Sunday 160

I saw this challenge on Jinksy’s blog and being inveterately nosy had to see what Monkey Man stipulated.

Here is the picture and my offering.

He had never divulged the horror that turned his hair white overnight.  Stoically he accepted his lot but his vacant expression and clenched fist spoke volumes.

(160 characters)

Deep down in our hearts

Jinksy from ‘napple notes’ wrote the following verse in response to a remark from a friend of hers whose ‘driveway was beginning to resemble a babbling brook’. 

Floater's Dance

There, on a path where water is rushing 
over shingled drive not intended for gushing 
streams, leaves huddle, form a raft.
Without map or compass this craft 
will continue to dance to skirling song 
of wind and rain. Who knows how long
the piper has called this same tune
in other lands, under different moons?

I thought it was delightful but challenged her to pen something to make muddy pawprints acceptable. Almost immediately she responded with the following. 

Blokes, kids, cats and dogs

with mud on their feet

that treks in from the garden

or even the street,

can leave other traces,

much harder to beat -

deep down in our hearts -

and that's no mean feat!

Cleverly and succinctly Jinksy has captured the essence of our relationship with those we love. Thank you, Penny J

If you have not yet indulged yourself in a visit to ‘napple notes’ I urge you to do so. I promise you will not be disappointed.

A sort of Flenny Noyder

I blame it all on Jinksy from napple notes . . .



Shing, shang, clope,

Missles in the trope.

Kwi pats ill ein? Spleeder Jarno Glein.

Kwi pats ill reit? Spleeder Tarmo Streit.

Caze a nastig blor was drat

To try to zag poor missle nat

Kwi nope did any blune

Ma zig the squizz in his petro's flune.