To lighten the mood – maybe

 

To lighten the mood – maybe

A few years ago, I responded to a writing prompt from Delores, who used to blog but had to give up. She asked, ‘How many ways can you work the word ‘sliver’ into a sentence?’

I dished up some doggerel, reminded of the times I would insist that my children ate the liver I’d cooked occasionally, because it was ‘good’ for them. It was cruel. Of course, it may have been the way I cooked it – I will never be acclaimed as a good cook, not even, I fear, a passable one.

One of them has been an avowed vegetarian for most of her adult life! I wonder why?

My apologies to those who may have seen this flight of fancy before.

 

A sliver of liver
Makes small children shiver
When struggling to swallow
The unswallowable,

And all of a dither
Their tears start to slither,
Unstoppable river -
It’s horrible.

They gaze at the giver,
A look that would wither
The hardest of hearts -
Ineffable.

‘Just a sliver of liver,
To make you grow strong,’
The adult’s persuasion -
Implacable.

The sliver grows bigger,
And drier and harder,
It can’t be choked down -
Unspeakable.

If all children ate
The things that they ‘should’
They’d grow into giants -
Implausible.

The cat on the hat

 

The cat on the hat

 

The cat sits on his master’s hat, 

And slowly gazes round;

This place is better than a mat

And high above the hound.

 

His claws are sheathed in velvet paws,

With eyes half-closed, he naps;

Twitching his tail, he gently snores,

Dreaming of mice, perhaps.

 

Alas! Alack! His brother’s back,

Time to vacate the cap,

Anything to avoid the whack

Of a less than friendly tap.

 

                                                      

Bedtime

Bedtime

 

A little piece of doggerel. Why is there no catterel?

 

When the busy day is done,

When there’s no more time for fun,

Up the stairs we lightly tread,

Now’s the time to go to bed.

 

Lay your paws upon my leg,

Do not scratch me, please, I beg,

I am big and you are small,

But that matters not at all.

 

Stretching out our weary limbs,

Sighing as the daylight dims,

Closing eyes to all around,

Off to Dreamland we are bound.

 

Reveries of joys we’ve shared,

Dreaming of the things we dared;

Tomorrow is a different place,

Another day to run and race.

 

Tell me a story

Tell me a story

Of once upon a time

When magic ruled the earth.

Tell it short or tell it long,

Make it trivial or sublime,

Write it sad or full of mirth.

Knit a fabric of surprise,

Blend in truth and dreams or lies

But make it real somewise.

Make me laugh or make me cry,

Tell me tales that make me sigh,

Bid me always question, ‘Why?’

Create for me delicious fright

Or make me gasp in sheer delight,

And make sure wrong is never right.

Catch a child’s mind when you can,

Always make your stories fun,

Then, storytellers, you have won.

 Written for 'The Tuesday Platform' in 'imaginary garden with real toads'. 

Delores at ‘Mumblings’ challenged us with a writing prompt. She said, 

Feel like having some fun with a writing prompt?
How many ways can you work the word 'sliver' into a sentence?
Maybe someone will write a poem.

This got me thinking so thank you for that, Delores. I need a kick-start in the mornings – or maybe just a kick.

Well, I just had to dish up some doggerel . . .

A sliver of liver

Makes small children shiver

When struggling to swallow

The unswallowable.

And all of a dither

Their tears start to slither,

Unstoppable river -

It’s horrible.

They gaze at the giver,

A look that would wither

The hardest of hearts -

Ineffable.

‘Just a sliver of liver,

To make you grow strong’,

The adult’s persuasion -

Implacable.

The sliver grows bigger,

And drier and harder,

It can’t be choked down –

Unspeakable.

If all children ate

The things that they ‘should’

They’d grow into giants –

Implausible.

(That got much darker than I intended!)

Why not meander over to 'Mumblings' and see what else is on offer?

Fire From a Different Sun

The challenge from 'imaginary garden with real toads' was to write a poem about a fire that doesn’t come from flames or the sun.

A Poem of Clichés

His smouldering eyes looked deep into hers

And her breath came swiftly and fierce,

An inferno of lust flared from his touch

Until her heart pulsed in her ears.

The heat of the moment was all she felt,

The fervour, the passion, the need,

But later the memory scorched her with shame –

Her name blackened by the deed.

Seared and dishonoured she took the veil

Nevermore to show her face,

Incandescence of ardour soon forgot

As she bowed her head in disgrace.

The Consequences of Idleness

Thanks to Josie of ‘Two Shoes Tuesday’ who hosts this writing meme. Her prompts this week are ‘Distraction’ or ‘Tears’. Participants may choose one or other or both of the prompt words.

I didn’t know where I was going with this one – and as you can see, I’m not convinced I ever found out . . .

        The Consequences of Idleness

I was drowsy with inaction -

Neither seeking a reaction

Nor requesting satisfaction,

I admitted an attraction

Which provided stupefaction

Though I wanted no transaction –

It was simply a distraction.

I intended no infraction

Or similar abstraction

From another’s tender traction.

BUT it led to jeers and tears

From relatives and peers

Who asserted their worst fears,

Repeated through the years,

Had reached their outraged ears.

I took the quickest action

To calm the angry faction

And wrote a stiff retraction

To abandon a protraction –

My character’s contraction

Caused me dissatisfaction

And all because inaction

Had allowed me a distraction.

  

The Maid's Lament

Words for Wednesday

Delores from ‘The Feathered Nest’ offers six words (actually, she’s gone overboard this week and given us twelve to choose from. Twelve!! J) as a writing prompt – bovine, clandestine, divine, engine, enshrine, incline, leonine, machine, pine, ravine, recline, valentine.  

Why not visit her and see what other writing has been inspired?

The Maid's Lament

He said our love would be enshrined,

He said our love would last –

He said, ‘To wed I am inclined’ –

The fatal die was cast.

His honeyed words seduced me,

We met near the ravine,

A clandestine arrangement -

He feared we might be seen.

I thought he looked so leonine,

He said I was divine,

And on the tallest broadest pine

He carved our valentine.

The engine of his passion

Beat hard within his breast,

At least that’s what he told me –

I know you’ll guess the rest.

Upon the greensward I reclined,

He took my hand in his;

What bliss was this, a simple kiss –

My fate was now defined.

For what came next was no surprise,

Except to this poor maid,

Like tables, eggs and groaning ghosts

I had been truly laid.

Poetry Jam Laugh in the Face of Everything

The photo shows a Polish farming couple in Connecticut, 1940

Photo credit:

Public Domain Photograph from the Farm Security Administration – Office of War Information Photograph Collection in the Library of Congress; Jack Delano, photographer.

The challenge from Poetry Jam is to respond to this photo of a Polish farmer and his wife in Connecticut in 1940. Times were hard but they found something to laugh about.

He wasn’t much to look at but

She’d loved him all her life,

He was a caring husband

And she a doting wife.

When people asked the secret

That kept their love alive

They smiled and said that hard work

And laughter made it thrive.

So when the days seem darkest

And things are at their worst

Remember this old couple

And put each other first.

Allegro

The challenge at 'imaginary garden with real toads' was set by Laurie Kolp. Her word, 'allegro' was to be incorporated in an eight-line stanza that had to be written in one minute. 

As she said, 'To sum it up: One word (allegro), one octave, one minute.'

I said, ‘Allegro’ to my pup -

‘Twas meant to make him hurry up,

But he just rushed straight back indoors

With lightning haste and muddy paws

And jumped into the litter tray

To piddle quickly. Now each day

He turns his nose up when it’s wet

And pees inside, the little pe(s)t!

Saturday Centus #47 I’m not a chicken

Jenny Matlock hosts this weekly meme. Thank you! J

Her challenge to participants is to use the prompt and up to 100 more words to produce a piece of writing in any style. This week’s objective is to write in rhyme! Click here to read more and perhaps be inspired to join in! The prompt is in red italics.

I’m not a chicken that clucks and pecks

All day in the dusty yard,

Munching on pellets and small insects 

And sometimes on fresh Swiss chard.

I am a bird of a kind, though now

I’m fairly long in the tooth –

More like an outmoded house Frau

Is rather nearer the truth.

Time was I was quite a neat young chick

But the years and the kids took their toll;

I think I’m becoming quite stoic

And life’s pretty good on the whole.

(79 words, discounting the prompt)