info such as where evacuation centres are, which roads are closed, the consequential congestion (at one time traffic was moving at the heady speed of a whole two miles per hour!). As well as some typical local media style reporting, like, “Warnings that car windows and camera lenses could crack if….” Proper Pulitzer stuff!
It was decided that a 400 ton sand house would be built around Berty Bomb before any attempts to defuse it could begin. Now 400 ton isn’t a couple of lorry loads and most of Wednesday was taken with getting the sand in place. It looks like sand was compacted into large bags that were then placed, brick like, immediately around the bomb, then a second wall built around that. Then a ceiling of sand was added. A walkway barely wide enough for a beefy bloke or robot to fit through snaked between the sand walls.
All was progressing well until …… “I say chaps, has anyone checked utility maps” slightly blank faces.
“Bally eck, there are gas pipelines under the road!!”
No doubt tea was brewed as tools were downed and a clutch of technicals got their calculators out and recalibrated their thoughts.
Of course, I’m paraphrasing and making light, but how come it hadn’t occurred sooner.
The plan seems to be, after the sand has settled, to send in Robo to start cutting into the bomb, to defuse the detonation circuits and make it ‘safe’, for it then to be taken out to sea, strapped to a better bomb, sunk and then detonated.
Another hold up, water is getting into the area and compromising the sand walls – we’ve all been there with our beach sandcastles. Repairs are needed before Robo can continue his delicate cutting. It seemed the cutting equipment was causing the water build up, so another stoppage and brew up to decide on another option to defuse. The slow burn was the only option left.
And then ………….
Berty unexpectedly went boom.
Thankfully all personnel working the area are unharmed and accounted for. It seems no property or vehicles have been damaged either. Where I am (under half a mile if the crow flies straight) it rattled the newly installed fire doors and echoed through the corridor but the earth didn’t move.
For decades I’ve been a list maker, I have a list of lists on my reminder app and some list items have subcategories. Nerdy I know. It’s an attempt to organise and prioritise jobs, to see progress (sometimes) or to just add other things to the bottom that have already been done to cross em orf and feel empowered.
Maybe this is an indication that I am starting to nest in my new abode. I have a list of things I’d like to get ‘sorted’, not quite sure how yet.
Until I can get help with those, I have been at my desk π± (I know, shocking). Desk work in general has been very neglected over the past couple of years for numerous reasons and general procrastination tendencies.
Before moving house, loads of my cds were uploaded to the iMac as I use the natty Remote App to play music, and I have dropped hundreds of images, photos, vids and graphics that need cataloguing. Before any of that can start I had to wrangle the updates and the Apple TimeMachine back up. It (iMac) initially protested, I informed it of its birth and parentage, threatened it with the metaphoric trusted rusty chisel up the USB, then I left it to stew in the corner. It did at it was supposed to, like the petulant toddler it is, so now I can move onto getting stuff done (allegedly).
So over the next few weekends I plan to, although with the decreased dexterity in my right hand/wrist/arm/shoulder I may need to invest in a track pad. Still the “Mac List” is something like
But before any of that I really must get on with crocheting the gear stick knob hat (don’t ask, well you can, but I have weird friends).
I don’t know if there is a posh term for this style of poem. Anyways my effort for this month. See ya next month!
 | AnneMarie on June Poem |
 | menhir1 on June Poem |
| menhir1 on May – Poem(s) |
| menhir1 on May – Poem(s) |
| menhir1 on May – Poem(s) |
Just Me, Nobody Special 