3WW: A Roundel of February Promise

The landscapes tease with harbingers of spring
Their subtle clues a sign of thawing freeze
And rich regeneration new warmth brings
          The landscapes tease

While yet we suffer winter’s piercing breeze
Enduring life within its icy sting,
In melancholy dark’s firm grip we’re seized,

To meagre hope of better times we cling
And dream of summer’s merriment and ease.
With vibrant thoughts of nature on the wing
          The landscapes tease

The words this week are generate, meagre, tease


Ok, I'll admit that my very first though on seeing the prompt was "ooh, tease, that rhymes with fleas", and seriously considered writing about a lice-ridden werewolf to go with last week's dentally-challenged vampire. But that would just be overkill.

3WW: A Calamitous Saga of Misfortune and Failure

So here’s a sad thing to occur
A tale of great catastrophe
And tender souls may just prefer
To skip this blog entirely.
Those readers this does not deter
I hope you all will quite agree
That nowhere else on earth exists
A story so forlorn as this.

The drama starts one stormy night
Within a castle far away
A flash of lightning, clear and bright
Reveals a scene of old cliché:
A vampire, veiled as bat in flight
Intrudes in search of easy prey
Evading guards in dark and gloom
He enters a damsel’s bedroom.

So, there she lies, quite fast asleep
The type on whom brave heroes dote
Her blonde locks elegantly sweep
About a diamond at her throat
The sight of her could make men weep
And of her beauty much is wrote
But while she dreams in comfort fine
That vampire bold prepares to dine.

What tragedy was to ensue!
(I pray, forgive the Sturm und Drang)
He tried the lady’s neck to chew
But with a most emphatic twang
He bit her diamond pendant true
And thus was broke a sharpened fang.
Where tidy teeth once were aligned
A ragged hole now was defined.

With that awoke the sleeping dame
Who laughed in our poor hero's face.
His sorry ailment drew great fame
And all made fun of his disgrace
Unable to live with the shame
He disappeared without a trace.
For the saddest thing, and that’s the truth
Is a vampire with a broken tooth.

The 3WW words are occur, ragged and tidy

One for the Palace fans

Now, Warnock’s composure’s not sunny
He thinks the ref’s lapses aren’t funny
But win, lose or draw
Who cares ‘bout the score,
As long as it brings in the money?

Valentine: A Timid Triolet

As I'm too shy to talk to you
Instead I write this triolet
It's all this introvert can do
As I'm too shy to talk to you
I'm tongue-tied, don't know what to say
You simply take my breath away
As I'm too shy to talk to you
Instead I write this triolet

3WW: Trust Me

The 3WW words are righteous, salvage and lucid.
If anyone hasn't seen the original, it's here. And there's loads of spoofs here.

The woes of the Prius

When you’re driving the car that’s in front
Your brakes like to show off brave stunts
You're so hip and green
Like the stars of the screen
Who cares ‘bout the odd little shunt?

To the Woman Beside Me on the Train

Sitting next to a woman on a busy commuter train on Friday, this is the message I wanted to give her. Sadly, being English, I didn't like to make a scene, so I seethed in silence instead.

To the woman beside me on the train:
Yes, I know that this trip is an utter pain
That these seats are designed for a smallish sparrow
With the leg room short and the width so narrow
But you're wriggling and kicking as you twist about the place
Do you even know the meaning of the words "personal space"?
It's so crowded and noisy that like cattle we feel
And your actions make it worse, therefore I propose this deal:
If you 'accidentally' poke me with your elbow where I'm sitting
'Unwittingly' I'll jab you with the needle from my knitting.

Spleen vented. Thank you.

Moving down the train

Through Clapham Junction's rush hour crowd
The tannoy broadcasts clear and loud.
As they pile on, in pouring rain
They're asked to please move down the train.

There's one who doesn't hear the cry
His i-pod volume's much to high
He's lost in his own world, it's plain
"Excuse me - please move down the train."

He's still completely unaware
And blocks their way, still standing there
They ask once more, though it's in vain
"Oh come on, PLEASE move down the train!"

Those in the doorway cannot breathe
And those left on the platform seethe
The crowding's getting quite insane
"LOOK, JUST MOVE DOWN THE FUCKING TRAIN!!!"

To all their cries he's deaf and blind
Until the mob are left behind
But once he's on the move again
Then that's when he moves down the train

3WW: Ghost story

Here’s a tale that’s quite unique
Never have you heard this freak
An adventure strange and weird
Dreadful exploits to be feared

Typically began the day
On a morning wet and gray
When at dawn I lurched downstairs
For a new day to prepare

Stepping through the kitchen door
What a chilling scene I saw
Just beside the breakfast bar
Sat a creature so bizarre

Quite transparent, freezing cold
Odours of decay and mould
Yes, a phantom rested there
Sitting in my kitchen chair

Frantically, my heart beat loud
Here’s a spectre in a shroud!
Why’s it here, and apropos
How do I get it to go?

I tried not to swoon or shriek
As that ghoul began to speak
It perused my cupboard shelf
Muttering unto itself:

“Peanut butter, chocolate spread
What should I put on my bread?
Bramble jelly, lemon curd
So much choice is quite absurd”

Clearly, I had gone insane
Seeing apparitions plain.
In the early morning gloom
Common sense had left the room

“Sir, excuse me please,” I said,
“Won’t you tell me, aren’t you dead?
Why are you (at my expense)
Eating in my residence?”

“Don’t mind me,” replied the ghost,
“I’m just here as I need toast
And if you hoard all the bread
I’ll feast on your flesh instead.”

“But why toast,” I tried once more,
Wanting occult to explore,
“And why me, why my abode,
Why this city, why this road?”

“Look, shut up,” it screamed at me,
“Some things mortals should not see.
If you ask me any more
Well then, I’ll eat you for sure.”

Then I really did pass out
Terrified beyond all doubt
Waking, it had left my den
Never to be seen again

The words are frantic, lurch and odour (ignoring the peculiar American obsession with avoiding the letter “u”)

Ballad for a Sleepy Sunday

This won't make much sense without having read Part 1. Actually it probably won't make much sense anyway. Basically, Miss Marple has discovered that The Joker is in fact a cat in disguise, a realisation which lead to his arrest.

Part II: In which the felines take their dreadful revenge

The world was so glad the detective
Had captured the villain deranged
To broadcast the lady’s perspective
Was a press conference swiftly arranged

One asked, “In the great press corps sewer
I never saw magic like that
How is it a master wrongdoer
Can actually be a small cat?”

She said, “My job’s catching the killer
I did that eight blog posts ago
My genre’s not magical thriller
I’m not Harry Potter, you know”

Just then they were all interrupted
By felines with claws out in threat
While all was completely disrupted
They kidnapped our star from the set

When litters of cats so malignant
Had snatched her from under their nose
The public grew highly indignant
At the cunning revenge of their foes

The Joker’s release was demanded-
A ransom that couldn’t be paid
The FBI chief then commanded
Their best man should go to her aid

Thus just as Miss Marple, so nervous,
Quite thought that she’d seen her last hour
A shot rang out loud, and with purpose
There stormed in her saviour, Jack Bauer

And while she sat tied-up and useless
The agent got on with the fight
With trademark revenge truly ruthless
He shot every kitty in sight

Coming soon- Part III: In which Jack Bauer is cruelly persecuted by the RSPCA