Hilda Hogg bit the bullet and set herself to flog her figurine of ole King Zog bequeathed by her fabled auntie Dora who held a candle for the old despot. Times was hard, there was a duck at the door with a hat on, Bailiff Bernard dunning a bill.
‘Adieu, old chum’ she whispered through a final lucky lick on the pate of the china chappie in her trembling hands. If she had really had a candle she would have lit it and muttered a homily to tractor production in Albania.
Plod-plod-plod-plod: A quadroplod, called Roddy, Rodders, Rodney
A nod’s as good as a wink to those who cannot see me
I am the king, horse king,
Looking about see the world sideways tyranny
Of my very large nose. Equine whinny
Giddy up halt walk on. Plop chomp clip clop
On harder surfaces. Clunkety-clank pop
It has just gone ten and the morning splurge is underway so it is upstairs for asylum from the maw, if only a modest respite before the ‘big scribbles’. There are a couple of things put up for comment, unenthalling and over-written first person tedium; they do not provoke the bard’s quim: atrophy Trophy.
Morse can dwell below for now: upstairs poems, downstairs for prose. There needs to be a separation or blurring will occur. Did a bit more of Byrdland while downstairs; the Ginge arrived to say au revoir, I wished him bon voyage and off he went till May First. Listening to Tony Bennett and waiting for Dr. Doss, who is late. Feeling hunted, the prey of a vicious and pernicious pack of hounds, always wary and back-watching: just because you’re paranoid doesn’t mean they aren’t out to get you!
Woof
Meteors used to be warplanes when I was younger, Comets were for paying passengers, they were the future but they were fatally flawed and crashed to earth. Stealth speaks for itself as does Concorde and although it is a helicopter, Apache or Crow.
As a doodling child I like the Lightning and Vulcan, this changed into the Phantom and the Kite. Now I tend to consider Nimrod and Hercules, but this is just a fancy, meteors are real. So are asteroids.
My old man’s a dustbin,
He wears a dustbin lid:
His sister’s name is Binbag,
And his brother’s name is Sid.
Grimbeau 