Category Archives: Prose poetry

Frank Whats’isname

—Hey, Frank’s on the phone!

-Frank who?

—Frank O’Phile. The Irish fellow who drinks like a fish and digs French chicks

-Does he speak the lingo?

—Like a native, yes

-Lucky bastard. What does he want?

—Wait a mot. I can’t understand his accent. He’s asking for:  du pain, du beurre and du Bousin ….wtf!….. ‘scuse my French, mate

-Do what?  What ‘s he on about?

—I think he thinks we’re a restaurant.

-He’s probably been on the whisky again. Hang up

 

A for Apple and other fun facts

I can’t believe this is the last day!! I’m on-my-knees exhausted and nearly out of words, but what a blast it has been. Here’s the last one, I think…  A prose poem. A postcard. Almost Again.

hashtag with blue background behind

Hey, Sweetie, you can put a stamp on, although many have tried, you can’t order me — alphabetically speaking
the longest word I know that does that is — ALMOST, ordered correctly A-Z
and you almost can, if you reverse a bit and look me up back to front. (see details on some website or other, btw)
A bit obscure, for you, if not almost for me — try looking up this apple, honey

1% of all women can achieve 100% orgasm just by stimulating their breasts can I be one of them?? Almost. I’ve tried. I’ve fiddled with the knobs, but I just can’t get off —
(tried for 37 minutes which is the average for any sexual experience)

That’s not working. Wait, babe.  I can’t find the hashtag button on my Apple Mac either,
(which is called an octotoph in any man’s language.) Why don’t I have one when 99% of the population seem to have access?? I can’t type octotrophmetoo, can I? Sounds cracked.
metoo metoo metoo
Another fun fact — A duck’s quack doesn’t echo and though they’ve tried, no-one can figure that out.  Sounds quacked. Quack Quack Quack. Lack of interest? — how about this chestnut?

An estimated millions or precisely a more or less of trees are sprouted from the nuts buried by forgetful squirrels. Bless their cotton socks, the furry nut jobs! Or, are they on a mission no-one knows about?? Almost, I imagine. The bees can’t do all the work, honey!
There was that Johnny Appleseed, of great and noble deed, who planted appleseeds and grew trees too. He only did it though so as folks could be pressed to distill apple juice to cider and get pissed. weird. I almost bless him as well. For the moonshine, hashtagCheers!
Sweet Sweet Sweet!

btw 30/04/2018

http://www.napowrimo.net

Napowrimo Day 30:-write a poem that engages with a strange and fascinating fact. It could be an odd piece of history, an unusual bit of art trivia, or something just plain weird.

Naked Blush

IMG_3747

Morning raucous of neighbourhood crows bring me blinking onto the balcony. Hazy silhouette of not so distant mountain across the blue grey bowl of Lac Leman, filled with holy waters of pure snow melt. Each day the view changes clothes; moody greens, granite blues, peaks and ravines revealed or coquettishly concealed in mantles of cloud, slung low over shoulders, or completely shrouded. In winter, she wears sugar coating, of course, it’s the fashion.

Early afternoon, magnolias bloom and bud and burst into debutante blush. With pink faced determination, in pale promise, they manage to lift my heart from the sludge of winter dullness. This naked, first blush, pressed against still slate grey skies, for the most part, will be brief, but enough to revive those curious yellows. They peek out from beneath broken earth and early grasses; the posies of primroses, profuse patches of daffodils, sprays of daisies preceding dandelion weeds. Next will come the wilful tulips, deliberated planted in sculpted beds by industrious gardeners, but lets us not get ahead of this moment.

Triumphant trills of promiscuous birds; a lively mayhem of mating rituals.  I take my coffee out on to the terrace and timidly remove layers of clothing, risking goosebumps for a dainty taste of Spring on my tender skin. It’s a sin. “Enleve pas un fil en avril…” as they say here. But this is Lausanne at its best and I’m excited. I’ve survived.

Ditch the tourist pics of snow and slopes, cheese and chocolates, cowbells and watches. This is bees knees! This is champagne fizzes! This is sweet nectar. The scent of summer on the breeze comes, from a distance, I’ll admit, but defiantly detected. I take a great, fat, grateful breath of it….and….and …and  begin to sneeze. Damn, I always forget this bit!!

magnolia creams
brief blushes brush blues; timid
rays tiding Summer

http://www.napowrimo.net

Napowrimo Day 12:- its’ a haibun to day! Here’s mine!