A CINCH

Faced with a certainty,
Outcome assured,
I patted my back,
My future secured.

A cinch I then thought,
But then thought again.
Where’s that word from,
It is somewhat arcane?

A cinch – sounds so odd,
why not ‘Easy as Pie’,
‘As falling off a log’.
I wonder just why?

And ‘a piece of cake’
Would do just as well,
As would ‘eating duck soup’,
Or ‘as burning in Hell’.


That I could do
With one limp arm tied,
Behind my own back,
Although I’ve never tried.

Easy and facile,
It couldn’t be simpler;
Not rocket science,
Yes, that in partic’lar.

‘A complete no-brainer’,
‘A walk in the park’,
Something as trivial
As making a mark.

As easy as saying
Your A-B-&-C;
It will all be a breeze
… But no guarantee!

The Cliche Storm

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Say not the struggle naught availeth;
But is it worth the flaming candle?
Can I pull those hearty Strings,
Or will my pretty baubles jangle?

Where on earth do things grow down,
And how can spoken jokes be dumb?
Perhaps it’s to do with nonsense verse
Veiled by rule of my thick thumb.


When I escape this dragging net,
When I have pulled my other leg,
When I have plighted all my troths,
It’s then I will sit up and beg.

Till then I’ll fly by my pants’ seat;
I’ll kiss my nascent hopes goodbye.
They’ll rescue me from life itself
And sing my praises to the sky.


For I’m a versifier pure
I’d rather play with words than girls
Forever searching non sequiturs
Words have more twists and turns than curls.

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Outmoded Slang

SLANG: a type of language consisting of words and phrases that are regarded as very informal, are more common in speech than writing, and are typically restricted to a particular context or group of people.

It’s a shame when words expire,
Especially the vernacular,
Like pizazz and balderdash;
Such words are quite spectacular.

Gadzooks has long been dead
And other words are dying.
Lost are darn and drat it,
In desuetude they are lying.

scallywag, twerp and wally,
Scoundrel, bounder, cad,
Have passed away and gone,
Their day they all have had.

No more nincompoops or rotters,
They rolled sweetly off the tongue.
So sad to see their passing,
No more we’ll hear them sung.

As for pillocks and rapscallions,
They’ve all died and gone to heaven,
Where they can still be rascals,
While awaiting Armageddon.

Tweaks Of The WEEK … Well … Why Not?

(On alternative naming schemes)
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1. Thisday, Thatday, Yesday, Noday, Someday, Wasday, Willday,

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2. Wanday, Tooday, Threeday, Forday, Fiveday, Sixday, Svenday.

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3. … And in the Beginning …

In the Year DOT
Then were there fifty-two weeks created
Each one divided into seven days

And the first day of the week, Plod decreed,
Let it be called Oneday,

Let that day be followed,
In the nature of sequences, by Twosday.

Then let’s have Weddingsday,
Especially gifted for the newly-betrothed, the hopeful among us,

Followed, halfway thru the week, with some relief,
We shall have Throosday.

Then, that traditional day of the Fish-in-fat-friers
I will create, and will call Fryday,

Straightway, next, lest they fret and cause a disturbance,
I must keep Satyrs-day for my naughty little friends to frolic.

After which, I insist, demand in fact,
To keep intact,
one final day of my Seven-days,
My Tweak of the Week
a day for rest, best of the rest,
A day for ME
when the sun will always shine,
To be known as Sun-day.
The only really Fun-day

And so, I pray
Without delay
While the sun shines make hay
Go out and play
Be gay
Have your say
Keep the blues at bay
Throw cautions away
Head off decay
No lockdown this day

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Unsummoned Thoughts

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Unsummoned Thoughts

 

What causes my thought’s directions
From where do ideas come

Insouciance and nonchalance
Two words I rarely use
Both jumped at me this morning
Sprang unheralded
Into my mind
As if from a nowhere
Hypnogogic state
Ambushed my thoughts
Set me thinking
Why?
Where did they spring from
How does my hurting waking brain produce them
dredge them up from some subliminal dream
From my subconscious being
Is it the sound they make
Their sibilance
Their warmth
They don’t frustrate
Not threatening
They’re gentle
Just a glimpse of stillness
Of satisfying peace
Gentle
Smooth
Crying out to be used
To be spoken
For me to use
To be indulged

Aaaah!
But that is the nature
Of dreaming
Solace to a shrunken
Unfulfilled
Mind

 

photo of paper on top of wooden surface

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Weaving Words

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Weaving Words

I wander my world 
Weaving words into verse
Plaiting my thoughts 
Into silken skeins of sense
Rendering images
from my mind’s eye
To this digital paper.

Perverse perception
Lending life to poetry
Lust to hope 
And love to mon amour
The written word.

Only in time
with wish fulfilment
Perchance my dreams
Will meet my expectations 
And produce that meisterwerk
Whose impetus
Drives me on.

 

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NOTE:   Without apologies – a poem which I have blogged previously.

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Things that go Bumpf in the Night

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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.

 

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Epidemiologically Speaking

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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.

 

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On Waking Up

black ring bell alarm clock

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ON  WAKING UP

Waking, this morning I said,
I don’t think I’ll get out of bed.
There was no concealing
I had hurt her feelings,
I’d spend the day sleeping instead.

Waking in fear and dread,
I regretted those words I had said
I’d not meant to hurt,
Just meant to assert,
I cried crocodile tears when I bled.

Waking and wond’ring what’s next,
I decided to send her a text,
To tell her I’d lied,
Our love had not died –
Just sulking because I was vexed.

 

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What the Dickens!

WhatTheDickens

What the Dickens!

 

Yes, that’s me,
I’m straight from a Fairy Story,
So don’t “Bah! Humbug” me.
Why not, instead,
Wish me a “Merry Christmas? “

I’m not given to Fluffiness,
Or Cheesiness.
I don’t attempt to Flummox people,
Even those who give me The Creeps;
No! I’m a straight guy,
Maybe a bit of a Doormat.
Never going on the Rampage;
No, Not me….

Suffering Boredom from time to time,
And a bit of a Butterfingers
When it comes to relationships.
Oh, yes, I’ve suffered …
And how!
Straight from the Casualty Ward of Life
Via its discarded Egg Box,
Straight Into its everlasting Dustbin

. . .  Sad, but, the Story Of My Life.

 

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Dickens

My Christmas story – above – is based on an Article by Gyles Brandreth in the ‘Daily Telegraph’ on Xmas Eve – 24/12/19.  He notes that Dickens helped popularise many words and phrases which are now in common usage. Overall Dickens is credited with coining 258 new words, including:

‘Merry Christmas’;  ‘Bah! Humbug!’
Doormat (when used to describe someone who gets walked all over by other people);
Boredom;  Cheesiness;  Fluffiness;  Flummox;  Rampage;
The Creeps (as in, to give someone the creeps);
Dustbin;  Casualty ward;  Fairy story;  Butterfingers;  Egg box.

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