About Roland's Ragbag

Long retired; Expatriate Tyke; Eclectic; Not-So-Grumpy Old Man.

Onomatopoeia

onomat

Onomatopoeia

 

Muck, that is a dirty word,
It sounds as if it smells;
A word to wash one’s hands of,
Its very sound repels.

Loony leaves a nasty taste,
Slides smoothly off the tongue,
But it is not nice, take my advice,
A word to leave unsung.

Slime is such another,
And slimy is the same,
Words to keep away from,
Ones I won’t exclaim.

Take words like boos and booze,
To me they are repugnant.
They may describe one’s feelings,
But they smack of poor judgement.

They’re onomatopoeic,
Not exactly slang’
But they lack that sense of candour,
Like boom and thump and bang.

So many words are wholesome,
Sweet sounding and pure.
But some words are not tasty,
Rude, uncouth and immature.

 

bar3

GOING CASHLESS

cash

‘Britain on course to become cashless society ‘within the next 10 years’.

Article published in the Daily Telegraph … 19 February 2020

 

GOING CASHLESS

 

What would we do without our chequebooks?
Yes, What would we do without our cheques?
What would we do without our chequebooks?
Yet one more deprivation  sent to vex.

What would we do without our cash cards?
And, What would we do without our coins?
What would we do without our cash cards?
We’d feel it in our purses and our loins.

What would we do without our pence?
Yes, what would we do without small change?
What would we do without our coppers?
Our lives would be so penniless and strange.

What would we do without our fivers?
Yes, What would we do without our fives?
What would we do without our fivers?
I doubt if any one of us survives.

What would we do without our tenners?
Yes, What would we do without our notes?
What would we do without our tenners?
No cash, no cheques,  no fiscal  anecdotes.

What would we do without our chequebooks?
Yes, What would we do without our cheques?
What would we do without our chequebooks?
Yet one more deprivation sent to vex.

WHB   …  ©

coin banner

 

My MoJo

beach blur clouds dawn

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

My MoJo

Please let me have my mojo back,
My passion has abated;
Now faded into lustless life,
All rapture now vacated.

This fractious war’s collateral damage
Has snagged me in its thorns,
And leaving me dispirited,
Has taken other forms.

For all the hurt I now repress
The damage leaves its mark.
What will it take to bring it back
That vital vibrant spark?

 

Poppies

Indomitable

CoweySale-Tree2

INDOMITABLE

If you hit me I will bruise,
Cut me down, I’ll cry,
Take my limbs,
They’ll multiply,
Always I will death defy.

Fire and flood I will resist,
And never give up hope;
Eventually I’ll rejuvenate,
Whatever comes I’ll cope.

For Nature built me to succeed,
Never to give in;
Mutilate me, I will bleed,
But never will give in.

 

CoweySale-Tree1

‘Rejuvenating Tree’ – Surrey, England … Photos: WHB – May 2020   ©

 

Things that go Bumpf in the Night

word1

Things that go Bumpf in the Night

 

I do love words
For words help me fly;
They take me to places
I else might pass by.

Take bumpf and  harrumph,
Or guff and baloney,
Phooey and piffle,
Hokum and phoney.

There’s hocus and pocus,
Blather and prattle,
Mumbo and jumbo,
Hooey and twaddle.

Pablum, tommyrot,
Such words I delight in;
Just as gobbledygook,
They my spirits enlighten.

There’s beauty in balderdash,
Malarkey and crap;
Jibber and jabber,
Trash and claptrap.

Bollocks and hokum,
Hogwash and tripe,
Codswallop and bosh
May smack of being hype.

Poppycock and piffle
May be mere tittle-tattle,
Just as so many others
Are gush and fiddle-faddle.

Blabber and drivel,
Humbug and canoodle,
All smack of blarney,
Of palaver and flapdoodle.

Flummery and slapdash,
Blather and gibberish,
They enhance my world,
Such words I will cherish.

They don’t mean a lot,
Some might see them as ludicrous,
But they lighten my life,
They’re fun and they’re humorous.

 

Banner2b

 

 

WILL  I  DO?

man kneeling in front of woman

Photo by ramtin ak on Pexels.com

WILL  I  DO?

 

‘Single man with toilet paper seeks woman with hand sanitizer for good clean fun.’

I have paper for the loo
Hand sanitiser too
Now I’m looking for a mate, Will I do?

I have headache pills galore
You will never need for more
Now I’m looking for a mate, Will I do?

I am well stocked up with food,
And I’m always in the mood,
Now I’m looking for a mate, Will I do?

I have wads and wads of money
I’d give you all you need, my honey,
Now I’m looking for a mate, Will I do?

I have the newest mobile phones
All the latest fads and clones
Now I’m looking for a mate, Will I do?

I’ve a sumptuous country mansion
And I’m craving for expansion,
Now I’m looking for a mate, Will I do?

So if you too are looking,
And especially good at cooking
Then I’m your man, yes I’m your man, Will I do?

 

©  …..  WHB

 

redline-thin

Prufrock On Lockdown

red and white signage

Photo by Anna Shvets on Pexels.com

Prufrock On Lockdown

Today drags its pale length
as does the serpent
slow, stately, watchful
a day like any other
the day that follows yesterday
always preceding tomorrow
like a tedious argument

Unplanned
both shy of work
and play bereft
hot-desking
and agile-working
not working for me
my day now
structured by eating
measured by meals
by  medication
by those forever coffee spoons

Nothing planned
so nothing to regret
meaningless moments
with nothing arranged
only possibilities are exciting
the five o’clock briefing
another dose of dead antiques
another bargain hunted down
one more home under the hammer
another escape to the country
to the chateau or the sun
but from my armchair
escape is no longer an option
glimpsed desires unfulfilled
and not a matter of money

The seaside too
still  eludes me
retaining its magnetism
but with the pull of the tide
unable to reach me
The Lakes a mirage in my memory
a Prelude taught to feel,
perhaps too much,
the self-sufficing power of solitude
but this solitude no longer blissful

It now descends
the yellow fog
obscuring the future
taking with it the meaning of my days
rubbing its back against the window panes
of this my settled cell
licking it’s tongue
into the corners
of my every uneventful evening.

my every desultory day

So please release me
let me go
I’m being driven potty
Let me
disturb the universe
please do beam me up Scotty

Not quite yet insane
please let me live again

 

bar-yellow

NOTE:  Readers may recognise certain phrases repeated
 from the poetic works of Wordsworth and T.S.Eliot, plus an echo from ‘Star Trek’.

prufrock

bar-yellow

 

Are your dreams like my dreams?

person lying on wearing earring
Photo by cottonbro on Pexels.com

Are your dreams like my dreams?

 

Are your dreams like my dreams, elusive,
With never a clear-cut start;
Are your dreams like mine, inconclusive,
At the end do they just fall apart?

Are your dreams like my dreams, so vague,
Do they mix up the people you know;
Are your dreams like my dreams, opaque,
Are the sites so unclear where you go?

Are you ever en route to a party,
One where you’re desperate to be,
But one that you never can get to,
A permanent absentee?

Are you anxious to find you way home,
Lost and looking for aid,
Or unable to find a companion,
Delayed, dismayed, and afraid?

For me, dreams are never a pathway
To content, to pleasure and bliss;
They never do end in contentment,
Never that satisfied kiss.

 

bar-blue2

Epidemiologically Speaking

coronavirus

Photo by CDC on Pexels.com


Epidemiologically Speaking


Epidemiological,

A word I do not use;
Yet now I hear it every day,
My hearing to abuse.


It’s about the study of risk factors

And microorganisms;
It’s not for me to understand
In this world of surrealisms.


Eight syllables do not with ease

Trip off my twisted tongue.
A word I’m very shy of, so,
For me it remains unsung.

 

Boris, he can say it,
And Mr Hancock too,
But if you really do not mind
I’ll leave it all to you.

 

BluBanner

PROUD  PROW

barge-chair2a

‘Thames canal boat’ …..     Photo – WHB  2019   ©

PROUD  PROW

Not quite
the chair she sat in
the burnished gold
Of its throne
proud prow

so prominent

promising power
and privilege
but
nevertheless
a statement
burned on the water
of its thames-side berth

a metaphor
proudly protesting
the humility of
being ordinary
of being old
yet proud with
the magnificence of age
the decadence of time
the innocence of resurrection

bar-yellow

NOTE:   T.S.Eliot, in his poem, ‘The Waste Land’ (Lines 77-79:  Part II. A Game of Chess) quotes Enorbarbus, who, inAct II, Scene 2 of Shakespeare’s tragedy ‘Antony and Cleopatra’ describes Cleopatra’s royal barge as it appeared when she first pursued Marc Antony:’The barge she sat in, like a burnished throne, Burned in the water. The poop was beaten gold.’

bar-yellow

barge-chair1a

‘Thames canal boat’ …..     Photo – WHB  2019   ©