ZEUGMAS

Burnt out Car, Burnt out Life’  A303 – 2016 … Photo-WHB

ZEUGMAS

(And even ‘Zeugmata’!)

Zeugmas are fun, so don’t be averse,
Use them to colour your prose and your verse.

#   #   #

Burnt out your car and your life,
Leave a fierce scar and your beautiful wife.

Start a new page and a movement;
Room for one more and for improvement.

Hold your breath and the front door;
Cry for lost love and for more.

Lend me a fiver and your ears;
Dry your washing and your tears.

Break your wrist watch and your heart;
Blow a kiss and blow apart.

Take your time and my advice,
Think positive, but do it twice.

Cover with dirt as well as glory;
Read a mind and a bedtime story.

His licence expired, then he did;
Give him a kiss and fifty quid.

Make breakfast and the bed,
And leave a tip or the room instead.

Sold a basket and a pup;
Grow angry then and do grow up.

Catch a cold and a thief,
Hold a baby and a belief.

Fish for compliments and for shark;
Play in the band and in the park.

Take your leave and take your hat;
Kick the bucket and the cat.

#  #  #

How rewarding that such malfunctions
Create in language such fun conjunctions.

A Bit Of NONSENSE

“Do you think I’ve gone round the bend?“ 
“I’m afraid so. You’re mad, bonkers, completely off your head.
But I’ll tell you a secret. All the best people are.” 
― ‘Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland’ 1865  … Lewis Carroll

A BIT OF NONSENSE

NONSENSE VERSES  . . .  Just playing with words & triple rhymes

A very  long song is quite wrong 
But a terse little verse is worse 
So why try to cry, ‘cos
You know I’ll feel low when you go.

It would seem that I scream when I dream
So why can’t I try to be shy
It’s unkind when I find you don’t mind
You will know it is so when I go.

It is sad when a lad turns out bad
But a joy for a boy to annoy;
Why disguise all those lies I despise,
Tell me why you don’t try to comply?

Please desist and don’t twist my wrist
You can kill my goodwill with that pill
I can tell you’re not well when you yell
Lose your head, you’ll be dead, it is said.

Try to recall your fall in the hall,
I could tell you weren’t well when you fell.
Don’t sigh, that is why, by and by
If you’re kind you will find I won’t mind.

The cop had to pop to the shop
To get runny honey for money;
But today he’s away at a play,
So tomorrow, in sorrow, he’ll borrow.

The girl with the twirl and the curl
Denied she had tried not to hide,
But the boy full of joy with the toy
Asked to play, if he may,every day.

When the man with a can saw the fan
I know he gave a slow blow
He looked swell till he fell in a well;
He’s unwell I can tell by the smell.

It is fun to run in the sun,
If you try to fly you’ll see why.
But begin to sin, you won’t win;
No, you shouldn’t, you wouldn’t , you couldn’t ,

Bliss in a kiss will not go amiss
It serves and deserves, to comfort the nerves.
But let me repeat, you’ll meet with  defeat
When time and chime no longer rhyme. 

It’s absurd when a bird can’t be heard
It’s a sin when an inn won’t serve gin.
It’s a pity this ditty‘s not witty
I endeavour to be clever however.

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)
————————————————————————————————————

–1. Thisday, Thatday, Yesday, Noday, Someday, Wasday, Willday,

————————————————————————————————————-

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

————————————————————————————————————-

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

————————————————————————————————————–

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

 

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Weaving Words

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.

 

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

 

 

 

Things that go Bumpf in the Night

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.

 

 

 

Epidemiologically Speaking

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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.