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Posts Tagged ‘Ireland’

 

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Five hares on a morning field

Five ways to wake early

To glorious sunshine.

Spring’s clocks springing forward

Bringing me stumbling out early across the yard

My myopic squintings

Saluting the sun.

To be

Startled at the springing forward of the hares,

At their desperate hurtling away

And them disappearing into the back bog.

From where I was never to see them again.

Binoculars squinting serving only to point out

‘..the difference between a Hare

And a rock in a field?

If you see it move it’s a rock’.

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Hello,

Regular readers of my lies will know I recently joined the reincarnee’s dating agency, “Have We’ve Met B4?”  (www.previouslovepreviouslives.com)

I have met a lovely man! Called Lionel.

In his previous life he was  Julius Caesar and was building Hardrian’s Wall.

Today he works in a brick factory and has built a brick wall in his back bedroom. It’s lucky he works in a brick factory isn’t it!

He regularly pours boiling oil over passers by and on Friday crucified a man who was selling flannels door to door.  The Police have had a word with him about this.  As you would expect.

He explained the misunderstanding and bought a couple of flannels as a peace offering.

I’m going round for Tea tonight. Traditional dress.  I’m a bit worried.  My hammer toes aren’t really set off by a sandal. Still hopefully the inflatable Christian I have bought from www.slaughterthereligous.com should keep his mind off my pudgy tootsies.

I am taking a sherry trifle for pudding.

Agnes

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Oh, but how do drunk people get home?
I wonder
But…
How do drunk people get home?
My careening well…
Scars and scurf
And a long whole ago
….that pill in the morning in the clinic
that pill…
Hmm…
But how do drunk people get home?
I met the man with the box of frogs and had occasion to ask him
Feeling that the rain would stay off a while
as I sheltered under his hanging umbrella
He was too busy to answer
Much too busy,
The boxing of frogs and the herding of cats
Taking up
Way way too much of his time!
But it’d come to a pretty pass
If the only weavers of dreams left to us
Were to be the joke of the bank
(Their jokes are cruel)
And the many sellers of smoke
They there
Still there
There in the glam of the threadbare glade.

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Secretary of State for Work and Fuckery, Iain Drunken-Spliff wants to lash fat people to houses to drive down energy consumption in the UK as part of the Government’s Green agenda.

IDS told Gfb, “I’m sick of all these fat bastards lolloping round the place in tracky bottoms stuffing McShite into themselves,  blaming their glands and then expecting the NHS to staple their gobs.”

Ian Drunken Spliff

He continued after a shot of morphine, “I’m not fucking havin’ it. They are fat – like a Seal in winter fat – fat is good insulation – so tie themto the outside of houses as insulation. Energy consumption goes down and these tubsters are actually of some use. Genius or what!”

Drunken-Spliff then went for a lie down.

British Gas told Gfb, “We have no plans to lash the fat to houses, attractive as that may be. We are farming the obese for their tallow and hope the first Obese Oil Fired Power Station will be coming on-line in 3 or so years.”

Yootha N’asia, Secretary of The Society of Obese People said, “Are you going to eat that?”

 

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gingercrowd

THE GINGER SCROLLS – PART  2 THE DEPARTURE CONTINUED……

You can read Part 1 here

 

Friend,

I remain nameless but deign not to remain silent. For my people, a gentle friendly Volk with arms outstretched in friendship for all they come across, remain afloat on their small lard hair vessels, tormented by the loss of their lands and kin.

But lo! Just as our tragedy told, seemed to beckon all hope to the shadowy leather bucket of Norsglkiadrtothonotom we received message in form of salvation from great Lord Protector. Galleothon.

Once a mighty warrior who challenged evil to a mime war and boldly saw evil from the door when he did his smiley face, Great Galleothon protector of our beliefs and spirits in times good as well as those tainted by sadness and despair had come to us. The incant of Galleothon was heard across the heavens in the defence and protection of his people;

earth

We fall grim destiny

Locked upon a baleful wind

That draws us toward a future unknown

Oh Land! Oh ice and snow

What befalls us cannot stay

We shall weep but we vow to return one day

A promise made is a lie denied

seal

Krol climbed the mast of his boat and bade us to listen to his warbling message. He took blood from his wrists and scrawled in a proud fist upon the spider’s web sail that sought the winds solace for our benefit. By his luck he wrote in a smallish hand stemming blood loss but those of us with eyesight weak had to squint mightily to read the tiny words.

We are free

Doubt not your heart

We can see

No end but a start

We sail to Deep South

For have no doubt

Galleothon will guide us well

Away from this cruel swell

To calmer water

That is free of slaughter

 

easter 2

And on we sailed, for once the steel of cold sadness tempered by the thought of new homes and fates with land for us to till in return for our friendship and fealty. Each day we forged further, Mother Sun would appear for longer time, her warmth on our faces and her kindness rekindling our spirits.

The land of the Notalots beckoned……

 

everest copy

 

To be continued….

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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I was in Tesco’s rummaging amongst the mangoes with a view to buying one for my pudding this evening.  As I popped a fruit into my trolley, I felt a tad woozy and a touch fey.

I had an insatiable desire to free my people from the yoke of Roman tyranny.

The spirit of Boadicea, Queen of the Iceni had entered me!

I applied Brobat Blue woad and with my wonky wheeled trolley chariot, I sought vengeance on the spotty youth oppressing me with her inability to locate the dried apricots in the Storeroom.

She was no underpaid wage slave of questionable literacy and numeracy skills but a Roman oppressor!

I rented the air with a cry of “Death To The Romans!”

The Romans formed a Shield Wall using tins of Kidney, Baked and Borlotti Beans. The cunning curs!

Sadly my uprising came to an abrupt halt when the wonky wheel of the accursed trolley chariot fell off and I skidded to a halt by the tinned fish shelf (Pilchards on special offer by the way).

Mango anyone?

Regards,

Agnes

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