Showing posts with label sonnets. Show all posts
Showing posts with label sonnets. Show all posts

Monday, 25 May 2015

Obituary: Sir Terry Pratchett (1948 -2015)

We’d like to think the Valkyries have come
and taken you carousing in their halls
or you are sitting now in Death’s domain
as the final grain of sand pratfalls.
We want you to live on and yes, you do,
embedded in the stories that you wrote
so we can pick the books up once again
and find you still there scrawling the footnotes.
But you were more than this: a man who spoke
out for the right to die. The right to choose.
The right for dying species to live on.
Your name will still be spoken - G.N.U.   
Your next adventure leads you through Death’s door.
Now write the story you’ve been waiting for.  

HTML tag (X-Clacks-Overhead: GNU Terry Pratchett)

Saturday, 4 April 2015

Jezza's Job

So, Jezza!, Lost your job? Well join the crowd
of jobseekers all on the dole. What, no?
You don’t need handouts, thank you? Lucky you!
No doubt you’ve something else lined up to do?
Not really one of us then after all;
you won’t be standing with us in the queue
on Monday morning hoping for a chance
to get shortlisted for an interview.
I’m guessing Channel 5 or even Sky
will want a controversial chap like you,
whilst we obey the rules and take the knocks -
not give them out to colleagues, like you do.
     ‘He speaks for us! He’s just like us,’ they cry.
     Yep, unemployed. On that bombshell – goodbye!

Thursday, 6 June 2013


Incorporating the 18 obsolete words from the article by Carmel Lobello in Death and Taxes online magazine, available at:

Thou bookwright! Honest worker thou art not!
No soda-squirt all day upon his feet!
No curglaff wakes thee to thy morning’s draft,
but gently into day sat on thy arse.
Spermologer, beef-witted in thy writ

that renders englishable witless phrase 
and jirbles tyromancy on thy page.
Thou groakest at the world without true bite
in pussyvan at
A queerplunger doth labour more than thou,
thou sloth in lunting slouch! Get thee a trade!
Support thy snoutfair wonder-wench with squirrel,
that zafty california widow who
inspires thy drivel! Get thee honest work!

beef-witted: Having an inactive brain from eating too much beef.
bookwright: An author; a term of slight contempt.
California widow: A wife whose husband is away for any extended period.
curglaff: The shock felt when one first plunges into the cold water.
englishable: That which may be rendered into English
groak: To silently watch someone eating, hoping to be invited to join them.
jirble: To pour a liquid with an unsteady hand.
lunting: Walking while smoking a pipe.
pussyvan: A flurry, temper.
queerplungers: Con-artists, scammers.
resistentialism: Seemingly spiteful behavior shown by inanimate objects.
snoutfair: A person with a handsome countenance.
soda-squirt: One who works at a soda fountain in New Mexico
spermologer: A picker-up of trivia, a gossip monger.
tyromancy: Superstition of divining by the coagulation of cheese.
with squirrel: Pregnant.
wonder-wench: A sweetheart.
zafty: A person very easily imposed upon

Friday, 12 April 2013

Wicker Woman

  (on the resurgence of  the song 'Ding, dong, the witch is dead' on the death of Margaret Hilda Thatcher, 1925-2013)

So those in power want to ban the song.
They feel the water lap around their boots.
This time it’s someone else. It won’t be long
Before it’s their turn knee deep in the sluice.
Ding dong, the doorbell rings. Who’s at the door?
Let’s hope it’s not those badly mannered poor
With their demands of equal this and that.
God help us, now the ship deserts the rat.
The witch is dead and tap, tap here’s the wake
With fire in their eyes to light the stake.
The crone is gone, but here’s her legacy,
A world of ‘trickle up’ economy.
The wicker woman waits upon the hill
If you won’t light the kindle then they will.


Oh google, how you flirt with me! Two poems found in search of me! My blog, my profile pic, my tweets, my Linkedin profile! This...