'You ain't so big. I bet your mammy still has to wipe your arse.' Doug stood firmer then he felt. It were his patch.
The first punch missed him. There was no second punch as his look sent Bacon Ben screaming.
Doug shouted, 'Your nowt but a goalie that kicks.'
Random Word: Paper Tiger
What if we had our own Heaven but shared Hell...and if you went to the wrong Heaven, it's kinda like purgatory. Hmm, steak or a green salad?
Random Word: Theology
I got these unexpected awards for my poetry, which is sprinkled throughout the blog.The first is the Jingle’s Happy Moment Cross Culture Poetry Award and the second is the Poetry Day Award. Thank you, Jingle. Due to technology (shrugs shoulders and raises eyes) I can’t put put them in my sidebar so I have created this award post. Just for you, I have posted two unpublished poems, the first is one I wrote on finding her 55-Friday Flash. The second, and far more profound, is about my brother’s death.
On finding a jingle
I wandered lost for day on day without a cheer
until, at last, a ray of hope, that even mere,
(I will aspire to mere) English as what wrote scribblers,
can see a verse in rhyme like this except for quibblers.
This more serious one, based on a villanelle, was written on discovering that my brother had been killed in a motor bike accident some six months before I stumbled on it doing internet research for a story.
Am I my brother's keeper?
We once had time to laugh, and be misheard,
when daddy hit the bastard child so sore
with silence, unspoken our final word.
Forgotten sister's boiled aniseed spurred
on scandal, says today, then we ignore,
for once we had time to laugh and be misheard.
My dream at school unsaid, and now absurd,
was one for all. Instead, a tug of war
with silence, unspoken our final word.
I left, and you did not, our life deferred
as I took the road less travelled by; for
we once had time to laugh and be misheard.
Our babies grew, you faded, a tale overheard
to linger - threadbare thoughts of how to restore,
with silence, unspoken our final word.
Perhaps your death, my chance to see what occurred,
to restore our loss in words and metaphor,
for once, we had time to laugh and be misheard
with silence, unspoken our final word.
'My shoe leaks.' Describing your life (or something) this Saturday in a phrase using just six words. This is what others say on Show My Face.
![poet[6]](http://lh3.ggpht.com/_lLutfh7XAnY/S63Sb4uSSrI/AAAAAAAABus/5WFYd6mO3wE/s1600-h/poet%5B6%5D%5B3%5D.jpg "poet[6]")
Me poems got a top mark!** **
‘I sit and watch the phone. It is the ring-tone; it radiates my teeth so I watch for flashing. When it does, I do not answer because—’
‘I'm sorry but do I know you?’
‘It is your phone that rings, when I'm alone and you want—’
‘I think you better—’
‘This will stop you.’
‘Screammmmmmmmmmmmmm’
Think you can write a story in 55 words? Go visit the G-man to see those who did.
‘It wer awful, he...touched me...and said they were fruitful hummocks.’
’Watson, mark well the clue here that he is American and educated.’
Random Word: hummock.
