Notes on a Serviette

A River of Stones - Jan 31st

2012-01-31T19:49:00.003+11:00

A River of Stones is a challenge

on Facebook to write something insightful

about the small things in your life every day.

Can I do this? Time will tell.

Rather than doing a set of 31 posts

I am planning a feeder post (this one) and a composite post.

January 31st

The house is now quiet, darkly, softly so;
A clock marks the measured steps of time.
The moon casts a timid, tentative glow;
And somewhere a possum eats my vines.

The End
.
Thank you to all those of you who stayed the distance.

---  

Comments

CCLXXVII - I'm Not Normally Like This.

2012-01-29T18:25:00.001+11:00

Sunday Scribblings had the topic "Normal"
It was a few weeks ago - I'm a slow writer.

I’m not normally like this.

“Weirdo! You’re not normal!”

Said to insult, or trying to.

But is normality really

Something worth aspiring to?

How dull would life be

If everyone were the same?

Uniformity and conformity:

Normality by another name.

If we were all the same

Would anyone ever miss us?

If we had no defining features

Would anybody kiss us?

I’m sitting on the grass

Surrounded by colour and noise;

But is it the very same garden

If seen though another’s eyes?

We are all so very different

In both open and subtle ways;

Even identical twins

Will have their separate traits.

But the plain and undeniable truth,

Presented clear and formal:

If everyone was just like me

I’d be considered normal.

---  

CCLXXVI - Is that all there is?

2012-01-28T17:56:00.001+11:00

Carry-On Tuesday had the prompt:

"Is that all there is?"

Is that all there is?

Is that all there is?

He said with dismay.

I had such high hopes

And have come a long way.

Is that all there is?

Just a harp and some wings?

Dressed up in nighties

While everyone sings?

Is that all there is?

What is there to do?

The Muslims at least

Get a virgin or two.

Is that all there is?

Death is too much:

Watch from above

But not able to touch.

Is that all there is?

I’ve lived a good life

Only to watch the milkman

In bed with my wife.

Is that all there is?

Eternity is a long, boring spell,

Is there some way to buy

A day-pass to Hell?

---  

CCLXXV - Appendix to "My Barbie"

2012-01-26T11:39:00.002+11:00

A blokey addition to the previous post,

Built on Dorothea Mackellar's verse

beginning 'I love a sunburnt country'.

Please don't get excited, I do eat salads in real life.

I shun a well-dressed salad,
A mix of greens and beets;
Of grated carrot dressings;
Of things a rabbit eats.

I love a hot steak sandwich;
I love a chicken breast;
But never let it be forgot
A well-browned chop is best.

---  

My Barbie (repost)

2012-01-26T07:30:00.000+11:00

Australian poet, Dorothea Mackellar, wrote the poem "My Country".
It is something of an Australian icon and most Australians know a bit of it,
especially the line that reads "I love a sunburnt country".

I wrote this two years ago but I really like it so I am putting it up again.
Australia Day, 2012.

My Barbie

The love of stew and couscous
Of rice and sushi-ed fish;
Or orange sauce with duckling
May be your favourite dish.
Strong love of stir-fried chicken
Noodles or gourmet pies -
I know but cannot share it
My love is otherwise.

I love a gas-fired barbie
With tongs and forks and things,
To carbonise some lamb chops
Or steaks and onion rings.
I love her cast iron hot-plate
I love her spacious grill,
For family or for parties,
My barbie fits the bill.

Standing tall with manly pride,
(Clutching a beer, of course)
You char-grill anything that walks
Then top it off with sauce.
It doesn't matter what you cook,
Snags or chops or game,
Dose them well with tomato sauce
And they all will taste the same.

Core of my heart, my barbie!
She shows that I'm a man
Who can do his share of housework,
Drinking lager from a can.
When the little woman's fuming
At the mess around the bath,
I can stick my manly chest out
And boast I do my half.

Core of my heart, my barbie!
I polish you like gold
The centre of my manhood
To cherish and to hold.
Under the plastic awning
Beside the wheelie bin
You are my pride and joy,
I gaze at you and grin.

A twelve ring gas fired barbie
Is a vision truly grand! -
All you who have not loved her,
You will not understand –
A kitchen holds many splendours,
With rice cookers and woks
But I know my gas-fired barbie
Can incinerate an ox.

---
© 2010 J Cosmo Newbery
---

CCLXXIII - The Bone Fence

2012-01-22T09:53:00.000+11:00

One Minute Writer had a topic "Prison"

The Bone Fence

Rules and regulations run our lives,

Controlled by Governmental elves,

But the strongest rules that hold us in

Are the ones we write ourselves.

We temper what we say or do

To avoid the proverbial stink.

A nasty question’s always there:

What would the neighbours think?

But do they really care at all,

These people over the fence?

Surely the problem’s theirs, not yours,

If they chose to take offense?

So, in deference to the social norms,

We keep our hearts withdrawn.

Is it really such a terrible thing

To dance naked on the lawn?

---  

CCLXXII - The Soloist

2012-01-15T10:16:00.001+11:00

Sunday Scribblings had the topic "Tribe"

The Soloist

It’s four o’clock in the morning:

A swimmer is lapping the pool.

Sometime later, my alarm goes;

And I curse it for being so cruel.

A well-structured diet of raw protein

Helps a weightlifter prepare to jerk*

I have some toast and some coffee

And make a sandwich to take off to work.

The runner relentlessly circles the track,

His cartilage pounded to jelly.

I shower with my back to the mirror

To ignore the bulge of my belly.

The cyclist is pushing the limits,

On the monitors, the heart-rate red-lines.

I enjoy a quiet and relaxing evenings

With a relatively decent bedtimes.

There’s no denying the dedication

Of athletes in pursuit of their dream.

But there’s not one bone in my body

That wants to be part of their team.

“It’s Gold, Gold, Gold for Australia!”

The announcer screams with delight,

Don’t give me that tribal nonsense;

I’ve gone to bed for the night.

---  

*Well, that’s what they call it...

CCLXXI - A Day in January

2012-01-01T17:13:00.000+11:00

A River of Stones had a challenge

on Facebook to write something insightful

about the small things in your life every day in January.

Rather than doing a set of 31 posts

I compiled them all into a composite about one day in January.

A Day in January
.

It’s dark but there is the sense that others
Are already awake; sounds from beyond the thick
Velvet drapes and cool cotton covers:
With utmost patience a magpie feeds its chick.

The gentle cooing of the doves on the roof;
The lorikeets crippling the unwary with scimitar nips;
The ravens’ mournful cawing, remotely aloof;
Wattlebirds tout “Hot pies, hot pies, chips, chips, chips”

Cars pass up and down the street,
From the tyre’s sound, the road is dry.
A jogger pounds away his knees and feet.
Distantly, a tram clangs and trundles by.

The room hangs over me as if made of wool,
Or as if an overly embracing creeper.
I want to yield to day-break’s pull;
Beside me the rhythmic breathing of a sleeper.

Warm bodies move restlessly in nightshirts and
Crawl out of the covers, into the musty gloom:
With the parting of the curtains,
The greys dissolve and colours flood the room.

The movement excites the feathered kin
Who sense food will soon eventuate.
Kitchen scraps, neatly diced, in a well-used tin
Are delivered with deference to the sacrificial plate.

Plum jam, home-made with love and care
Awaits to have after the feeding of the fowls.
Served on toast where all the seeds are there;
It’s good, I’m told, for the movement of my bowels.

Hot, black and syrupy, perhaps excessively so:
Espresso in a china cup of purest of white.
However else the day may come or go,
There’s some consolation that it started right.

Who is that in the mirror? Watching me
Prepare to lather a stranger’s face?
Grey hair, wrinkles and sagging skin sting me
With the truth about time’s relentless forward pace.

Against a wealth of previous experience
I check the to see what is happening in the news.
The basic stories have a strange intransience,
Just the names are changed, and the locations too.

A mug of coffee, the second one for the day,
Goes with me as I go to see how the garden sits.
New weeds, new flowers, new growth and decay;
Insects and possums vie for the most tender bits.

Warm, succulent, juicy and red
Satsumas that survived the possum horde
Are a plum prize of the fruitful garden bed,
Some are eaten fresh, the rest are stored.

In the garden, plants get gently squeezed:
Geraniums, basil, mints and verbenas;
The heady aromas so rudely released
Transport your mind to distant arenas.

As if in giant cobwebs, the grapes are draped
In netting, to deter the birds;
Last year not a single grape escaped
The rotten little pecking…um…herds.

My companion when prowling the garden
Is a pair of good, strong secateurs;
Prune hard and then beg a pardon
Works better than asking permission first.

Many years ago, when she was going into town,
My grandmother had a special city-only treat:
A pork and pineapple sandwich, white not brown,
From a small shop, just off Flinders Street.

In her memory, I made such a meal,
With some of the left over weekend roast,
It’s the closest I come to genealogical zeal,
And to my Granny, I raised a silent toast.

Forty expected today, quite unpleasantly hot;
That’s one oh four in the old Fahrenheit scale.
Air-conditioned, the cinemas seem just the spot
To escape from reality, in all it’s over heated detail.

Meryl, as always, was right on the mark
But pools of light flicker as cell phones intrude
And strangers beside me, crunched stuff in the dark;
Is two hours too long to go without food?

We exit from our dark and plush cocoon
Into a seething whirlpool of humanity.
I feel out of place in this mad cartoon
And leave at once, to protect my sanity.

The day has knocked the plants around:
The hydrangeas are hit quite hard,
The lettuce lies limply on the ground
And the raspberries, crisp and scarred.

Salvias are upright and enjoy the heat;
Cold drinks do a roaring trade;

The driveway cooks unwary feet

And open-beaked birds stand in the shade.

Zucchinis, known as courgettes to some,
Grow faster than you can collect them.
But it doesn’t take long for the welts to come
If I handle them without protection.

Cold and amber, the tall glass is dewed

With beads of condensed appreciation;

Beer that has been so carefully brewed
Is an elixir, deserving heartfelt adulation.

At the end of the day when the work is done
Few rewards will so wash your dusty cares away
As a cold beer; sometimes even more than one
If it has been an overly dusty care-filled day.

The evening is hot, the mercury yet to fall
Relief in rain, we are told, is on the way.
The Bureau is 60% confident in it’s call
But, disbelieving, I water the garden anyway.

Out for a walk, beneath twilight skies,
I greet passing strangers with a cheerful ‘Hi!’.
Some respond with a start, as if caught by surprise,
While others avert their gaze and hurry by.

Tending to the charred offerings on the grill
Of a four-burner, gas-fired barbecue;
Gives man, the hunter, a throw-back thrill
And, as before, leaves the salads for his wife to do.

Mosquitoes announce their presence with a whine,
That turns sane people into anxious self-hitters.
There are those who swear on Intelligent Design
But none give a reason for these sucking little critters.

A quartet treacles through the night,
Playing Mozart, with mathematical precision.
The music is a sublime delight,
An escape from reality’s mundane prison.

The gentle caresses in familiar places;
The discarding of clothes that encumber;
The culmination in a loving embrace,
A genital sneeze and then so to slumber.

The rain does come, in the middle of the night,
The air is of the earth, a sense of life on-going.
The patter on the roof is a visceral delight
And the storage tanks are overflowing.
.

The house is now quiet, darkly, softly so;
A clock marks the measured steps of time.
The moon casts a timid, tentative glow;
And somewhere a possum eats my vines.

---  

CCLXX - It's déjà vu all over again.

2011-12-31T23:34:00.001+11:00

Best wishes for the New Year.

It’s déjà vu all over again.

And so we end another year
Whether we’ve advanced is far from clear
While most things were not as we feared,
It’s déjà vu all over again.

Chorus

Don’t you worry, it’s all the same;
History plays repetitive games.
Study the past, it’s very clear
What was past will reappear
With the same story, just different names,
Different names,
With the same story, just different names,

The Arabs had their cliché-ed springs
The Iraqis saw what democracy brings,
And Egypt on a knife edge swings,
It’s déjà vu all over again.

Chorus

Climate Change a political stone,
While storms and floods have only grown
The establishment prefers not to know
It’s déjà vu all over again.

Chorus

Royal weddings kept the media frisky,
News Limited tactics were more than risky,
And Kim Jong-il has forsaken whiskey
It’s déjà vu all over again.

Chorus

An enemy of the state was eliminated,
A computer guru was venerated
And the Japanese were irradiated
It’s déjà vu all over again.

Chorus

So what will we see in the year ahead?
Who will survive, who will be dead?
Can’t but praise the guy who said:
It’s déjà vu all over again.

Chorus

---  

CCLXIX - Once upon some time or other

2011-12-27T11:18:00.001+11:00

Sunday Scribblings had a topic 'Fairytale'.

Once upon some time or other

Once upon some time or other
There was a very hassled mother;
Her kids had not done what she had said
And so were packed off to their bed.

“We cannot sleep”, the kids did wail
And demanded she read a bedtime tale.
She briefly considered trying to sing it
But had no books, so had to wing it.

“Once upon a time”, her story went,
“Cock Robin was killed with mean intent;
He had built a sweet house, made of straw
And the poor old lion had a thorn in its paw.

He ate the tarts that were really the Queen’s
And sold the cow for only three beans
He cut off its tail with a carving knife,
Because living in a shoe was a wretched life.

A scheming wolf then knocked at the door
While Cinderella swept up the floor.
Jack fell down and broke his crown
And the rats all followed him out of town.

The witch rubbed her hands with some glee
As the King called out to his fiddlers three;
The frog, it did a wooing go,
Its fleece, it was as white as snow.

But when she got there the cupboard was bare
And told her to let down her golden hair,
But Jack and Jill were only good friends
And they lived happily ever after. The end.”

It sleep was the goal, it failed to work
The kids had gone beyond berserk
“This is not right” they yelled with a noise
And pelted their mother with their toys.

“Tough titties, you little swine” she cried
“I did my best, I really tried.
If you didn’t like it, it’s no fault of mine
I’m off to have a mug of wine.”

“Wait! Wait! Mother, not so fast,
We think your version quite a blast!
But you left out the Dukes ten thousand men
So, please, say it over once more again.”

---  

CCLXVIII - Twas the day after Christmas

2011-12-26T10:25:00.000+11:00

Sunday Scribblings had a topic 'Festive'.

Twas the day after Christmas

‘Twas the day after Christmas, and not hard to guess,

The adults were exhausted and the house was a mess,

The fridge was full of enough leftover gear

To feed a small village for the best part of a year.

All of the women and a few of the males

Were up at dawn to go off to the sales.

They don't need the items on display

But don't like to think that 'one got away'.

The spiritually inclined still long to be blessed,

So flocked, en mass, to the Boxing Day test.

There the priests of Cricket will bowl and strike

To show the faithful what an eternity’s like.

We are told that humans have what it takes

To grow and learn from past mistakes

But the case for such change is far from clear

When we just go and repeat it the following year.

---  

CCLXVII - Listen Up, Fat Man

2011-12-18T18:45:00.000+11:00

One Minute Writer had a topic "Santa"
The image is a modified Norman Rockwell.

Listen up, Fat Man.

Don’t give me sock or hankies,

Forget about the books,

I have no need for power tools,

Leaf blowers are for sooks.

I have a phone and need no more

My kitchen is well kitted,

The sweaters have been well and good

But very few have fitted.

It’s not that I’m not grateful,

There is just nothing that I plead for:

I have not the slightest interest

In things I have no need for.

If I really must have a list

Of things to send my way:

How about an equal world

Where all can have a say?

Is a well managed planet

Beyond your elfish crew?

Resources should belong to all

And not just the selfish few.

And wars give me the irrits,

They are never ever right;

Kindly ditch all politicians

Who send our youth away to fight.

My last wish is a cheeky one,

And would let you retire your sleigh:

Could rid us of religion?

That would truly make my day.

---  

CCLXVI - Pooh is high.

2011-12-13T21:12:00.001+11:00

.Mad Kane has a regular limerick challenge.

She provides the first line, the rest is up to us.

While I believe a limerick should be risqué,

I played this one straight.

A bear who was terribly high
Regretted his decision to fly.
“While it is rather sunny,
There’s an absence of hunny,
And the bees are in oversupply."

---  

CCLXV - The Joy of Playing Hard To Get

2011-12-11T11:24:00.001+11:00

Sunday Scribblings had a topic 'Joy'.

The Joy of Playing Hard To Get.

Most people have the wrong idea
About joy and how to find it.
Very few know what it is
And fewer still defined it.

Some think it's on the golf course,
Others in a grandchild on the knee,
Some take to writing poems,
Others search beside the sea.

Some think it found in chemicals
Of confectionery, drink or pills;
Others look for it in adrenalin
That fuels their need for thrills.

Advertisers, of course, sell the line
That you life is dull and grey
Unless you eat their products
Or drive their car away.

But joy is a mixed up mugger,
Hidden where you can’t detect it,
But leaps out and then rewards you
When you least of all expect it.

Searching for joy is pointless,
A misguided thing to do;
Set your heart on contentment
And let joy come looking for you.

---  

"Happiness is like a butterfly:

the more you chase it, the more it will elude you,

but if you turn your attention to other things,

it will come and sit softly on your shoulder."

- Thoreau

CCLXIV - A Girl Who Was Frequently Prone.

2011-12-11T10:58:00.001+11:00

.Mad Kane has a regular limerick challenge.

She provides the first line, the rest is up to us.

A girl, who was frequently prone,

Was amazed how her business had grown.

“I’m flat out at work”

She said with a smirk,

“I’m helping the wild oats to be sown.”

◊◊◊

A girl, who was frequently prone,

Was seldom in that position alone.

“Most, of course,

Prefer intercourse,

But others are happy to be blown.”

---  

CCLXIII - Le gros mort

2011-12-04T09:52:00.001+11:00

.Mad Kane has a regular limerick challenge.

She provides the first line, the rest is up to us.

A fellow whose last dime was spent
On a night with a woman-to-rent,
At the orgasmic crest,
Had a cardiac arrest:
“He came and, then sadly, he went.”

---  
© 2011 J Cosmo Newbery
---

CCLXII - Worldwide Fame

2011-11-06T15:57:00.003+11:00

.Mad Kane has a regular limerick challenge.

She provides the first line, the rest is up to us.

A fellow was famous worldwide
For the women he took in his stride.
He’d woo them and bed them
But certainly not wed them:
He just went along for the ride.

A fellow was famous worldwide
For a habit that few could abide.
While he insisted it legal
To have sex with a beagle
It’s now up to a judge to decide.

A woman was famous worldwide
For a coat that was made from the hide
Of a husband she’d caught
In a naked cavort
With a saucy little piece on the side.

---  
© 2011 J Cosmo Newbery
  ---

CCLXI - Nightfall

2011-10-31T09:59:00.004+11:00

Nightfall
Halloween 2011

The Atheist and the Satanist
Were standing toe to toe.
‘Twas the hallowed evening
When the devils do their show;
One there couldn’t grasp it,
The other wouldn’t let it go.

Said the Satanist to the Atheist
“I can scare you from your shoes;
I can bring forth all the nasties
With blood and gore and ooze;
I can pile them up in front of you,
If you even flinch, you lose.”

The Atheist sighed and looked most sad
“I’ve said it before, I’ll say it again:
There is no need for your deathly lot
To ride screaming through the glen:
There’s a surplus of evil in this world,
Already in the mind of men.

But all that being said and done,
I don’t mind the ghoulish rally.
It’s amusing on a quiet night
When there’s not a lot on telly
And, just between the two of us,
I have a passion for green jelly."

---  
© 2011 J Cosmo Newbery
  ---

CCLX - Telling Tales

2011-10-28T09:25:00.002+11:00

.Mad Kane has a regular limerick challenge.

She provides the first line, the rest is up to us.

A woman who was telling a tale
In breathless and intricate detail
Turned quite blue
Before it was through
As she completely forgot to exhale.

◊◊◊

A fellow who was telling a tale
Of his prowess as a virile young male
Found his nose growing longer
Than his pitiful donger:
A lesson to all who drink ale.

---  
© 2011 J Cosmo Newbery
  ---

CCLIXe - The Good Ship : Fit the Fifth

2011-10-23T16:51:00.007+11:00

This is the fifth part of a five-part post. The first part is here.

The Good Ship
An Agony in five Fits.

Fit the Fifth

They sought it with spreadsheets, they sought it with guile
They pursued it without any pity;
They had countless reviews that, once in a while,
Resulted in another committee.

◊

The ocean was red, there was a fearful rip,
The water was full of wrecks;
Strange creatures swam around the ship
With long and scaly necks.

“Rise to the occasion!” the Captain cried
“We’ll give our foe a beating!
Into the jaws of calamity we’ll ride
But first we’ll hold a meeting.”

The Bosun took the minutes, the Captain took the floor,
“I admit that things are looking rather choppy.
But don’t take notes, I have an electronic whiteboard
And can give you all a copy.”

“You plan looks fine, as far as it goes”
Said the Fool, who knew a thing or two.
“If it has a flaw, it is that it truly shows
That you really need some crew.”

Now, finally sensing the coming disaster,
The Captain went down below
And return to the deck with the Trader
And cried “Row, you bastard row!”

(solo)

The Captain prowls the ship at night
But all the crew have taken flight,
We are the Ghost Ship
The served up on toast ship,
Could the last one out dim the lights.
The lights,
Could the last one out dim the lights?

◊◊◊

Epilogue

Thus I woke from my troubled sleep;
It had truly been a dream, most strange.
I marveled that my brain would keep
Such nonsense, within its range.

Surely such a story is fiction at best,
With no chance of it being true?
I cleared my mind of the whole silly mess
And bid the mad dream ‘adieu’.

La Fin.

---  
© 2011 J Cosmo Newbery
  ---

CCLIXd - The Good Ship : Fit the Fourth

2011-10-23T16:50:00.005+11:00

The Good Ship
An Agony in five Fits.

Fit the Fourth

They sought it on bridges, they sought it with charts
They even used pivot tables.
They dissected it into it’s component parts
But then could not read any of the labels.

◊

They sailed away for a week and a day
‘Til the landscape looked familiar to some.
It seems they had sailed in a circular way
And were back where they started from.

I think we’re in trouble, the Captain confessed
From the bubbles within his bath.
“Contact Admiralty, send a request
For a pilot to plot our path”.

A pilot in a kilt was reserved
To steer them through the seas.
While no-one heard what he observed,
They all admired his knees.

The Pilot said “I know the way
To reach the Promised Land”
But if the Captain cared he didn’t say
And dismissed him out of hand.

“My lot in life’s is to pilot ships
You’ve a need for me no more”
So he hitched his kilt to his boney hips
And waded to the shore.

They hoisted the sails high up the mast
And sailed on for a day or two.
The Captain turned to the Trader and asked
“Um…does this place look familiar to you?”

(duet)

No-one knows why we’re here
And how to sail is far from clear
We are the Good Ship
The misunderstood ship
And no-one knows how to steer.
To steer,
And no-one knows how to steer.

(Continued here)

---  
© 2011 J Cosmo Newbery
  ---

CCLIXc - The Good Ship : Fit the Third

2011-10-23T16:48:00.004+11:00

The Good Ship
An Agony in five Fits.

Fit the Third

They sought it with discounts, they tried the hard sell,
They promised the earth and sky
What worked so well when put in Excel
In reality, could never fly.

◊

The Purser called a meeting, there was panic in his eyes,
“From the books, I present my findings:
The budget’s shot: our costs are on the rise
And our income is dead, flat-lining.

The Trader said “Oh Captain my dear,
It’s been months since I sold, it’s true,
But you could save a lot of money , it’s clear,
If you reduced the size of the crew.

“But good crew are so hard to find”
The Fool muttered to himself.
The Master woke and brief opined:
“Bah! You can get them off the shelf!”

“Sack some crew”, the Trader said,
“They’re a dime a dozen if we need some more!”
Offended, some jumped overboard
And swam off to the shore.

“But”, said the Fool, “and I’ve said it oft before”,
You’ve trimmed well beyond the fat.
The muscle’s gone and the carcass is raw.
You wont get far with that.

With the crew now reduced to three
The ship went nowhere fast.
It sat in the waters of a red ink sea
While others sailed on past.

Chorus

Perhaps we’re abandoned, perhaps we’re cursed,
It’s hard to tell which one is worst,
We are the Good Ship
The misunderstood ship
But we are either stopped or in reverse.
Reverse.
We are either stopped or in reverse.

(Continued here)

---  
© 2011 J Cosmo Newbery
  ---

CCLIXb - The Good Ship : Fit the Second

2011-10-23T16:46:00.008+11:00

The Good Ship
An Agony in five Fits.

Fit the Second

They sought it in spats, They lured it with wheat
They hunted it beyond the square
They looked where they had looked only last week
And were amazed that it still wasn’t there.

◊

Admiralty sent a message trough
With some cheese and buttered snails.
“Go north without any further ado,
It’s time to hoist your sails.”

The Fool said “But it’s beyond our borders
The Purser feared the cost
The Captain said “I have my orders
The Crew cried out “We are lost!”.

The Trader was just tickled pink
For she secretly knew the worst:
That she couldn't sell an icy drink
To someone with a thirst.

The Captain was oblivious to what was in his hold
But from his act you couldn’t tell it.
The Trader knew but never told
In case she had to sell it.

The Fool said to the Trader one day
“Pray, what is it that you sell?”
“This ship” she said in an off hand way
“Is not provisioned well.” 

“The hold is full of corn and wheat
But I want to sell black beans.
And I am sure that my books would look so sweet
If we traded salad greens.”

“But”, said the Fool, “if our cargo is wheat and corn,
Shouldn’t we be trading that?”
The Trader sneered and replied with scorn:
“Trust me, I know where the market’s at.”

Chorus

We sail in search of figures in black
We zig, we zag, we jibe and tack.
We are the Good Ship
The misunderstood ship
For every step forward we take two back.
Two back
For every step forward we take two back.

(Continued here)

---  
© 2011 J Cosmo Newbery
  ---

CCLIXa - The Good Ship : Fit the First

2011-10-23T16:42:00.004+11:00

It is human nature to imagine the real when there is only the imaginary.
Any resemblance of the characters in this tale to other people, living, dead, real or imaginary,
is purely co-incidental.

Illustrations: Antonella Castelli tarot cards.

The Good Ship
An Agony in five Fits.

Prologue

I had been reading the Snark,
Carroll’s great tale,
The day had gone, it was quite dark,
It seems I’d drunk a little ale…

A wave of weariness filled my head
And, with no need for counting sheep,
I lay my head upon the bed
And drifted off to sleep.

And as in uffish sleep I slept
A dream most odd unrolled.
I give you now what my memory’s kept
Before the tale gets cold.

Fit the First

They sought it with razors, they sought it with pens
They chased it with a baguette
They cornered it every now and then
But it always slipped their net.

◊

The Captain was the dogged type,
With scowl and under-bite.
Much of what he said was tripe
But, as Captain, always right.

He seemed to be unduly scared
Of any knowledge transfers
He’d ask questions, as if he really cared,
But never listened to the answers.

The Bosun was the nominal head
And prayed five times a day.
No-one understood a word he said
And preferred it stay that way.

The Purser kept the cash required,
His smile as sweet as honey.
He said they could buy as they desired,
As long as they spent no money.

The Master’s job was to tend to the crew
To see them properly fed
But seems at a loss to know what to do
And spent all day in bed.

The Trader was always beautifully dressed
In clothes from the Italian spring.
She look so good that no-one guessed
That she had never sold a thing.

The ship had a Fool, a harmless buffoon,
Who watched the charade with dismay
He’d rant at length on a warm afternoon
But they turned their heads away.

Chorus

The ship is full of poor lost souls
No-one here knows their roles
We are the Good Ship
The misunderstood ship
Our sails are up but full of holes,
Full of holes.
Our sails are up but full of holes,

(Continued here)

---  
© 2011 J Cosmo Newbery
  ---

Off to far flung places

2011-10-10T12:03:00.001+11:00

.

Packed my job in on Friday. Got home to find an email from a competitor saying 'Give us a call'. What have I got to loose?

Off for a quickish trip to Europe (London & Prague) tonight (Monday, Australian time. Make your own time adjustments.).

See you in a fortnight.

Can you write a limerick about beer and dumplings? We'll see.

Play nicely while I'm away.

...

CCLVIII - A Hard Case

2011-10-09T10:44:00.002+11:00

.Mad Kane has a regular limerick challenge.

She provides the first line, the rest is up to us.

A harlot at work on a case
Got splinters in her pretty pink base,
“When a guy wants a quickie
You can’t be too picky
And there was really no other place.”

---  
© 2011 J Cosmo Newbery
  ---

CCLVII - Love Bite

2011-10-04T19:58:00.003+11:00

.Mad Kane has a regular limerick challenge.

She provides the first line, the rest is up to us.
This is a third go at the previous prompt.

A guy in the mood for a bite
Wears a cape and travels by night.
There’s a cave where he hangs
And polishes his fangs
While dreaming of necks that excite.

---  
© 2011 J Cosmo Newbery
  ---

CCLVI - Finely hewn fragment

2011-10-03T20:13:00.004+11:00

This was written as part of something else
But that something never progressed.
Might as well put it up here until I need it.

The pride of his manhood, finely hewn,
Was enough to make a young girl swoon:
He was hung like a bull,
And their gravitational pull
Disturbed the path of the moon,
The moon,
Disturbed the path of the moon.

---  
© 2011 J Cosmo Newbery
  ---

CCLV - Light diet

2011-10-03T06:30:00.002+11:00

.Mad Kane has a regular limerick challenge.

She provides the first line, the rest is up to us.
This is a second go at the previous prompt.

A guy in a mood for a bite
Ate a candle and half a flashlight
"I’m on a new diet,
I urge you to try it
Now I’m lighter but not very bright."

---  
© 2011 J Cosmo Newbery
  ---

CCLIV - Once bitten

2011-10-02T20:19:00.003+11:00

.Mad Kane has a regular limerick challenge.

She provides the first line, the rest is up to us.

A guy in the mood for a bite
Asked a girl if she’d stay for the night.
She said “I won’t quibble,
Whether a bite or a nibble,
But that’s all you be getting tonight.”

---  
© 2011 J Cosmo Newbery
  ---

CCLIII - Flash Gordon

2011-09-25T08:59:00.002+10:00

One Minute Writer had a topic "Flash"
I have continued my limerick phase...

Flash Gordon

A habit that most would deplore
Just brings Gordon right back for some more;
He gets his pleasures
By displaying his treasures
To the commuters on the 8:44.

---  
© 2011 J Cosmo Newbery
  ---

CCLII - The Nude and the Elephant

2011-09-22T21:30:00.004+10:00

Red Dirt Girl put up some photos that were in search of a limerick.
How could I not oblige?

The elephant thought the guy cute
As he stood naked in front of the brute.
"But your trunk is so small,
It's of no use at all
For jobs like picking up fruit."

A lady who was pubicly cleared
Lamented "It's just as I feared.
The absence of hair
(Despite a cute pair)
Tends only to attract the quite weird.

---  
© 2011 J Cosmo Newbery
  ---

CCLI - Streaker

2011-09-19T22:51:00.005+10:00

.Mad Kane has a regular limerick challenge.

She provides the first line, the rest is up to us.
I got overly excited and did three.

A girl who was fast on her feet
Would streak every day down the street
The men were delighted
But the women were united
In calling her far from discrete.

◊◊◊

A girl who was fast on her feet,
Outran all the guys, when on heat.
“As much as I enjoy
A romp with a boy
I don’t want to be out on the street”.

◊◊◊

A girl who was fast on her feet
Was at port to welcome the fleet
This speedy young beauty
Thought it her duty
To discharge any sailor she’d meet.

---  
© 2011 J Cosmo Newbery
  ---

CCL - A Different Day

2011-09-18T15:32:00.004+10:00

One Minute Writer had a topic "Day".

A Different Day

When the days are long and dragging
When you wonder why you’re there;
When the work they have you doing
Leaves you tearful with despair,
When it all seems bloody heartless
It’s time to quit your chair.

When they ask you to perform
Tasks, for you, unfairly borne,
When you lie awake at night
But dread the coming of the morn,
The obscenity’s in the detail
Of this corporate form of porn.

When the night of life is darkest,
And your sleepless heart just aches,
The new day dawns with promise
And forgives us our mistakes,
For, when the sun breaks through the clouds,
Oh, what a day a difference makes.

---
 © 2011 J Cosmo Newbery 
---

CCXLIX - How can you love an FTE?

2011-09-17T16:43:00.005+10:00

The company I work for does not have employees,
It has FTEs: Full-Time Equivalents.

How can you love an FTE?

How can you love an FTE?
They’re cold and feel no pain.
They’re numbers on a spreadsheet,
An annoying financial drain.

How can you love an FTE?
They make us lots of money, yes,
But we could make a squillion more
If we could pay the bastards less.

How can you love an FTE?
A misplaced socialist ardor;
Money’s there if you sack a few
And worked the others harder.

How can you love an FTE?
A nuisance that encumbers;
Can they really have emotions
When they’re really only numbers?

How can you love an FTE?
It’s not as if they’re real
With wives and lives and puppy dogs
Who love and live and feel.

How can you love an FTE?
You can’t that’s very clear.
They are numbers on a spreadsheet,
So just forget them, that’s a dear.

◊◊◊

Optional last verse.

There’s no way to love an FTE,
That’s how they’ve been designed.
They’re pawns in a grubby chess game,
And to that I’m now resigned.

---
 © 2011 J Cosmo Newbery 
---

And, yes, I have resigned.
...

CCXLVIII - Rondo

2011-09-13T06:46:00.004+10:00

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

A guy who was covered in sweat
Had made love to a Beethoven quartet.
The allegro was fine,
The pizzicato divine,
But the finale he'd rather forget.

---
 © 2011 J Cosmo Newbery 
---

CCXLVII - The Bone Filter

2011-09-11T10:52:00.004+10:00

Theme Thursday's theme last Thursday was "Communication".

The Bone Filter

We humans are a most social lot
And words are there to drive us.
They help us rally ‘round our tribe
And let our knowledge out-survive us.

But communication, like all human skills,
Is spread both thin and thick;
Some can paint a dream with words
While others hit you with a brick.

Despite the varied rhetorical skills
We use in verbal clinches,
It’s not really a communication
Until it’s past the last four inches.

But even then survival’s slim,
In the realm beyond the ears;
Communication’s not what you say,
But what the hearer hears.

In the bony recesses of the mind,
All inputs are there inspected,
Through prisms, lens and filters,
To be taken in or off-handedly rejected.

And so our civilization will progress
On what we think we thought we heard;
Sadly, invariably, we will get it wrong,
And, for that, you can take my word.

---
 © 2011 J Cosmo Newbery 
---

CCXLVI - Rough drop

2011-09-10T18:35:00.003+10:00

Mad Kane has a regular limerick challenge.
She provides the first line, the rest is up to us.
Here is another effort for the previous prompt:

A fellow was trying to dine
But lamented the taste of the wine.
The flavour, he said,
Was of something long dead,
And that death was far from benign.

---
 © 2011 J Cosmo Newbery 
---

CCXLV - First Course Entree.

2011-09-06T20:43:00.002+10:00

Mad Kane has a regular limerick challenge.
She provides the first line, the rest is up to us.
Here is my effort for this week:

A fellow was trying to dine
When his wife proposed they recline.
Being on a winner,
He postponed his dinner,
An arrangement that suited just fine.

---
 © 2011 J Cosmo Newbery 
---

CCXLIV - The Hotel

2011-09-04T14:44:00.004+10:00

With another visit to The Harbour City this week, a reflection on the dubious pleasures of hotels.
I much prefer rhyming poetry. This hybrid is the furthest I get away from it
but it seemed to reflect the staccato nature of hotel life, for those on the road.
A tedium not usually seen by dewy-eyed tourists.

The Hotel

Sterile places.
Vacant faces.
Foyer spaces .
Fully devoid of any affection.

Disconnection.
Disinfection.
Introspection.
Sigmund Freud
Could be employed
Full time basis.
Manual erection,
Endless cases.
Cold embraces.
Lack of graces.

Life in bags.
Night-time drags.
Past the panes,
The city races
And life remains.
The sounds of cars,
The hoot of trains,
But not of faces;
Contained but very much alone.
Room service that comes,
By the phone,
Jars
And leaves its traces
Of our needs, unmet
By mini-bars.

Showers you can’t fit in,
Seats you cannot sit in,
Little blocks of soap.
One blanket, polyester.
The air-conditioner’s dead,
A small and lumpy bed.
Sleep’s a forlorn hope.
The TV shows are a rehashing
Of drama, crime and sex molesters.
The bed will cross the floor
If you lean against the wall.
Clock displays are flashing,
If they even work at all

Noisy plumbing
In the night
From neighbours
And the water.
From the calls,
Through the walls,
Someone’s delight
Really might
Be a little shorter.
Or more quiet.

Fitful sleep
With little rest.
Up and dressed
In workplace best
Fed and keen to go.
Last inspection,
Pack the bags,
Check the room,
Take the lift,
Cross the void,
Past the waiting
Anxious eyes.
If you’re wise.
Time to check out
Then to step out
With no adieu.

Into the sun.
Or the rain

Either will do.
And be enjoyed.

---
 © 2011 J Cosmo Newbery 
---

CCXLIII - Fall from Grace

2011-08-22T06:32:00.003+10:00

Mad Kane has a regular limerick challenge.
She provides the first line, the rest is up to us.
Here are my efforts this week:

A fellow who tended to brag
Was proud of the balls in his bag.
He'd invite all the girls
To handle his pearls
And was distressed when they started to sag.

◊◊◊

Or then there could be this:

A woman who tended to brag
Of her quest for a mind-blowing shag
Got the full attention
Of the male extension,
But none could perform in the bag.

---
 © 2011 J Cosmo Newbery 
---

CCXLII - As game as they come.

2011-08-14T17:19:00.003+10:00

Mad Kane has a regular limerick challenge.
She provides the first line, the rest is up to us.
Here are my efforts this week:

A woman who always seemed game
Developed spots with a long Latin name.
She got infected
After sex unprotected;
But was at a loss to know who to blame.

---
 © 2011 J Cosmo Newbery 
---

CCXLI - Money Honey

2011-08-14T09:21:00.002+10:00

Mad Kane has a limerick, starting with the first line,
"A man who was free with his money".

Here is my slant on it:

A man who was free with his money
Attracted the wrong sort of honey.
Without much ado
She poisoned his stew;
His last words were “Tastes a bit funny…”

---
 © 2011 J Cosmo Newbery 
---

CCXL - The Question

2011-08-13T17:09:00.002+10:00

Magpie Tales had the above painting as a prompt.

The Question

Life is rewarding, have no doubt:
Fortune favours the brave.
With trembling voice the words came out.
Would she give him what he craved?

“You want what?” she cried aghast,
“We hardly even kissed!
There are many things I’d do if asked
But that’s not on my list!”

“On this I must be very firm:
Your head is full of rocks.
Life is far too short a term
To spend it darning socks.”

---
 © 2011 J Cosmo Newbery 
---

CCXXXIX - Never Needle a Knitter

2011-08-07T17:23:00.003+10:00

Mad Kane has a regular limerick challenge.
She provides the first line, the rest is up to us.
Here are my efforts this week:

A man who was lacking in wit
Needled those who knew how to knit.
He did it too often
Now he lives in a coffin;
The details are in his obit.

A girl who was lacking in wit
Thought a penis was something that bit.
At the end of the night
She exclaimed with delight,
“It’s toothless! But it knows how to spit!”

---
 © 2011 J Cosmo Newbery 
---

CCXXXVIII - A Love-Smitten Guy.

2011-08-01T13:43:00.005+10:00

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

A love smitten guy was irate
When he found his sweet love in a state
Politely described
As ‘over imbided’
And in bed with the coxless eight*.

◊◊◊

A love-smitten guy was irate
That his member refused to inflate.
The eye of his affection
Consoled his dejection
But privately said it was great.

---
 © 2011 J Cosmo Newbery 
---

*For the technically minded (= pedantic) a rowing eight is never coxless,
but what is the use of poetry if you can't use poetic licence?
...

CCXXXVII - The Letters

2011-08-01T09:06:00.003+10:00

Theme Thursday had a prompt: Letter

The Letters

The yellowing letters, ribbon bound,
Lived in the top drawer, beside her bed.
Read and re-read, she always found
Comfort and solace in what they said.

He wrote of his love, forever burning,
He wrote of their lives, forever entwined,
He wrote with passion and an inner yearning,
She always blushed when she read those lines.

Margin notes embellished the pages,
Here and there a flower was pressed,
The letters talked from across the ages
Of a love that failed to be suppressed.

He went to the war, now always apart,
But, in his letters, he returns his heart.

---
 © 2011 J Cosmo Newbery 
---

CCXXXVI - The Bike

2011-07-31T10:52:00.003+10:00

Magpie Tales had the above poster as a prompt.

The Bike

In a thin gown,
She rode through the town,
And declared that it gave her a thrill.

She didn’t straddle
But rode it side-saddle
A trick that only works down hill.

She took great delight
To ride in sunlight
But exposed her breasts when it was shady.

While a bike is okay,
To be transported away
I’d much rather be riding the lady.

---
 © 2011 J Cosmo Newbery 
---

CCXXXV - Captivated

2011-07-17T09:32:00.007+10:00

Sunday Scribblings had a topic 'Captivate'.

Captivated

He loved her with a passion
That few could understand.
Such love is out of fashion,
It’s often even banned.

He loved her sparkling eyes,
He loved the way she sits,
He loved her inner thighs
And her pretty pinkish bits.

Her skin was smooth as plaster,
Her hair was golden-tressed,
He never thought to ask her
If he could watch as she undressed.

Did she know she had this beau?
That’s far from being certain
But the heartless little so-and-so
Turned and pulled the curtain.

---
 © 2011 J Cosmo Newbery 
---

CCXXXIV - In the mourning.

2011-07-16T16:49:00.002+10:00

One Minute Writer had a topic "Loss".

In the mourning.

You won me over when we met;
Your silver tongue and golden speech
Filled me with hope, a sense that change
Was really there, within our reach.

But now in the cold and morning light,
I see that it was but lust
And not providing a warm embrace
As a loving engagement must.

Two years on and we have more wars
And Guantanamo is still supported,
Bradley rots in a solitary cell
And cluster bombs are still exported.

Desire was there for better times
But moral issues have been evaded.
Israel continues to flout the law
And sovereign countries have been invaded.

My eyes are open to what I’ve lost,
It’s tomorrow and reality is dawning;
In black, I regret what could have been
And I don’t respect you, in the mourning.

---
 © 2011 J Cosmo Newbery 
---

CCXXXIII - Show Some Care

2011-07-10T10:27:00.003+10:00

One Minute Writer had a topic "Straw".
I had an urge to do a villanelle, a fairly structured poetic form.

Show Some Care

My back will break beneath the weight,
If you do not show some care;
Stop now, before it is too late.

The ‘things to do’ do not abate
But come to me, as I am there;
My back will break beneath the weight.

What does it matter to miss a date?
Better that than not even there.
Stop now, before it is too late.

Tasks are assigned without debate
And make me wish I wasn’t there:
My back will break beneath the weight

Why rush as a bull towards a gate?
Far better to think, be aware;
Stop now, before it is too late.

As the camel said “Don’t you dare
Put another straw up there.
My back will break beneath the weight
Stop now, before it is too late.”

---
 © 2011 J Cosmo Newbery 
---

CCXXXII - The Morning Light

2011-07-05T21:59:00.002+10:00

Magpie Tales had the above photo as a prompt.
I felt it deserved a rondeau.

The Morning Light

The morning light, like liquid gold,
Runs down the valley, to enfold
The field and farms and those within;
As thick as treacle, sweet as sin.
The sleepers wake and loath unfold,
To stretch and slow release their hold
Of night time lovers, young and old,
And rise, as dreaming, to step in
The morning light.

With inner warmth against the cold
They know how nature’s joy is told
The love of life is in their skin
A day must end and then begin
To greet once more thus behold
The morning light.

---
 © 2011 J Cosmo Newbery 
---

CCXXXI - The Green Grassy Patch

2011-07-04T13:35:00.001+10:00

The Green Grassy Patch

The forests are a shady and welcoming place
With glens and secretive clearings.
The green velvet looks
Of these grass-filled nooks
Make the woods all the more endearing,
Endearing,
Make the woods all the more endearing.

Deep in these woods, the birds would sing
Songs of the eggs they would hatch.
They would twitter above as
Some lust filled lovers
Looked for the perfect patch
Perfect patch
As they looked for the perfect patch.

They found a clearing away from the path,
Where no-one they felt would pass.
All that was left
When they redressed
Was an imprint of her bum in the grass,
In the grass,
Was in imprint of her bum in the grass.

Now, the birds of course had seen it before
This couple were far from the first.
But they sensed in the duet
That an egg had been set
They swelled with a pride that could burst
Could burst,
Swelled with a pride that could burst.

---
 © 2011 J Cosmo Newbery 
---

CCXXX - A Three-way Hitch

2011-07-03T12:31:00.003+10:00

Sunday Scribblings had a topic 'Hitch'.
Now, there are a number of possible meanings...

Three-way Hitch

A girl in the Shire,
Fancied the squire,
But, a hitch! He didn't want to date her.

So the little flirt
Hitched up her skirt
And encouraged him to mate her.

He swears he declined
To be so entwined
But they were hitched a few months later.

---
 © 2011 J Cosmo Newbery 
---

CCXXIX - Banana Risotto

2011-07-03T12:31:00.000+10:00

I was in Sydney a while ago and I swear I heard someone say ‘Banana Risotto’.
I looked up and it was two ladies, obviously talking in a foreign language.
It was just a coincidental sound alike. That grew into the following:

Banana Risotto.

Sardine doughnuts,
Frog filled snow huts,
Tree-lined pancakes,
Cross-eyed leaf rakes,
Purple ear-wax,
Strawberry thumbtacks,
Wooden lamb chops,
Caustic pet shops,
Rubber wombats,
Yoghurt hardhats,
Ginger shirtsleeves,
Grubby tea leaves,
Copper toupees,
Salty zoo days,
Orange birdcalls,
Feather words stalls,
Tit elation,
Mistranslation ,
Consternation.

---
 © 2011 J Cosmo Newbery 
---

Oh, the photo? Well, If you knew sushi, that way that I know sushi...

...

CCXXVIII - More Pete, more feet.

2011-07-03T10:21:00.004+10:00

While we are on Pete and his feet, Magpie Tales
had the above picture as a prompt.

There once was a mollusc, named Pete,
Whose stomach doubled up as his feet.
When the meal was quite grand
He could no longer stand
And had to look 'round for a seat.

---
 © 2011 J Cosmo Newbery 
---

CCXXVII - Taking Stock

2011-07-03T09:58:00.002+10:00

One Minute Writer had a topic "Stock"

Taking Stock

There once was a cook known as Pete
Who made soups for royalty to eat.
The foundation rock
Was a really good stock
In which he had washed his feet.

---
 © 2011 J Cosmo Newbery 
---

CCXXVI - Theatre

2011-06-13T09:15:00.005+10:00

One Minute Writer had a topic "Theatre"

Theatre

The world is full of action
With births and deaths and toil;
There’s people, fish and animals,
There’s water, wind and soil.

And as they go about their lives
In life’s maze of daily hedges,
I doubt they even notice me
Watching from the edges.

All the world’s a stage,
Said the Bard who said it all,
But I often feel I’m seated
In the back row of the stalls.

But don’t feel sorry for me,
In my dark, embracing hall;
The show I see before me
Continues to enthrall.

It’s just I do not feel
A member of the cast.
I’m just a curious bystander,
Watching them go past.

---
 © 2011 J Cosmo Newbery 
---

CCXXV - The Mahdi's Socks

2011-05-22T10:47:00.010+10:00

The Mahdi’s Socks

There was a Mahdi who ruled in Khartoum,
And had a cushion in the middle of the room,
From here he would command
Vast tracts of his land
And did it quite well, I assume.

Chorus
Scimitars swing, like scimitars do,
Slicing infidels, two by two,
Khartoum high street, the fields of Sudan,
The people all shout “the Mahdi’s our man”.

Foreign armies he knew how to handle
And ruled with an absence of scandals
But he caused regular dismay
To the press of the day
By wearing socks as well as his sandals.

Chorus

He was a fighter and answered that calling,
And the British received quite a mauling.
But as Gordon had said
Before losing his head,
(Pucker) He knows how to fight but his style is quite appalling.

Chorus

But while victories kept upping his stocks
The people still worshiped his socks,
“We prefer battle glory
To a social page story;
We don’t care if his fashion sense shocks.
.

Chorus.

---
 © 2011 J Cosmo Newbery 
---

CCXXIV - The Day That William Wed His Kate

2011-05-01T12:40:00.002+10:00

The Day That William Wed His Kate

It started early and finished late:
Coverage of the pathway to their fate,
With breathless stories of secret courting,
The day that William wed his Kate.

It was like a free hit for the fourth estate,
The media revelled in the wedding fete.
There was no other news worth reporting
The day that William wed his Kate.

There was no mention of climate debate
Nor the nasty moves of the tectonic plates,
Neither got the coverage that they deserved
The day that William wed his Kate.

Nor did the bids to kill heads of state
Supported, of course, with UN mandates,
And there was no word about oil reserves,
The day that William wed his Kate.

Yet millions of poor, condemned by fate,
Struggled to put some food on their plate.
The world was in a sorry mess,
The day that William wed his Kate.

But none of this could be equated
To the eager tension of those who waited.
All eyes were focussed on ‘that dress’,
The day that William wed his Kate.

The social columns were quick to relate
The lines of succession traditions dictate,
They were even trying to name the kids,
The day that William bed his Kate.

They entered the palace and closed the gate
A life in a glasshouse lay in wait,
I wouldn’t swap with them for quids,
The day that William wed his Kate.

---
 © 2011 J Cosmo Newbery 
---

CCXXIII - The Watcher

2011-04-26T08:31:00.003+10:00

Theme Thursday's theme last Thursday was "television".

The Watcher

I stayed at a hotel recently;
It had all the normal stuff
One needs to be quite comfortable,
No sense in living rough.

In the centre of the room,
On a cabinet of it’s own,
Was an enormous television,
With a remote beside the phone.

A brochure proudly told me
Of the shows of every kind
That I had the chance to choose between,
If feeling so inclined.

Four days later, as I packed my things,
Preparing to move on,
It stood there black and sulking
As I had never turned it on.

---
 © 2011 J Cosmo Newbery 
---

CCXXII - Ova done

2011-04-25T17:35:00.001+10:00

Magpie Tales had the above picture as a prompt.
I had a few ideas...

Ova done.

Oh, proteinaceous yellow goo,
The natural friend of wholemeal toast,
The white, of course, has merit too
But it is the runny yolk I like the most.

◊◊◊

Wanting reasons, mankind is cursed,
To ponder how some things begin.
But neither the chicken nor egg came first,
It was the rooster, with the cocky grin.

◊◊◊

Hope was in the young lad dawning;
Assuming acquiescence, he asked by and by –
“How do you like you eggs in the morning?”
“Unfertilised” was the curt reply.

---
 © 2011 J Cosmo Newbery 
---

CCXXI - Three Little Words

2011-04-25T09:31:00.002+10:00

Three Word Wednesday requires participants
to use the three words of the week in a composition.
The words this week were cleanse, knead and melt.

Three little words

The bath, the oils, the fire in place,
The music, the candles, the private space;
The delightful charms, seen and felt:
To cleanse, to knead, to slowly melt
Into the arms of a lover’s embrace.

---
 © 2011 J Cosmo Newbery 
---

CCXX - Misplaced Infusiasm

2011-03-27T10:38:00.003+11:00

One Minute Writer had a topic "Tea"

Misplaced Infusiasm

Tea drinkers are a diverse lot:
Jigglers, danglers and ceramic pots.
Some love to stew
Their herbal brew
While others would definitely not.

Some opt for China cups with class,
While others sip it from a glass.
There’s a profusion
Of different infusions,
The majority tasting like grass.

The purveyors of the dried leaf
Instil in their followers a belief
That the polyphenolics
Will make the tea-oholic’s
Stay on this planet quite long, not brief.

Thus buoyed with herbal enthusiasm
For their drug’s medicinal infusiasm
They look rather silly
As they gild the lily
And just add to the dietary confusiasm.

With a certainty that usually rankles
We are told, tea when drunk by the tank’ll,
Cure all known ills,
The pox and the chills,
And the spots that appear on your ankles.

Tea drinking has many who employ it
And, as a ritual, I’ve no wish to destroy it.
There’s a reason, I agree,
For partaking in tea:
You do it because you enjoy it.

---
 © 2011 J Cosmo Newbery 
---

CCXIX - A sonnet to a brilliant mind

2011-03-20T10:21:00.005+11:00

Australian Mensa has a poetry competition going at the moment.
The topic is 'Brilliance'. I probably wont submit this poem.

A sonnet to a brilliant mind.

There was no doubt that he was smart,
He clearly knew a thing or two.
He recited Latin off by heart
And knew the physics of the letter mu.

But our hero had a fatal trait,
Too common in those quite bright:
In finding fault and setting it straight,
Brilliance throws an unkind light.

He loved to take the pedant’s role
And publicly skewer the defenceless:
It got too much for one poor soul
Who turned and beat him senseless.

So now, beneath the daisies, in the danky peat
He instructs the little earthworms on the proper way to eat.

---
 © 2011 J Cosmo Newbery 
---

CCXVIII - It is quite large.

2011-03-14T09:03:00.004+11:00

Theme Thursday had a topic of "Space".
Sunday Scribblings had a topic of "Big".
This post is a collision of the two.
It started life as a rondeau but morphed due to rhyming issues.

It is quite large.

There is no doubt, it is quite large
And no-one seems to be in charge
Of this condensed cosmic place,
Hurtling through the depths of space.
They cannot even tell it’s shape,
Donut, disc or endless tape,
And that’s not for want of trying
But, of one thing, there’s no denying,
It is quite large.

In a contrary tale, somewhat taller
The world, I’m told, is getting smaller.
Yes, I’m sceptical, but that ain’t it:
I just wouldn’t want to have to paint it;
It is quite large.

---
 © 2011 J Cosmo Newbery 
---

CCXVII - All that glistens

2011-03-05T16:49:00.005+11:00

Been on the receiving end of a few senior management types recently;
the types who think that, because something looks good on a spreadsheet, it is good.
Even if the goals are contradictory.

All that Glistens

"We have a job for you:
We’re sure that you’re the man
To bring together opposites,
And on budget, if you can."

"We know it sounds impossible,
Combining scissors paper rocks,
But you can make it happen
If you think outside the box."

Oh, spare me from the platitudes
That stifle all debates,
Nothing is impossible
To the man who delegates.

The task, it is more difficult,
Far harder than he thinks;
A dead herring gleams in moonlight
But even so, it stinks.

---
 © 2011 J Cosmo Newbery 
---

CCXVI - Pleasures of the flesh.

2011-02-19T14:57:00.003+11:00

Pleasures of the Flesh

Alone in a hotel,
Far from home,
It’s common for passions,
Repressed, to roam.
Pleasures not often
Dished up at night
Tempt the traveller
With rare delights.
The heart has doubts
But the body has fewer
And readily succumbs
To this fleshy lure.
Temptation and doubt,
Each other derided,
But the conclusion
Was rather quickly decided:
I bought a pleasure,
Paid with cash,
Crumbed lamb cutlets,
Served with mash.

---
 © 2011 J Cosmo Newbery 
---

CCXV - A Cheeky Little Read

2011-02-13T09:45:00.002+11:00

Celia, at Fig Jam and Lime Cordial, asked us to say
what our favorite thing to read was.
Well, that's a given, surely!

A cheeky little read.

You can take your historic novels,
You can take your Mills & Boons
You can take your daily papers
With their dramas and cartoons.

Who cares who killed the Mocking Bird?
Or where lives the Great White Whale?
Or what shade of green the valley was?
Or how to cook with Tuscan kale?

Get rid of all that printed junk,
Piled up on coffee tables,
If you really want a gripping tale
You can’t go past wine labels.

There’s bountiful types of berries,
There’s the chocolate-melon discourse,
There’s the mystery of the sweaty saddle
When there’s no mention of a horse.

The labels tell an exciting tale
Of fine vintners and their must;
Afterwards you can drink the wine,
While books just gather dust.

---
 © 2011 J Cosmo Newbery 
---

CCXIV - The Judas Goat

2011-01-03T08:10:00.006+11:00

A friend and colleague has recently been told that he will be made redundant. But not yet.
In the mean time he must do nothing to startle the flock, keeping them happy and productive.

A ‘Judas Goat’ is a goat used at abattoirs to lead the sheep calmly to their death.

The Judas Goat

The Boss
I have to say, I’m sad to relate
We’re moving your job interstate.
But don’t feel sad or even blue,
Other will go as well as you.
Now, please go keep the place in order
Until we move across the border.

Chorus
He’s a Judas Goat and he has a way
Of making sheep think he’s okay.
He keeps them calm,
He soothes their nerves
And sees they’re fed and watered.
Then he takes his little flock of sheep
And leads them to be slaughtered.

The Boss
Please hang on, don’t run away
We need you to make the others stay.
We don’t want them making tracks
Until we’re ready to swing the axe.
And just to show you have our backing
We let you do the nasty sacking.

Chorus
He’s a Judas Goat and he has a way
Of making sheep think he’s okay.
He keeps them calm,
He soothes their nerves
And sees they’re fed and watered.
Then he takes his little flock of sheep
And leads them to be slaughtered.

The Boss
To try to make the whole thing fun
We’ll give you a bonus when it’s done.
Calling it ‘thirty pieces’ is rather rough,
We know redundancy can be tough,
We just want to show you that we care…

...you want me to put my money where?

---
 © 2011 J Cosmo Newbery 
---

CCXIII - In Praise of Killing Cats

2010-10-24T17:04:00.002+11:00

Sunday Scribblings has a topic today called 'Curious'.

In Praise of Killing Cats

I wont win the hearts of the pussiphiles,
Those lovers of all things kitty and catty;
Like scratching posts of carpet scraps,
I’ll find myself shredded and tatty.

But someone must say what needs to be said:
Our survival is a cause for despairing.
Children are masters of asking ‘why?’
But us adults have given up caring.

T’was curiosity that drove the great minds
To explore and to paint and discover.
Science presents as a loyal spouse
But, ever tempting, curiosity is your lover.

We must embrace curiosity passionately,
For the future will not be forgiving.
And, if we lose a cat or two along the way,
It’s not too high a price for living.

---
 © J Cosmo Newbery 
---

CCXII - Joyce Kilmer addresses a tomato...

2010-10-17T09:39:00.006+11:00

Sir Percy, as is his want, started a Tomato poem competition.
Here is an entry. There may be more...

Joyce Kilmer addresses a tomato…

I think that I shall never eat
A poem as a lunchtime treat.

A treat on whom my mouth is prest:
The tomato’s great (though second best).

A treat that’s filled with liquid sun,
When gently bitten, warm juices run.

A treat that slakes a summer’s thirst
(If the bird’s not found it first).

Upon whose flesh some salt is spread
And eaten with some crusty bread.

Poems are made by fools like me
But tomatoes are on toast for tea.

---
 © J Cosmo Newbery 
---

CCXI - A Lady addresses a tomato...

2010-10-15T18:07:00.003+11:00

Sir Percy, as is his want, started a Tomato poem competition.
Here is an entry. There may be more...

A Lady addresses a tomato...

Lovely tomato, to you I accede,
Let nothing consummation impede.
A gentle nibble on your cheek,
I tremble to your smooth physique...
Oh dear, it seems you've spilled your seed!

---
 © J Cosmo Newbery 
---

CCX - The Secret

2010-10-10T09:52:00.004+11:00

One Minute Writer had a topic "Secret"

The Secret

“Can I tell you a little secret?”
Oh, please don’t ask me that;
Am I expected to keep it a secret,
Safely beneath my hat?

A friend, let’s call her Maggie,
Relays secrets with great glee,
She says a secret stays a secret
If you tell no more than three.

She just loves to pass on secrets,
They’re a source of joy to her,
But she is far less understanding
If you spread some dirt on her.

Some people love the juicy gossip
Shared across a wall
But if you have some little secret
Please, don’t tell me at all.
---
 © J Cosmo Newbery 
---

CCIX- Regrets

2010-10-03T16:18:00.003+11:00

Regrets

When I am breathing my last,
Metered by things that ‘ping’,
With nurses pillowing up my head
And a teary family in a ring,

I wonder if I will have regrets about
The things I’ve filled my time?
Will I wish I’d learn to swim
Or written poems that didn’t rhyme?

Will I wish I’d eaten Brussels’ Sprouts
More frequently than I do?
Or wish I’d spent a little time
And learned to dance a step or two?

Will I wish I’d worked for longer hours
Or more weekends or nights?
Or wish I’d watched more daytime TV
Or attended boxing fights?

No, I’m sure there are some things
That will never be resented;
But not every call was a clear one
And you play the cards presented.

Hindsight is most hurtful thing,
A critic without care.
All choices I made were the right ones,
As I was actually there.

All I can do is minimize
The regrets of looking back,
As the line becomes a flat one
And the memory fades to black.

---
 © J Cosmo Newbery 
---

CCVII - Little Red Riding Hood

2010-09-05T09:35:00.003+10:00

Charles Perrault, the earliest known writer of Little Red Riding Hood,
explained the 'moral' at the end so that no doubt is left to his intended meaning:

From this story one learns that children, especially young lasses, pretty, courteous and well-bred, do very wrong to listen to strangers, And it is not an unheard thing if the Wolf is thereby provided with his dinner. I say Wolf, for all wolves are not of the same sort; there is one kind with an amenable disposition — neither noisy, nor hateful, nor angry, but tame, obliging and gentle, following the young maids in the streets, even into their homes.

Alas! Who does not know that these gentle wolves are of all such creatures the most dangerous!

Time to return to the original.
In verse, of course.

Little Red Riding Hood.

This is the tale of Red Riding Hood,
A little girl, so trusting and good;
She was pretty, she was sweet,
The nicest girl you ever could meet.

Her hair was golden, like ripened corn,
The sun shone from her, as from the dawn.
Admiring glances on her would linger
And she had her Granny wrapped ‘round her finger.

She often skipped through the woods
To visit Granny with a basket of goods.
The woodcutters told her to be alert
As wolves would be attracted to her skirt.

But, unconcerned, she tripped along
Singing a sweet little skipping song.
But, true enough, a wolf was lurking,
Watching her pass and evilly smirking.

Wolves are cunning and know shortcuts
Through the woods to Grandma’s huts.
The wolf barged in, intentions shady,
And was quick up and upon the lady.

He threw the remains into the shed
And clambered into the old dear’s bed
Just as Riding Hood knocked and entered.
As normal, the room was lavender scented.

But as she approached the Granny’s bed
Some questions were forming in the little girl's head.
“Granny, you’re tense, why aren't you relaxing?
And I think you are overdue for waxing!”

The wolf to stop her from retreating
Quickly threw off all the sheeting.
“Now”, he cried “There’s nothing between us!”
“Granny!” she shrieked “You’ve got a penis!”

And now we come to the tragic bit,
A wolf is a wolf and life is a shit,
And the hairy beast had it’s wicked way.
No woodcutters came to save this day.

There are do-gooders who, scared of offending,
Love to tack on a happy ending;
But morality tales should maintain their gory
Or risk losing the point of the tragic story.

---
 © J Cosmo Newbery 
---

CCVII - Emotional Food

2010-08-29T08:50:00.003+10:00

One Minute Writer had a topic "Write about a food that gives you a specific emotional response."
A limerick seems to be a good idea for something a bit risqué...

Emotional Food

There are many foods that emotionally sweeten
And make you feel good when they’re eaten;
But, for the food that permits
The best emotional hits,
Chocolate body-paint cannot be beaten.

---
© J Cosmo Newbery
---

CCVI - Not the full story

2010-08-08T12:59:00.006+10:00

I know of two folk, one family, one work, who ran off to be with someone that they met on-line.
Or thought they met of line. Sometimes you don't get the full story.

Not the full story.

Romeo
But soft! What sound from yonder PC beeps?
It is an email! My darling Jools has written!
It’s love poem, full of the sweetest words!
Oh, I swoon, with the heartache of the smitten.

Narrator
Look at him, dear reader, the poor fool
Is besotted by a woman who isn’t even there.
In his mind she lives, a peaches and cream concoction
With flowing long red hair.
She has legs that reach her armpits
And always wears white gloves.
Angels sing wherever she sits
And she’s attended to by doves.

Romeo
Oh, my head and heart are throbbing
and I’m losing all perspective;
A very different throb engulfs my loins
And it’s hard to remain objective.
O Jools, my dearest darling!
The angel of my nightly dream;
I long to clutch you to me
With nothing in between!

Narrator
Oh, if he could see her sitting there
In dressing gown and pink slippers,
She has an over abundance of body hair
And her breath is edged with kippers.
Her hair is done up in curlers,
There’s a tattoo on each breast,
One is a portrait of her first boyfriend,
The other, a group shot of the rest.

But time, dear friends, for a reality check,
Both sides are damaged stock.
Romeo is a bit loose with the truth
And Jools is in for a shock.
He said he carried a six-pack
And she dreamed of rippling abs
But the guy is just a truckie
With an overload of flab.
He works in a sweat-stained singlet
And trucks beer from place to place;
But at night he puts on lipstick,
High heels and black French lace.
He’s had a few relationships
But none of them took anchor;
Well, there was a goat called Suzie,
But she left him for a banker.

I can’t but dread the future
For this pair of lusty dears.
It can’t but end in tragedy:
There’ll be weeping, there’ll be tears.

Jools
Romeo, Romeo, where for art thee?
We’re a match well made in heaven.
Come, let’s run away my love,
On a scale of one to ten, I think you are eleven.

---
© J Cosmo Newbery
---

CCV - Tourists as Sheep

2010-08-01T04:44:00.000+10:00

Some people have more organised tours than others...

Tourists as Sheep

Carrying roses, they walk in a line,
Like sheep in a field, well crossed.
A plastic label displays their name,
In case the poor darlings get lost.

Orchestrated to the minute,
The group disappears afar.
Sipping beer from the side lines
I gently murmur ‘Baaa!’

---
© J Cosmo Newbery
---

CCIV - The Buffet of Pigs Invasion

2010-07-31T04:41:00.000+10:00

Buffets bring out the worst in people.

The Buffet of Pigs Invasion

In my mind I hear the voice over
Presented, in hushed and expectant tones,
A monologue on the tourist
As they migrate from their temporary homes.

“Look!” the voice is heard saying,
“Here they come! The herd in underway.
See how they traverse the forecourt
As they seek the nightly buffet!”

“See them lay claim to a table
Then dart off to scour the displays,
Circling around the all offerings
To find the picks of the day.

‘Everything looks so good’ they say
And pile it on their plate.
One can only hope that if they keep it up
They’ll be too fat to mate.

---
© J Cosmo Newbery
---

CCIII - The Round Ball

2010-07-30T04:34:00.000+10:00

The Round Ball

I thought, wrongly as it turns out,
That Castro’s island, blockaded and small
Would offer some protection
From the nonsense that is football.

“Where are you from?” the waiter asks.
My answer draws a look, half smirk half pity.
Obviously we are, in football terms,
Country kids, come to see the city.

But this to me is not a bad thing,
The sooner we’re are out, the better.
I have no time for the fretful press
With opinions, photos and letters.

Back home, I could see the headlines
As Rupert’s attack dogs would be let out:
Indignant, biting, vengeful;
And “Sack them all!” the pack will shout.

But late at night, down in the plaza,
Not far from our hotel room,
Happy kids kick a ball in the dust
As a band puts out a blues tune.

---
© J Cosmo Newbery
---

CCII- Praise to the Yak.

2010-07-29T04:31:00.000+10:00

We had an internal flight on a YAK 42 - the original white knuckle airline.

Praise to the Yak!

A yak is hairy, a yak is strong,
But a yak cannot fly for very long.
When a plane’s called a Yak, one wonders why
But who would have thought a jumbo could fly?

The Yak is a tribute to minimum specs,
The seats were all broken, the table’s Laminex.
The engines were rusty, in need of a fix
The hostess bit the heads of day old chicks.

The Yak is a plane, extremely Russian,
What it lacks in finesse, it makes up in percussion.
But everything worked or, at least, didn’t fail
And I lived to pass on the tale.

---
© J Cosmo Newbery
---

CCI - Puppies of the Caribbean II

2010-07-28T16:23:00.000+10:00

I was impressed, mentally but alas not physically, with the number of big breasted women about.
I seem to recall a UK television show where the hostess referred to her breasts as 'the puppies.
It was unclear as to whether this post should accompany the original Puppies of the Caribbean
or the previous post on Boobies. The Burns reference is to his Selkirk Grace.

Puppies of the Caribbean II

As she approaches, her assets wobble,
Like puppies under a blanket.
I glance briefly, avoiding a stare,
And, like Burns, quietly whisper ‘Thankit.’

---
© J Cosmo Newbery
---

CC - Puppies of the Caribbean

2010-07-28T04:17:00.000+10:00

There was a tennis tournament being held at our hotel.
Lot's of sour-faced children and anxious parents.

Puppies of the Caribbean

Obnoxious, snotty little brats,
Taking in their coach’s story;
They work the minor circuits
And dream of tennis glory.

They’re told that they can ‘do it’,
They’re told that they’re the cream,
Then dragged around the traps
To live their parent’s dream.

Not mixing with us common folk,
They are sullen and seldom talk.
They seem a little puzzled
We don’t worship where they walk.

I’m sure they have the backhand
I’m sure they have the serve,
I hope the stuck up little darlings
Get all that they deserve.

---
© J Cosmo Newbery
---

CLXXXXIX - Boobies

2010-07-27T04:14:00.000+10:00

Boobies

Boobies are quaint,
Boobies are sweet,
Boobies have the cutest
Of baby blue feet.

Boobies are trusting
Rather naïve,
Boobies watch you approach
Rather than leave.

Boobies can fly,
Boobies can dive,
Boobies have no idea
Of how to survive.

Boobies are quaint,
Boobies are sweet,
Boobies have the cutest
Of baby blue feet.

---
© J Cosmo Newbery
---

CLXXXXVIII - Thoughts on a different Plane.

2010-07-26T05:10:00.000+10:00

Plenty of time to ponder on the flights.

When a day in a plane’s to be spent,
The hostess is a diversion, heaven sent.
But alas all the stewards
Dispensing the fluids,
Were male. Or maybe ambivalent.

◊◊◊

There’s something surreal in the scene
Of people coming or having been,
Row by row and seat by seat,
Four hundred hunks of airborne meat,
Watching life on a tiny screen.

---
© J Cosmo Newbery
---

Baggage Allowance

2010-07-25T10:39:00.004+10:00

Found this photos on Lee's 'Curate After Dark' blog.
It seemed a fitting way to reopen the case from the last post.
I have a few things written from my travels but I will stagger them out.

But the above photo prompted a brief thought:

Modern travel has its perils:
Visas, customs, jet-lag.
And waiting around in the airport lounge
At best, is still a drag
But I guess I just misheard my wife
When she said to pack my bag.

---
© J Cosmo Newbery
---

Interlude, with wine.

2010-05-30T20:22:00.003+10:00

One Minute Writer had a topic "Wine/Whine"
Write a brief bit of fiction using the words "wine" and "whine."
I am off on holidays but I will take a pad and pen.
You never know...

There will be weeping, some will whine;
Others will cheer, a few will pine;
But I'm about to take
A well earned break,
With a passport, a visa and a lot of wine.

---
© J Cosmo Newbery
---

CLXXXXVII - The Knight & the Dragon

2010-05-23T21:21:00.003+10:00

Sunday Scribblings had the topic "Dragons".

The Knight & the Dragon

The hero of our story is a knight,
Aroused by a young maiden’s plight.
The distress she was showing
Got his hormones a-flowing
And he headed off in search of a fight.

The maiden was screaming with fear
As the fire-breathing dragon drew near
With the intent to subdue her
And then rudely barbeque her
An unpleasant ending was clear.

The knight was sure he could beat him,
The dragon, equally sure, came to meet him.
As they prepared for the bout
The maid gave a shout:
“The knight! He’s fatter than me, eat him!”

The combatants fight to rules, well defined,
And she’d clearly crossed over the line.
The dragon gave a twitch
And flambéed the bitch.
They ate her with bread and a fine wine.

---
© J Cosmo Newbery
---

CLXXXXVI - Cold Comfort

2010-05-23T10:14:00.003+10:00

Cold Comfort

I admit I was skeptical when I was told
That it was the chill that caused a cold.
I decided to test this temperate bleating
And see if she got ‘hot’ if I upped the heating.

If cold equals cold, then it stands to reason
That hot will bring forth some passionate squeezin’.
I went to the dial and set it higher,
Enough, I hoped, to inflame her desire.

Time went by and the room grew steamy
But she just grew more tired and dreamy
Until she slept, as if sedated,
And I sat there sadly, hot but deflated.

While colds are known for bodily emissions
(And I still doubt them caused by cold conditions)
If you really want a liquid exchange,
I suggest the heating in the temperate range.

---
© J Cosmo Newbery
---

CLXXXXVb - Taken with Relish, a second time.

2010-05-18T20:08:00.003+10:00

In my previous post, Southlakesmom suggested my problem was using
'hors d'oeuvre' instead of the more common 'finger food'. Well, she may be right.
I would need different rhymes to make it work, though.
In the end, no joy, it took 3 extra characters.

Taken with Relish #2

Her fruits and her veggies were stewed
But her fantasies verged on the lewd.
She had sex on the brain,
Dreaming of entrée and main,
While foreplay was just finger food.

---
© J Cosmo Newbery
---

CLXXXXVa - Taken with Relish.

2010-05-17T20:56:00.005+10:00

Susan, at Stoney River has a micro-fiction challenge where you must
write a short story in 140 characters or less. I failed the challenge,
assuming that I must count spaces, but liked the result anyway.
The prompt was the picture, above.

Taken with Relish

A woman, who loved to preserve,
Was known for her lack of reserve.
She would swap some pickle
For a slap and a tickle;
And thought foreplay was just a hors d'oeuvre.

---
© J Cosmo Newbery
---

CLXXXXIV - Mixed Nuts

2010-05-02T11:06:00.003+10:00

One Minute Writer had a topic "Nuts"
This leaves plenty of scope as there are a number of meanings...

Prologue

“Nut” is a multi-purpose English word
In a language full of ambiguities;
No-one’s sure how this occurred
But it gives lots of poetic opportunities.

◊◊◊

Mixed Nuts

Peanuts are an odd little nugget
A ground grower, not a tree-er;
Roasted with some salt to hug it,
They’re perfect with a beer.

A coconut’s home is up a palm,
Not even a nut, it’s a seed instead;
It can do no end of harm
Should it drop upon your head.

To throw more confusion to the troops,
Some nuts are really just pretenders,
Not nuts at all, their really drupes,
Cashews and almonds, the main offenders.

Some relationships are quite skewed,
Some work while others strut.
No-one really wants to be screwed,
But is a bolt complete without a nut?

Male squirrels have them, squirreled away
To protect them from the frost,
I wonder if they use some other name
To prevent them from getting lost?

And then of course there are the ones,
The vicar sees; coming to seek repenters.
He finds them naked, poking fun;
He should knock before he enters.

There: nuts and how to store’em.
I’ve skate on thin ice, I fear,
Some may wish for more decorum.
My response, of course, is ‘Nuts to that idea’.

---
© J Cosmo Newbery
---

CLXXXXIII - A little capricious nonsense.

2010-04-27T20:09:00.004+10:00

Susan, at Stoney River has a micro-fiction challenge where you must
write a short story in 140 characters or less. (Is this a Twitter thing?).
Anyway, today's prompt was a photo of a goat (above).
140 characters just cries out for a limerick.

A goat who answered to Billy, 
Lived in a field that was flat, not hilly. 
To survey his estate 
He climbed on a crate ,
Unaware that he really looked silly.

---
© J Cosmo Newbery
---

CLXXXXII - A Sound Choice

2010-04-26T09:11:00.004+10:00

One Minute Writer had a topic "Sound"
"Describe the most beautiful sound you've ever heard."

A Sound Choice

There’s the infant that giggles with glee;
There the brook that burbles away;
There’s the bird that sings in the tree;
There’s the forest at the break of day.

There’s Mozart, when played by a quartet;
There’s the buzz of a crowd at a show;
There’s the wave that pummel a shore wet;
There’s sweet nothings, whispered sultry and low.

There’s friends who knock at your door;
There’s the silence when the radio stops;
There’s the dinner guest asking for more;
There the sound when the wine cork pops.

There’s the car arriving home after five;
There’s the magpies chortling to be fed;
There the crackle of a blazing log fire;
There’s the sizzle of bacon and eggs.

There’s the whimper as you nibble a neck;
There’s rain pounding down on the tiles;
There’s parrots squabbling on the back deck;
There’s thunder rumbling, away some miles.

There’s the moon and the baying of hounds;
There’s children in the park, having fun;
The world abounds with millions of sounds,
How can I possibly only choose one?

---
© J Cosmo Newbery
---

CLXXXXI- The Letter

2010-04-25T09:13:00.003+10:00

Today, April 25th, is ANZAC Day in Australia.
Ninety-five years ago Australian soldiers were landed in southern Turkey
as part of Churchill’s ill-conceived plan to attack Germany from the south.
Thousands died.

Prologue

There’s a picket fence and a cottage gate,
An anxious frown, the postman’s late…
He comes at last, he understands,
And the precious envelope changes hands.

The Letter

Dearest Mother, it’s late, it’s cold,
Me and some mates are in a trench,
Huddled for warmth, no food, no smokes.
I can’t begin to describe the stench
Of the bodies we have no time
To bury in any sort of respectful way.
They say the push is on tomorrow,
Never have I so dreaded the day.
It’s a lottery, you know, who gets shot
We shout and holler and run the guns,
To drop and dig all over again.
Greetings from Hell, your loving son.

Epilogue

As every mother ruefully learns
It’s not her son who eventually returns;
There’s a stranger standing in her hall,
If, of course, he returns at all.

Translated from the Turkish.

---
© J Cosmo Newbery
---

CLXXXX - Coming Out

2010-04-20T10:31:00.001+10:00

Australian swimmer, Daniel Kowalski, came out this weekend and proclaimed that he was gay.

I have no problem with that and I wish him well. Indeed, he is an inspiration.

I feel that the time is right for me to come out, as well.

Coming Out

I admit that I have long lived a lie

(Oh Mother, please, there’s no need to cry!)

Since about twelve, a feckless youth,

I have known a dark and inner truth.

As I watched those playing sports,

In coloured tops and football shorts,

A feeling rose (here I must be cautious)

I hid it well but it made me nauseous.

How could I be a male, strongly virile

And not adore football, Australian style?

There I’ve said it and now proudly proclaim

I cannot stand the wretched game.

Actually, I’m an atheist to all footballing,

Their gratuitous thuggery is just appalling.

I detest the game and how they play it,

And it is such a relief to finally say it.

---

CLXXXIX - A Sonnet to the Individual

2010-04-18T10:14:00.002+10:00

A Sonnet to the Individual

It’s the modern sterile normality
That all should be a social clone;

Eating, drinking, talking banality,
Never individual, never alone.

Oh, yes, of course, we claim we are
But between claims and actions there’s a gap:
Who can, from their phone, stray far
Or pass up TV’s nightly serve of pap?

I , of course, am the complete individual,
Bowing to style but never to fashion.
I know one day we’ll run out of fuel
And our caves will echo with talk and passion.
A truth both worrying and most formal:
If everyone was like me --- I’d be normal.

---
 © J Cosmo Newbery
---

CLXXXVIII - S-Bend, Bent Double.

2010-04-17T08:35:00.003+10:00

In comments to the last post, Dianne suggested I could write a poem about anything.
I don't know about that but there was a paper clip on my desk...

S-Bend, Bent Double.

The envelope please! And the winner is
The Paperclip! For it’s starring role in biz-(pause)-e-ness!
This little piece of wire, bent in upon itself
Is leading role on the office shelf.

It holds your piles of notes together
Better than string or pins or leather.
It will even catch and hold some pages
And secretly smile as you search for ages
Until you find your wayward notes
Snared at the back of some pile of quotes.

The paperclip is, surprise!, for clipping paper
But some people want to make them straighter:
Psychologists watch as you unbend them,
The shapes you make and how you defend them.
Some people unbend them as a tooth pick,
Others make them vanish, their party trick.
Some even use them to reset a device
While others just flick them, a habit not nice.

Something to which I lightly aspire
Is to own the patent for this twisted wire.
Several billion are made each week
And would nearly fund the retirement I seek.

---
 © J Cosmo Newbery
---

CLXXXVII - Souped-up Saucers

2010-04-11T13:57:00.003+10:00

Souped-Up Saucers

Human beings, down through the ages
Have questioned the wise men and the sages,
Wanting to know “Are we truly alone?
Did ET really have someone to phone?”

On a country lane in a country world
A piece of cosmic crockery is hurled;
It hovers enticing, neither plane nor bird,
For photos, of course, but invariably blurred.

For reasons no-one seems to know
We are only visited by the shy UFO.
Treating the cities with galactic distain,
They come to the sticks, then are gone again.

Just as hoons drive to the industrial estate
To burn rubber, drink beer and procreate,
What if these souped up saucers hold the same,
Hoons after a good time on galactic back lane?

---
 © J Cosmo Newbery
---