Riding back from Laramie
a thought besmote my head:
what if Grandpa Delmar
should be lying somewhere — dead!
Frantic now with morbid thoughts,
I bade my horse to speed,
I raced all through the ink-black night
upon the family steed.
Imagine how my heart leaped up
and danced like Fred Astaire,
when I heard Grandpa’s cries for help
— he’d fallen off his chair.
How strange the telepathic ties
that bind up families,
though they only seem to work
on the road from Laramie.
Today, I’ll be spearheading change on a number of fronts:
In the field of socks, I’ll be foregrounding green at the expense of blue,
and in the nutrition stakes, I’ll be campaigning for burritos as a breakfast staple.
From 3pm onwards, I’ll be waving aloft the brightly-coloured flags of hope, rationality, and civility.
So look forward to a busy day ahead, and check on Twitter for regular updates.
“The Cape gannet, or malagash, is also known as ‘velvet sleeves’.”
Wheeling round the Cape in squadrons,
malagash swoop and dive
and dart at shoals of fodder fish
five hundred feet below,
— slick as velvet —
then launch again,
past anxious mariners
peering into sextants,
calculating the good
and the hope.
Does anyone know how to get rid of a torso?
Specifically a male, aged about 25, toned, muscular, may have been an athlete or body-builder, though I can’t be sure.
Practical solutions only, please. I’ll be happy to post a summary of responses.
“— Fie upon thee, varlet,
in your fustian and comb,
I’ll not disburse a single groat,
till you have hied me home.
A fig for filthy lucre,
the devil’s lubricant!
Avaunt, and stop your hansom
where you see the monument.”
Mind you, I still had to pay the extra fare,
but it made me feel better at the time.
The more I read
the more I know,
and the more I know
the more I know
I don’t know very much.
And so I’ll read another tome
something to protect me
from the horrors of the night.
Five and twenty twemlows
lined up along the shelves,
beckoning the ludic
to ‘Come and help yourselves!’.
And so the funny-minded come
and take a twemlow each.
“Oh, do I dare to open it?’
(like Prufrock with the peach).
‘I’ll show you mine
if you show me yours!’
— ‘Oh no, you playful catfish!
Let’s not behave like boors!’
‘Although we hold the key to life,
we must keep standards up!
Cos if they drop then we must stop
imbibing from the cup
that fills our souls with laughter
and makes the world a game.
Let’s not forget that madness
is the twemlow’s other name.
Would it kill you to be kind?
Would you drop dead if you helped someone?
Would death ensue inexorably if you gave some cash to the needy?
Would you contract a terminal illness if you did something for someone for nothing?
Would time and space collapse if your tongue could fashion one kind word for a fellow traveller?
I could go on, but life is short.
Oh Lord, deliver me from priests.
That’s all I ask of you in this life.
In the next life, of course, I’ll have
a much more extensive list of demands,
but for now, just deal with the
terminal banality of priests.
Thanks in advance.
Let’s see if Leonora
has the gall to call again
after spending all the petty cash
on beer and burly men.
Be aware that Leonora
is as flighty as they come:
not for her the measured step
of dainty beldamdom.
Leonora is to dainty
as a bulldog is to sweet:
don’t trust her with your money
or you’ll end up on the street.