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 😬
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 ðŸ«
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.
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 senryÅ«. 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.
I’ve decided to set myself a little challenge for the year. Each month I will create a poem relating to that month, different styles, differing contexts. Nothing too too taxing, probably dull and doubtful of proficiency but *blows-raspberry and sticks up two fingers, one finger if you’ve really pissed me off*
January – acrostic
January drags
All bare and dark
Never ending nights
Uninviting and stark
Adverse weather
Reducing our spark
Yearning for Spring
Hmm, now let me see ….. grab your magnifying glass and come detect with me ……
Within my abode just about a week ago there were a tube of Pringles, a Nestlè selection box, a sizeable bag of mixed nut selection, a bag of mint aero bubbles and a bottle of grape drink. Whilst I will admit I did pop a Pringle while watching a film, and I might have nibbled a choc during a game show and I know I lightly sipped a tipple during a festive special … but … the festive basket has been plundered to just the fruit pastilles and bingo cookies (more later) and if the thieving rat has been at my cheese selection saved for this afternoon I will have his tail!!
Surely, not I, the lone resident, renowned non-nibbler couldn’t have…. well … indulged frequently, absentmindedly, sort of occasionally gourmandised (don’t you just love a thesaurus) all of those goodies?
🫣 🥴 Oopss
If I suddenly go missing this year, tell the authorities to check out the Bingo Mafia, I’ve been branded a hustler and they don’t like it 😂. You see, yesterday afternoon I was enticed to join my fellow ressies for drinks, sausage rolls and mince pies and as I had stealthy avoided the Christmas hoorah I went.
Wheeled into the dining room, where a dozen or more were congregating, a silver sequinned trilby plonked upon my head, I was braked in front of a bingo card – ominous. Then raffle tickets were plied and purchased – more ominoisnessness….. Have I been conned and fleeced!!! Eyes down, silence descends, the air tenses, first to four corners. Hopeless. Onto full house, no where near. Next round, first to a line, number after number, getting nearer and I won! Some Belgian chocolate cookies. Onto a full house, nearly, nearly, just two more, and ‘Bingo’! A bag of chocolate caramels. Third and final round, four corners, I came close but my neighbour got there first. The final full house, each number called, legs eleven, knock at the door, two round ladies, two little ducks, clickerty click and Brighton line (I realise that may be a confusing language to some), oh no, my neck starts to heat up, oh no no, palms get sweaty, oh nooooo……. trombones…… ‘Bingo’! I cried as the table behind sighed and mumbled. Oopsy, I told you they take their gambling seriously, I could feel the daggered stares from the crew. Six games and this first timer won three 😳.
Onto the raffle, we’d each bought two strips of five tickets, so ten chances of my numbers coming up out of about a possible 120. First number, phew not me…. second number, phew not me…. third number 419, oh crap that’s me, a bottle of Merlot. We adjourned to the lounge for a tipple and a nibble. Alexa was instructed to play some party tunes and loud chatter and merriment ensued, interspersed with some dubious singing. Back in time for a late supper.
As for 2023, well, let’s see, there’s the debacle of OT and their failings, so I’m giving in and buying my own bespoke item, so I know it’s right. I should have done it sooner, knew I’d end up doing so and only my own stubborn procrastination has prevented me from doing so, six months on and something needed three/four times a day is still not fit for purpose. The system of OT isn’t just broken, it is decimated and like most systems, it is those in need most, who will suffer most.
There’s more paperwork to chase. You see I pay for my care, the care company tells the County Council, who then send me the bill, except I haven’t had any bills. I’ve asked the complex manager to chase, to no avail, I’ve asked the County Council to check and they’ve the correct address but no order to bill, I’ve asked the care company who are confused why it hadn’t already been done. See again, business can delay and confuse and wait but you can get those buggers will want the dosh the next day, well, tough, I’ve done my due diligence, they’ll get it in stages, I’m not loosing six months of Tesco vouchers because of their laziness. (Did I mention I can be stubborn).
The pipe dream for 2023 is to get to appointments, maybe successfully mobile, but I’m having to deal with ‘systems’ that are clogged and bureaucratic, they make a garden snail look like Speedy Gonzales!
So as the Latin quote states “same crap, different year”…. cheers, slange var, Iechyd da 🥂
Well it was all going on here yesterday! Tuesday I was informed that the contractors would be on site to replace the windows. Hmmm, do I decant to the communal lounge or bundle up on my sofa? I went with option two and put on a cardigan. They’re also replacing communal windows and fire doors so it’s chilly and drafts everywhere.
The day was still and dull, no breeze or frosty chill by the time they removed the windows at 11:30. Throughout the time carers and cleaners kept shouting through the gaping hole asking if I was okay, cold, need a hot drink. I was fine, busy crocheting my current project. Truth be told I was not as cold as I expected I would get. By 3 the new windows were in and the guys had cleared and vacuumed.
In the midst of all this kafuffle two extra bids with step ladders appeared to remove the old fire detectors (snazzy new system fitted beginning of last month). A house full of men, working!!
When I turned and looked at the new units there was one blinding instant through that crossed my mind. I took a picture and sent it to BFF and she had the exact same thought ….. can you guess what it was ….. depends if you recall previous blogs or are privy to my Facebook posts. We both went “Oww, a window a cat can come in through”
😂😹😂😹😂
There are one or two cats who live in the neighbouring bungalows, when the weather warms you never know what might happen. Although no cat will be as characterful and charming as #NotMyCat. ‘Mickey’ and sweet #NotMyCat2 ‘Ginger’.
It’s not a question you expect to hear, nor is it a typical trick or treat scenario …. would you like a donkey visit on the 31st?
On Monday a knock at my door announced the arrival of Mum Saffy and son Jack, two gorgeous soft mini donkeys from Mini-Donks visiting the complex where I now reside.
Their gorgeous velvety soft lips and fluffy soft coats, their spindly thing legs leading to polished neat hooves looking like they were tip toeing on stiletto heels. They nuzzled as they munched their carrot sticks, while pictures were taken. Enjoying the chin scritches as I admired the long fluttery eyelashes.
Certainly a more welcome visitor than Clive and Clarissa the humongous great chunky spiders who throw their web between the top of my window and the thick garden bushes below. I think they are European Garden Spider or Cross Orb-Weaver, but I haven’t got close enough to get ‘that’ acquainted.
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Just Me, Nobody Special 