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Posts Tagged ‘Words’

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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Britain’s leading Director of Erotica, Oily George takes time out of his hectic schedule to give tips on grooming and style!

Word Up!

Hello Oily,

Please help – I just can’t satisfy my woman’s lust for dirty scrabble.

She is insatiable in putting rude words on the board, even in the company of my church going parents. She started with “bottom, nipple and charlie” but has now dangerously progressed to “willy, knob and knockers”. Where will it end?

Ma and Pa’s local church is having a charity scrabble evening next week and I am worried that the filth will only get worse.

How do I avoid a double word score blowout?

Sidney, Pamplona

Oily Replies;

Sid I wouldn’t worry too much about shocking the local vicar. I have an upstanding member, errm… sorry got distracted by my next door neighbour’s activities (note to self, get the binoculars cleaned).

Anyway, yes I AM an upstanding member of the community, an erect pillar if you will. Because of my involvement with the local Beverley Hills Scientology Church I know what goes on behind closed doors in ‘respectable’ society. You would be shocked if you knew the truth. Lets just say  a lot of “Hubbard in the Cupboard” goes on.

Yo feel me?

Ever tried strip sniff spank scrabble? Now there is a game!

Oily

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When you go to the bottom of the well

In sadness scrabbling the deep ooze and

Mud scrambling around below

The talk then is of the climb back up but

There are sometimes valuable things down there

Peopled from times past

Reasons to go down

The echo of words spoken of those who went before

Their history hopes and dreams now spent for themselves

But cast there not to be weighed down and hold fast the present

But given for us to find

A safe ballast

With twisted golden torc through free

To other lands

Our future theirs

Their dreaming hands wrought twists

Living longer than flesh

Dreaming remains

Golden summer or winter night

Livings loud delight

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The waiting time left me with little to say so I waited

I waited again thinking it would be my day

I waited as the sun moved across that sky

Waited as breathing followed breath

Living followed breathing

And living carried on

So much living but nowhere else burst

So she carried on living.

Evenings and mornings followed

Nights and days followed

And she got up got well and then went away

We were lucky with those breaths

There was no time wasted

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The sales pitch had gone well, much better than expected. I was delighted when the Purchasing Manager confirmed the order for 5,000 glue sticks.  I had reached my monthly sales target two weeks early. There was a good chance of a hefty bonus this month.

I sat back, relaxed and watched England dissolve beneath me as the train sped Northwards.

The Dolphin sat in the seats opposite. He wore an overcoat with the collar turned up. A bowler hat was perched rather pompously on his head. At regular intervals as he emitted from his blowhole, the hat would be lifted and hover briefly above his head, like a felt lined Halo, before landing with a satisfying plop.

The Dolphin looked familiar.

A flustered trolley attendant manoeuvred his sturdy carriage towards us. I ordered a coffee and a packet of chocolate chip biscuits. After all I did have something to celebrate.

The Dolphin ordered a bottle of diet Coke and a slice of fruit cake. I had been tempted by the sultana infused fancy but had veered toward the biscuit at the last moment.

“How much?” The Dolphin asked.

“On the house,” replied the attendant in a gracious Scottish accent. The Bowler performed its gymnastic feat in celebration. “After all,” the attendant continued, “It is not every day that the world’s greatest Quantum Physicist travels East Coast Mainline!”

“Very kind of you.”

“Not at all. May I take the opportunity to say that your use of Lascalle’s Diminishing Calculus Theory to demonstrate that the Universe is a bit knobbly in places has changed the course of history. It is an honour to meet you.” Again the Dolphin’s hat hovered above him, but this time landed at a much jauntier angle atop his bonce.

The attendant offered a packet of hand crimped Sea Salt and Vinegar crisps. The Dolphin graciously declined.

I watched for twenty minutes as the intellect that had discovered the knobbly bits of the Universe struggled to unscrew the  bottle cap and remove  the cake’s cellophane wrapping.

The Dolphin swore quietly to himself in a series of sonic clicks no doubt hoping that there was another, more dextrous Bottlenose on board the 11.48 to Waverley.

A boy of eight summers approached. He wore the green jersey of the Cub Scout movement. His right sleeve bore a new badge which read  “For Pedantry”.

“Do you want to any help?” The Cub asked with evangelical eagerness. The Dolphin nodded his assent. The Cub took the items from the Dolphin’s tray, unscrewed the bottle and removed the wrapper.

“Many thanks!”

“I thought Dolphins were meant to be clever,” The Cub said.

I munched on my second chocolate chip cookie, wondering what to do with my bonus.

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I like the folderol of blue embroidery

On the white tablecloth’s cool brilliance

Today’s breakfast coffee spills join

Yesterday’s

Drips and crumbs of our meals together

Are lifted and shook out

Before the cloth is put away on it’s shelf

Ready to be smoothed out table set

For our next meal together

Or we’ll maybe wash it

And use the one with the fish and the chickens

They instead marking out

The songs of our days.

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"Known as the Chicken......"

Influenced by the Kurosawa, Sergio Leone, set himself the task of making his own clucking homage to the great Japanese Director. Two of the films in particular stand out.

A Few Chickens More and The Good, The Bad and The Chicken. Classic movies with timeless themes.

The Chick With No Name

Greed, deception, double dealin’, poor lip synching and lots of Wah Wah Woop Woop in the soundtracks made for riveting entertainment.

Eastwood’s character of the fluffy little amoral Easter chick with no name set him on a route to superstardom and alongside co-stars Elay Wallach and Lee Van Cheep, the films have entered movie legend.

Here’s what the critics had to say,

“You’ll believe a chicken can lip synch,” The Delaware Doubter.

“Lee Van Cheep will go on to superstardom. A real feather in his cap this one.” The New York Times

“The most realistic depiction of chickens in a Western I have ever seen!” The Houston Chronicle.

Martin Scorsese was one of many to be inspired. “Seeing The Good, The Bad and The Chicken gave me the inspiration I needed to for my film Raging Chicken, which originally was going to be about a taxi driving fighting cock on the mean streets of New York. This was such a stupid idea that I decided to make it about a cow with anger management issues. Moo moo.”

The rest as they say is history.

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