Saturday, 25 February 2012

poem for the day

50 coin-rolls east of LLanfihangel-y-Creuddyn, turn right by the Ash, - no, not that one, that one, yes, - transcross the badger-painted road, then take the red sea bramble path down awards the stream - it's not a brook is it? and it's not acliche babbling. What is it doing then? Everything must do something. Perhaps it's gurgling, like a baby river. Smiling at it's mother's eyes. The sun probably. er - that's only one eye. I'm not sure a baby river would smile at a solar cyclops mother. Maybe it would. But let's have the moon for another eye. They're there at the same time from the point of view of water, as it thinks slowly. Ooooh look! the moon winks. Have we got there yet? Only I'm bored already. I expect the baby river is cradle-banked or something. The hills look like bosoms. That's not in the story - I just wanted to say it.

Wel, we've come all this way, so there'd better be something here. What shall we have? a drowning horse? a muzhik's shoelace? a Russian doll called Nikita, with eyelashes like a fantasia goldfish? Perhaps the dolls inside are age-reversed, with the oldest smallest, since old age is further away.

I expect they come to life, once a year, on some special feast day - just steal a myth from some obscure country - scores are settled, loves matched and missed, magical happenings - all the usual. Wel, I'll fill that in later. How's it going to end? I know, we'll have a twist. They won't be expecting a twist. Nope, it's just too tedious. Let's do a pome instead.

Set pome-generator to 'SeussMilligan'. Ok, download!

Goldfish! darted at the fair
By the stall that sells balloons
Off you fly into the air!
Naughty children! No more spoons!

No more spoons for you and you
And guess what? It's soup for tea!
And you mustn't dip your bread
Or raise the bowl up to your head
Or suck it through a curly straw
Or snort it, lap it, and what's more
You mustn't spill a drop on table
Forks is all I shall enable
Now you don't think it's so funny!
Now it isn't such a trifle!
- the teddy stall's amiss a rifle -
This is going to cost me money
Ping! Kersplat! Oh! What a shot!
A little marksman's what I've got!
Did you see that? See it fall?
Like a conscious raindrop ball
'Bagged it! Pull!' on-clappers call!
Spoons for all! yes, spoons for all.


  1. Sudden change of pace and style. How many people write these? It goes from hilarious Spike Milligan thro PGW to science philosophy and poetry.:)

  2. spunefed, spunefed thryce a dae
    keeps the maladie at bay
    in betwixt the dosing plae
    something simple then we'll crune
    to a dittie on yon spune
    lulla-lalla goes tha tune.