Friday, June 29, 2012

CCCXXI - The Jonquil

Done in the same rhyming pattern as Wordsworth's Daffodils.

The Jonquil

The earth has passed the furthest tip
Of its broad arc around the sun;
Winter still maintains its grip
On a garden, dormant and undone.
But there, a harbinger of spring, unfurled:
A jonquil beams upon the world.

While all else is sleeping, or in decay;
The  jonquil foreshadows what is to be.
As I greet the lengthening of the day,
The jonquil speaks of hope to me.
There’s a freshness in its presentation
That evokes a sense of warm elation.

Dubbed Narcissus, after the Greek
Who flaunted his own perfection,
The jonquil would only have us seek
Heartfelt pleasure in its detection.
While self-love we should all forswear,
It doesn’t mean that beauty is not there.

So, to the jonquil, I give my thanks:
A most welcoming, mid-winter, jewel;
With beauty and sweet grace, it is the start
Of a season of rebirth and of renewal.
When life is cold and drab and still
I can but thank the sweet jonquil.

© 2012   J Cosmo Newbery

Sunday, June 24, 2012

CCCXX - Putting on Airs

Mad Kane has a regular limerick challenge.
She provides the first line, the rest is up to us.

This started as one limerick, grew to three limericks
and then compressed to a hybrid sort of thing:

Putting on Airs

A woman was putting on airs,
Rich due to inherited shares.
But, with her nose elevated,
Misfortune awaited,
And she tripped and fell down the stairs.
A scream passed her lips
And she cashed in her chips
But her money passed on to her heirs,
Who spent it on wining,
Some quite serious dining,
And a few sordid but well-published affairs.

© 2012   J Cosmo Newbery

CCCXIX - Stealth Bomber

Mad Kane was lamenting the birdly habit of defacing cars, particularly red ones. 
To my mind, the convertibles are the ones at most risk.

The Stealth Bomber

Birds have a mischievous streak,
And perhaps a desire to critique:
They deposit, on a convertible,
Their bowel contents, squirtable,
Then fly off with a smirk on their beak. 

See also The Gotcha Bird


© 2012   J Cosmo Newbery

Saturday, June 23, 2012

CCCXVIII - The Headlights

The Headlights

Frozen still, caught in the light:
Bright and sharp and stunning.
Like a rabbit in the night,
Without the will for running.

Oblivious to the danger,
Transfixed there by the beams,
The world is a little stranger:
Nothing is as it seems.

Distantly, vaguely, he worries
But then she averts her sight;
And, so released, he scurries
Off into the safety of the night.

© 2012   J Cosmo Newbery

Tuesday, June 19, 2012

CCCXVII - The Martini.

The Martini

Some gin, with a dash of vermouth,
Gives an air of being so couth.
It just reeks upper-class
In its conical glass,
But tastes bloody awful, in truth.

© 2012   J Cosmo Newbery

Monday, June 18, 2012

CCCXVI - Filled with Doubt

Mad Kane has a regular limerick challenge.
She provides the first line, the rest is up to us.
Meanwhile, Red Dirt Girl posted the above photo.

A blonde was once filled with doubt,
As to what reading a book was about.
When told she would find
It would broaden her mind,
Asked if breasts would also spread out.

© 2012   J Cosmo Newbery

Sunday, June 17, 2012

CCCXV - Is there anybody there?

Carry On Tuesday asks us to continue with a famous first line but to create our own work.
This weeks' line was "Is there anybody there?" from Walter de la Mare's poem, The Listeners.

 Is there anybody there?

Is there anybody there? we ask,
A question thrown out into the void.
The need to know if we are alone
Keeps astronomers well employed.

But the search for extra-terrestrial life,
While quite cute, is seriously misguided.
When the quest for intelligence here
On Earth is open and yet to be decided.

We have pointless wars, we fight, we bicker.
We thrive on quite irrational beliefs.
We have homeopathy, astrology and tarot cards,
We have religions that just magnify out grief.

We believe that we can keep polluting
This bottle garden we live in now,
And it will magically regenerate itself
But we are really not sure how.

The Universe is quite seriously large
With many fine stars they can visit.
Should there be intelligent life somewhere,
This isn’t sort of place they’d come,

Is it?

© 2012   J Cosmo Newbery


CCCXIV - Never in Doubt

Mad Kane has a regular limerick challenge.
She provides the first line, the rest is up to us.

A man who was never in doubt
Of what fine eating was about
Said “Life would be finer
For the discerning diner,
If we were rid of the Brussels Sprout”.

© 2012   J Cosmo Newbery

On this theme, I wrote the following poem, some years ago:

Satan's Bollocks

By and large I love my greens,
My parents taught me right
Broccoli, spinach, peas and beans
I’ll gladly eat all night.

But the green that gives me much disgust
Is the dreaded Brussel Sprout;
By all means, cook them if you must,
Then... chuck the buggers out.

My childhood dinners ended late
I was ordered: eat the lot
So I slipped them slyly off my plate
And stuffed them down my socks.

Now sprout fans, please retreat
I don’t wish to be debatin’;
You’ll never convince me to eat
Those sulphurous balls of Satan.

Tuesday, June 12, 2012

CCCXIII - Hail to Thee, Froot Loop!

Somewhere, in a parallel universe, someone could be giving a talk
on the often overlooked health benefits of Froot Loops.

They could end the talk with a small recited poem. 
I have a possible contender here...

Hail to Thee, Froot Loop!

In the discourse on healthy lifestyles,
Froot Loops have been poorly viewed;
Panned dieticians and other do-gooders
Who express, in words far too crude,
But, paraphrasing for this sage occasion,
If you eat them, your future’s screwed.

Well, I say, a pox upon that blinkered view!
Froot Loops are bright!  Froot Loops are sunny!
They have more iron than a piece of steak,
And less sugar than a cup of honey!
As everyone struggles with the drudge of day,
It can’t but help to have a food that’s funny!

© 2012   J Cosmo Newbery

Monday, June 11, 2012

CCCXII - Lady of Repute

Mad Kane has a regular limerick challenge.
She provides the first line, the rest is up to us.
Meanwhile One Single Impression had the topic 'Wanting".
Always a good limerick prompt!

A man who was normally astute
Was chasing a lady of repute.
She was known in society
For her gross impropriety
But he couldn’t have given a hoot.

A girl who was very astute
Thought a maths teacher was cute
But he only had eyes
For functions of pi
'Til she showed him a lovely square root.

A girl who was very astute
Avoided the guys in pursuit
By taking them aside
To quietly confide
That she already had one up the chute.

A man who was very astute
Was also extremely hirsute.
The girls were all wary
About men who were hairy,
Something he was keen to refute.

© 2012   J Cosmo Newbery

Sunday, June 10, 2012

CCCXI - Taken Aback

A (roughly) common first line.

Taken Aback

A lady was taken aback
By the price of the clothes off the rack.
“It’s really extortion
And out of proportion
To the pay in the sweatshop out back.”

A fellow was taken aback
When told that he hadn’t the knack
To take his sweet Miss
To orgasmical bliss
But said practice would fix up the lack.

A lady was taken aback
When invited to stay in a shack.
Knowing how it would end
But not wanting to offend
She feigned a bad migraine attack.

A fellow was taken aback
When told that his mind was one track.
“Well, of course I agree
But it’s genetic, you see,
And it’s not fair that we cop so much flack.

A lady was taken aback
When invited for a walk down a track
But what came to pass,
On a rug, on the  grass,
Was a display of a remarkable knack.

© 2012   J Cosmo Newbery

Wednesday, June 06, 2012

CCCX - Fickle

One Single Impression has a prompt "Fickle".
So, here is a limerick about fickle.

It is in response to the prompt, okay?  No people, living or dead, 
were in my mind when I wrote this terrible stereotyping of half the human race.  
I can't vouch for Verdi's mind.


Women have a habit, you’ll find,
Of randomly changing their mind.
As Verdi was prone to say
“La donna è mobile”
But, in Italian, to protect his behind. 


La donna è mobile : Woman is fickle. (Rigoletto)
Being in Italian, 'mobile' is pronouced 'mow-bill-ay'.

© 2012   J Cosmo Newbery

Monday, June 04, 2012

CCCIX - The Mask

Magpie Tales has the above picture by Klaus Enrique Gerdes as a prompt.

I had a vision of one of those cucumber eye-masks, gone wrong.

 The Mask

A woman who longed for affection
Used vegetables, for her complexion.
The resultant tossed salad
Left her quite pallid
And added to her sense of rejection.

The men all thought her abhor-able
And, with manners truly deplorable,
They wouldn’t answer the phone
And she was left quite alone
But, for a rabbit, who thought her adorable.

© 2012   J Cosmo Newbery

Sunday, June 03, 2012

CCCVIII - Shooting the Breeze

Mad Kane has a regular limerick challenge.
She provides the first line, the rest is up to us.

Shooting the Breeze

A woman was shooting the breeze
And causing her neighbour unease.
She delighted to flirt
In an undersized shirt,
For no reason but wanting to tease.

A fellow was shooting the breeze
On Skype, to his wife, if you please,
But what couldn’t be seen,
Safely away from the screen,
Was his girlfriend, down on her knees.

A woman was shooting the breeze
With a guy who was lusting to squeeze
Her creamy smooth breasts,
Using one of the tests
They use to show ripeness in cheese.

A fellow was shooting the breeze
But his mind was focussed on slease.
She found him disgusting
And hosed down his lusting
By confessing to an infectious disease.

© 2012   J Cosmo Newbery

CCCVII - The Ring of Steel

This grew out of a conversation that I had with a friend and colleague.
It started out reflecting on body ornamentation.  The last two verses are a nod to the fact
that many people go about their lives quietly, not revealing that they too
have things that pierce them, away from public view;
pain, responsibility, disappointment.

Any resemblance to anyone, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

The Ring of Steel

He dresses neatly for the business day,
Conservatively so, but without a tie.
Anyone watching him would have to say
He was perfectly mannered, if somewhat shy.

We know so little about each other:
Partners, parents, neighbours, lovers.
Only with time will you finally discover
That a book does not reflect its cover.

He does his job, he knows what to do
In the pantomime of work, he plays his part.
But beneath his clothes and out of view
A secret is kept, close to his heart.


Oblivious to it when he’s sitting still
He never thinks of it while he’s talking.
But it gives him a secret and sensuous thrill
As it swings to and fro when walking.


If you didn’t know, you wouldn’t know,
And there’s some comfort in that fact.
But in the end it just goes to show
That people are often putting on an act.


But not every secret is a pleasurable one,
Some conceal quite desperate lives;
Briefly forgotten while their work is done
They get some respite, from nine to five.


Perhaps they’re ashamed or perhaps too proud,
Perhaps they don’t know how to start
To describe what's hidden from the crowd,
What steel rings they have beside their heart.


© 2012   J Cosmo Newbery