About Roland's Ragbag

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

Life In A Refuse Bin

Photo: WHB

A refuse bin … A refuse bin
All life is in a refuse bin.

* * *

Amidst the rubbish and the tat
There lies a hat, a mat, a rat;
Daily Mail-wrapped fish and chips
Taco, shrimp and truffle dips;
Damaged shoes and flip-flops too;
Pair of pants that once were blue.


Ice cream cones and such detritus;
Discarded puffer for bronchitis.
Shells and seaweed in there, also
A print of ‘Blue Nude’ by Picasso.
Doll’s head, torso, and an arm;
No legs in sight – sound the alarm!
Apple peelings, apple cores,
Offcuts from old vinyl floors.
Broken pencil, bunch of keys,
Half a sandwich filled with cheese.
Old bus tickets, betting slips,
Laddered tights and broken zips.
Cigarette butts by the score.
Junk and scrap for ever more.
Empty tins that once held coke.
It really is beyond a joke.
Lubricant, petroleum jelly,
Whole salami from the deli.
Junkie’s needles, discarded syringe,
Vestige of an all-night binge.

These remnants of a night of sin
. . . All denizens of a refuse bin.

Clothes and food for any family
Enough to live on very happily.
Soon all of this will ‘go to waste’
Unfit for someone else’s taste.
And waste disposal at the beach
Really does cry out for bleach.

# # #

But wait a moment, I can see
A scene as if it’s on TV.
A family playing in the sand
Oblivious in their own dreamland.
Quite unaware that they’re within
And central to a refuse bin.

This ‘bit of fun’ with simple rhyming couplets, was prompted by my photograph (top), taken on the promenade at Sandsend, a small holiday resort, near Whitby, on the North Sea coast of Yorkshire.

Pace tua Wm. Shakespeare

Photo by Mike on Pexels.com

To see, or not to see, that is the question,
Whether ’tis wiser to look it full in the face, or, to turn that blind eye, which is the kiss of ineptitude, and by ignoring, forget.

To flee, or not to flee: that is the question,
Whether’ tis safer to meet with danger face to face, or, to turn and run, and by escaping, live to flee another day.

PC or non-PC, that is the question,
Whether ’tis better in the end to put up with the hawks and sparrows of mind distortion, or to take umbrage against such hubble-bubble, and by exposing suspend them.

Luck-ee or not Luck-ee, that is the question,
Whether ’tis wiser to place the bet, or by repenting, opt out and live to keep your cash to spend on wiser fare.

Wack-ee or not wack-ee, that is the question,
Whether ’tis better to play the fool, or by less joshing, slay them with your wit and repartee alone.


Poetr-ee or not poetr-ee, that is the question,
Whether tis better to rhyme and versify, or by pretence and artifice, produce the direst doggerel.

We’re All Pundits Now

Photo by Madison Inouye on Pexels.com

Here and there
they’re everywhere.
in-line, online
abusive, benign
in blurred newsprint
and excused misprint

Twittering away
face–booking their wisdoms
casual gurus
proffering help
offering opinion

Pointing their gun
complaining about how it was done
Gogglebox savants
of limited talents
displaying their predictive powers
from their remote ivory towers
deriding what they saw
laying down their cod law
always knowing better
down to the letter

Seeing through the haze
configuring the maze
arm’s length judgement
posing as sentiment

Sports star, celebrity
politician, nonentity
Academic or Bystander
give us candour or slander
cook, medic, dancer
do give us your answer
please feed us your views
comment on the news

Yes, obligatory opinions
on everything
on everyone
by everyone
for everyone


Don’t tell me to keep quiet
I can’t hear you
constructive deafness
selective amnes
ia

We need pundits and experts
but please play it fair
most are mere wannabes
balloons in the air

Cycle of Life and Death

I came across its shrunken frame,
lashed to a random rail.
The secluded death, diminished frame,
told a sorry tale.

How once, a joy, a treasured pride,
it bore a life that mattered;
How love once dignified its role,
that now was broke and battered.

Where love had once upon a time
a vibrant life endorsed.
What pride and joy and patience once
was lavished on this corpse.

What story lay behind the scene,
what trauma caused this end?
How it had come to this sad state
I could not comprehend.

The violence of traumatic death,
the twisted sculpture left,
tells such a haunted tortured tale,
leaving a soul bereft.

Linguistic Gripes

‘I know my call is important to you’
But – Listen up!
I am not one of ‘You Guys’,
and speaking personally
(But then how else could I speak?)
Do I fill IN this form
Or should that be OUT?
Just get on with it, Pleeze!

I don’t know how to tick all
Or even some of the boxes
But …Pas de problem, mon ami,
… No worries …
Just chillax!

NO,

This is NOT a very unique situation.

Be aware,
Uniqueness has no degrees.
I was not born yesterday,
Nor even back in the whatever day,
And while you mention it,
That free gift you offer me,
Just as all havens are safe,
Aren’t ALL gifts free?


And, can I mention –
‘At this moment in time’?
So cumbersome!
When ‘NOW’ will do.

And, OMG,
I’ll stop you there,
before you continue –
It’s ”Should HAVE’.
‘Should OF’ is, well,
an epic fail –
as is ‘Off OF’.


Now I must take a break,
Lie, not lay, down.
Is it worth continuing,
Even though time can’t be stopped?
How did DOORS become EARLY
Or an INVITATION become an INVITE?

Oh well, FYI, I say
 . . . Stercus accidit! –
As would the Romans.

LOL !!!



The Tree Frog

‘My Tree Frog: Photo … WHB – Jan.2021

So happy
a cheery chappy
born free
made for life in a tree
living on flies
snapped from the skies
this stygian
amphibian
croaking his chords
singing
whilst swinging
every day gay
as some would say

Why are frogs so cheery?
so busy, never weary,
‘cos they just like causing mayhem
eating whatever bugs them.


Here, in Kermit green
pond-spawned
frog spawn
out of his tadpole
waterhole
croaking a witty ditty
oh, the joy a swing
can bring
no hurry
no worry
life aloft in a tree
where else to be?

One day, I say,
who knows?
as he grows,
as was said long since,
he may turn into a prince,
or even  follow the Willows road
and become a Mr Toad.

Australian Tree Frog



Objet Trouvé

( Photograph taken on a farm in Devon – 2005 by WHB  © )

Objet trouvé

Victim of the guillotine?

Or could it be of nicotine?

Doll-ish head, a baby lass,

Laid to rest on a bed of grass

Verse by WHB (aka Roland Keld  © )

One of the series in which I re-publish some of my previous posts. This is one of those in which I presented some of my collection of  whimsical,  quirky,  humorous photographs, snapped up, Autolycus-style, on my travels over the past few years.bar-green

Noli Me Tangere (or Keep Your Distance)

Photo by Gustavo Fring on Pexels.com

Hugging him, Embracing her,
Are very clearly now ruled OUT.
No Touching, feeling, gripping, grabbing,
That is a law we must not flout.

A kiss, a cuddle? … Better not,
Intimacy is not allowed;
Feel, pinch, rub are all verboten,
All off-limits – Shout it loud!

So please don’t touch me, don’t come near,
Stay apart, just keep your distance;
Take a powder, keep away,
You cannot come to my assistance.

No high Fives, no shaking hands,
No contact sports, no postman’s knock.
Life is grinding to a halt,
They’ve got us in a strict headlock.

So, if you feel like being contiguous
Remember the two metre rule,
Intimacy’s not now permitted,
It’s just like being back at school.

Courting couples, you have been warned,
Stap your vitals, Cool your ardour,
Or sure as rotten eggs is eggs
You’ll find yourself with a court order.

P ‘raps tactile anaesthesia’s needed
To stem our need to interact,
For touchy-feelies are no more,
Now that is just a matter of fact.

NOTE:  Noli me tangere (‘touch me not’) is the Latin version of a phrase spoken, according to John 20:17, by Jesus to Mary Magdalene when she recognized him after his resurrection. The biblical scene gave birth to a long series of depictions in Christian art from Late Antiquity to the present. Pre-Raphaelite painters of the mid and late 19th Century were particularly fond of this as a subject for their paintings.

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Hope for 2021

Photo by Lukas on Pexels.com

When the world feels dark bring a Torch
Let the Torch be brightly lit
Let it illuminate the darkest corners of Earth
May Earth play its part and forever spin
For a spinning Wheel gathers no more Covid
And Covid will be killed by the Needle
And through the eye of that very Needle
Will Nature work her magic
And bring us all a Spring to recall
Life renewed in Hope
For ‘Hope is the thing with Feathers
… Which never stops at all.

VERSE – WHB: Dec.2018 . . . [ With acknowledgement to Emily Dickinson (1830-1886) ]

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com