Rick Mobbs - Last image prompt.

Re-Written for the final Rick Mobbs image prompt.
SOON
The Martians are laughing at the odd, man-made dog, who 'conquered' the moon.
Soon they'll reveal themselves as the little 'tin gods' that they think they are.
They'll emerge from the shadows, throwing hot rocks at the automaton.

That poor dog, no space tree to bark at, legless, stranded, like a dead duck!
The Martians, standing there like Montezuma, ejaculating fire.
Spurting from every orifice and projectile of their tall tin frame.

But NASA will cut the delayed transmission - to the people on earth.
A million Internet flunkies will never quite know what's just gone wrong.
They press a button, terminate the session, find something else to do.

You think I'm kidding, maybe? the Martians will be laughing at us soon!
070797

TOP prompt - Totally optional option!

Posted for Totally Optional Prompts
I elected to take the totally optional option this week.
ALMOST
The first time,
you're really subjective,
autobiographical, almost.

Then later when you've
had time to shop around,
you get objective,
pessimistic, almost.

And then, when you find
your 'own voice' you become
romantic, optimistic, almost.

But they do say that:
'Patience is a virgin', almost!
080797

Sunday Scribblings "Myself"

Written for Sunday Scribblings.
CONFESSIONAL
Just to prove to myself that I don't know what I'm doing when I'm drunk.
I went out to the pub last night and had a couple of pints, of Rum!
I rolled home about two or three a.m. and crashed out on the sofa.
Some time later, I woke up, crawled up the wooden hill and went to bed.
It's not like me to get pissed so easily but when I do I zonk!
And when I zonk, I snore, so the sofa is the only place to go.
Sometimes the walls are paper thin, like in my house, then the whole gaff shakes!

I'd really like to have a date with you but don't let me near the Rum.
Or the Vodka or the Whisky or the whiskey or the G and T.
In fact, make me steer clear of the top shelf, don't let me near the vino.
The laughing gear is strong enough for me but it has to be hand pulled.
From the wood and gravity fed, I know they say: keg still does the trick.
But any Tom, Dick or Lazarus can get up after a few of them!
Forgive me Father, for getting Brahms, It's been a Rum time since my last...
261008

TOP prompt "Justice/injustice"

Posted for Totally Optional Prompts
Piccadilly-Pick-pocket!
ASSAULT + FLATTERY.
Daisy Dippy
on the 'dilly
kissed my lips
and touched
my willy
must've thought that
I was silly.
When she said
she liked
Big Ben!
I didn't know
she meant
my ten...
quid that
she slid
into her pocket
that she dipped
from my
sky rocket!
AS1393
Glossary
Dippy, Dip = pick-pocket
'dilly = Piccadilly
Big Ben = rhyming slang for ten
quid = £1 English money (slang.)
dipped = stole, pickpocketed
sky rocket = pocket
Have you read my poem Polyamourosity yet?

readwritepoem #49 - Echolalia

Written for the readwritepoem prompt - Echolalia

THE LIVERPOOL ECHO

Echo, Echo! Hey, Read all about it!

Poetry book sells quarter million copies!

Echo! Echo La? Lia? There yer go!

Echo, Echo! Straight from the horses mouth!

Patten, McGough and Henri, sold out!

Echo! Echo La? Get yer Echo La!

Irreverent, sardonic, funny, sad!

In an unintelligible Scouse tongue,

The newsboy shouts it out, Echo, Echo!

He bawls, with his echolalia tic.

MYC171008

Have you read my controversial poem Polyamourosity yet?
Go on clink-the-link!

read write image #1

Retrospective of a Myth.
Drawing by RossinaBossioB

Click the drawing
for a bigger picture.












IN FAGINS DEN
It’s like Fagin’s den in ‘ere love, let’s shoot…

‘old yer ‘orses guv, I’ve still got some gin.

Does yer ‘ubbby know that yer out up west?

Leave it out, it wus ‘im who sent me ‘ere.

Well the sooner yer drink up the better.

Yer won’t ‘urt me will yer gov? I’m not well.

Yer look kosher to me darlin’, what’s up?

Nuffin’ much, I’m just out to earn a crust.

Well yer can trust me love, I’m a doctor!

Cor blimey! Yer not that Jack the fingy?

201008

You can read what everybody else wrote at readwritepoem

Have you read my controversial poem, Polyamourosity! yet ? - clink-the-link-Here

Writers Island - Controversial

Written for the Writers Island prompt - Controversial
POLYAMOUROSITY
(ME + HER + HIM + HER + POLLY)
Little miss Polly polyamorous
Don’t she just think that she’s so glamorous
Her, him and her mono-poly combo

Dancing in the gym with him she thinks, hey
Beats that polyester fashionista
From the polytechnic that lives next door

Or that bloke, misogynist Sylvester
With his carrier bag mentality
Serial monogamist, etcetera.

Then there’s that polythene politician
Who has no clue about which way is up
Is he hetro, homo, bigot or what?

Polygamy is seen as blasphemy
Metro sex, - metrosexuality?
Polyamorist, - polyamory!

Mahogany bedpost monogamous
Monotonous monogamy? Not me
I’m a multidimensionality

Me and my other personality.
Not tried ethical non-monogamy
Twist my arm and I’ll test it properly.
191008
polyamourosity Vs polyamorousity and polyamorosity...

Sunday Scribblings "My Style"

Written for Sunday Scribblings prompt : My Style

MY

STYLE

Fake this line, write it in quick time slowly

Right side up wrong side down which way to go

Everest is the highest mountain still

Every day someone tries to change the rules

So you want to know what my style is hey?

Then you’re going to have to give and take

Yesterday was different to today

Lines come and go, tomorrow who can tell?

Every day is different to the next.

I’ve not got a lot to say about form

Soon there will be more forms than there are poems

Many times I try to do the right thing

Yet, every time I fail and fail again.

Still want to know hey? Freestyle is my style

Too many people try to get it right

Yesterday was simple, now things are hard.

Lessons are continually being taught

Every day something new makes me forget.

181008

Read Write Poem #48 Collaborative

Written for the collaborative prompt from Read Write Poem

TENUOUSLY FORGETTABLE MEMORIES

As yet I don’t know which words to delete

Antiquated meditation, perhaps.

Untouched, nobody guards his artefacts,

sacred tribal tatterdemalion

now lost in the courtyards of his villas.

I attempt to scavenge some of the junk

and recognise the badge of civil chrome

on the parked cars belonging to the host

across the alleys, gleaming in the sun.

Nowadays though he hardly leaves the house,

if he resurfaces the Pap’s will pounce,

they scream obscenities in his front yard

and slink away to jettison their bile.

His brilliant tablature will not deplete.

151008

TOP prompt "Internal Rhymes"

Prompted by Totally Optional Prompts

this is my attempt at a 'climbing rhyme'.

TIC TOCK STOP

Climbing rhyming

tick-chiming-tock!

Skimming the clock

with a block in

a sock. Ticktock

up the clock face

of rock they climb,

making time tick.

Day time they come

at a run, just

for fun to find.

In their mind they

must wind the key

clockwise. Three times

back, tree trunk style for a while, ticktock, I'll stop!

131008

Read Write Poem #47 of Monsters + Dinosaurs

Posted for the Read Write Poem prompt: of Monsters + Dinosaurs
YESTERDAY IS DEAD!
Yesterday is dead
yes that's what I said
yesterday is dead!
You won't catch me
digging for dinosaur bones.
Hell, I've got enough
troubles of my own.
You're sixty-five million
years behind the times.
So, don't speak to me
about your scientific finds.
Don't talk to me with your
pre-historic minds.
'cos,
You won't catch me
digging for dinosaur bones.
Hell, I've got enough
troubles of my own.
Yesterday is dead,
yes, yesterday is dead + done.
But babe, you wouldn't
think it, the way those boffins
go - on, talking about the past
like it's the 'In-thing' to know!
You won't catch me
digging for dinosaur bones.
Hell, I've got enough
troubles of my own.
They cite devolution,
like it's some kindda solution.
It's a piss-poor contribution!
If that's the way they
think, that we oughta grow.
Yesterday is dead
yes that's what I said
yesterday is dead!
4599
I had to dig this one out of the archives and dust it off. It was originally written in 1999 in response to the science fiction movies Jurassic Park 1+2
I think that I thought of them as being some kind of cyclical prophesy that the world was devolving into.

TOP prompt - Discoveries

DISCO VERY

I used to go to Disco Very,

every Friday night so merry.

Poco Loco, Disco So-so,

Cinderella’s an’ Arabella’s.

Sing, Sucu sucu, dance like Ferry,

Do the Strand in the Roxy room.

Piccadilly Jilly’s, Pip’s and Placemate,

Disco Very, yeah, yeah, yeah!

And everybody at Disco Daze,

would disco dance to the disco craze.

Northern soul, do the Tamla walk,

those seventies days in Manchester.

061008

Sunday Scribblings "Forbidden"

MAGIC ISLAND

Tara skips barefoot on the hot sand of Brown Sugar Beach towards the sea.

Before she reaches the strawberry scented ocean she strips naked.

Freeing herself from her city clothes she steps into the cool pink sea.

It is a beautiful day, she tells herself, as she splashes around.

When the surf caresses her body she starts to forget about him.

The salts in the water and the heat from the two suns start to heal her.

Floating on her back Tara lets the gentle waves carry her forward.

Before long the magic island of Tiny Tree is just a feint dot.

Turning onto her front her powerful arms strike out and she swims back.

The beach deserted earlier, is now a hive of activity.

Dozens of naked men and women are picnicking on the hot sands.

Their perfect bodies screaming immortality, clothes are forbidden.

041008

RWP #46

GODDESS OF LOVE
She is my meditation and my muse,
without her I cannot live.
Every day she steers my ship at dawn,
to new horizons and beyond.

She is my communication,
my voice, without her I am silent.
As if by magic-carpet,
galaxies appear at the speed of thought.

She is my constant companion,
without her I am lonely and lost.
At the market-place she is with me,
when I re-wick and oil the lamps.

She is my imagination, my strength,
when I rub her lamp she comes.
She is more than a genie to me though,
she is my goddess of love.

She is the spirit that fuels my soul,
on towards immortality.
Already we have built a million mansions,
in the eternal realm.
021008

TOP prompt "Revisitation"

AND STILL

With only an hour left for him to live, he sets out to make his peace.

Love letters to burn, skeletons to closet, and daughters to marry.

He revisits his old stomping grounds and finds a priest to confess to.

Poetry to erase, novels still to write, pictures that need painting.

People to forgive, sons to instruct, balls to kick, recipes to burn.

Aeroplanes to jump from, mountains to climb, rivers to ford and to swim.

Poets to read, websites to find, comments to make, more blogs to link to.

Babies to kiss, wives to dismiss, lovers to lean on, tears to cry.

Beer to drink, time to think, people to find, galaxies to explore.

Seeds to plant, crops to rotate, potatoes to dig, apple trees to shake.

And still, knowledge to acquire, things to see and do, other fish to fry!

280908

RWP #45 word fishing

These are my word fishing words

1. Roger McGough You and Your Strange Ways undersides

2. Anne-Marie Thompson Milkyway Moon camouflage

3. Adrian Henri Love Is… fanclub

4. Lemn Sissay Live Man Die (City Sigh) slick

5. Brian Patten On The Dawn Boat warnings

WORD FISHING

I applied to join your fanclub

Who knows which way it will take me

First I slide down the undersides

Then I get back into the groove

I’m really moving oh so slick

Automatic pilot now girl

There’s no need to heed the warnings

Flying high above the city

You alone are my camouflage

I’m so glad you let me join you

Word fishing in another world

240908
You can visit my other blog Proper Joe's clink-the-link.

TOP Free Prompt

2 GIRLS

They call you up

when you’re all alone

to let you know that they can moan.

On the flummin

dog an’ bone

and all they do is moan and flippin moan.

They hog the phone,

trunk call trombone

and moan & moan down the herringbone.

They say: don’t you know

what he did to me,

did he do that to you too?

They’re out to kill

they don’t pay the bill,

that’s how these phone girls get their thrill!

They moan and moan

‘til the dialling tone goes shrill,

‘cos that’s what phone girls do.

Hell, if you’ve got two girls,

when they call you up,

you’re gonna need two phones.

So that you can

just put phone to

flummin phone and let them flaming moan.

230908

Rewritten from an idea I had in 1971

You can check out my other blog Proper Joe's HERE

Sunday Scribblings. Invitation..

WINO’S BENCH

Dying in this melting pot of my little bit of bohemia.

The wino’s bench sits in all weathers inviting confessions all day.

They say, sixty-six languages are spoken in this neck of the woods.

By the same token the Jam-patios, unintelligible to all.

Except for to, some followers of the Ethiopian guru.

But like Dreadlocks once said, that that’s the way things should be after the fall.

Since the tower of Babel and hanging baskets of Babylon fell.

And we all fall, there is no escape and it is not will I? But, when?

And Jin Singh walks past with his brown-paper suitcase spilling out his smalls.

I knew it would rain, he complains as he hurries by the wino’s bench.

And they are in fine form today and out in force and speaking nonsense.

The bottles and cans empty and broken like the men who drank them dry.

And cold old Irish Pete hugs his shillelagh like there’s no tomorrow.

And slowly he downs the last drop from the miniature for the third time.

Across the street outside the corner shop even the currency talks.

They take Euros, dollars and cents, Zloty and Roubles for crack cocaine.

And young bodies change hands for ten pounds for ten minutes, dead or alive.

The Somalian’s have got their own café now and their own dealers.

They only speak Arabic to your face and perfect English at home.

Like everybody else, they want your money not your conversation.

Even the barber invites you to speak Hebrew; it’s all Greek to me.

Such and such a sort of double Dutch but those that speak Urdu still do!

And at the Delhi-deli they leave out the old veg for the wino’s.

But the alkies don’t eat unless they go to the soup kitchen at night.

Winter is coming fast this glorious Indian summer can’t last.

MSC210908

TOP Prompt - Blank Verse (attempt)

BLANK

VERSE

Bess looks so drunk, dehydrated these days

Like a memory line hung out to dry

As she must! Or might she one day recall?

Nodding, swearing, kicking. Screaming to squirm

Kebab and café windows are broken

Volkswagen surf bus down by the ocean

Everyone normal is sleeping by now

Rip-roaring Rangoon is closing down too

So by the time that the rickshaw heads home

Even the doughboy is kneading the bread

170908

RWP #44 Rememberances.

KING OF KINGSTON

Little Miss Sax goddess talking dirty, forty years back or thirty.

Time was simple then, they say, but the days were hard at the lumberyard.

And Mohican Sam, the ganger man, made us work for our bread and lard.

And Guitar Jim would sing ‘I’m the king of Kingston! der der der, der dum!’

Then old Surbiton Soap-box Joe, would go 'And I’m the king of Hong Kong!’

Suck blow suck suck blow, blue in the face, that Harmonica Kid could blow!

So, you can bet – we worked up a sweat when Miss Sax goddess crossed our path.

Can you remember all those years ago? How I remember them so!

250808

TOP Conversation. Paris Une..

VINGT GITANES.
I wander alone in this great place
no-one bothers me, hardly,
apart from a few girls,
calling out of upstairs windows after dark.
'Hey English!' and 'Sprecken sie Deutch?'
But I'm tongue tied, except for
Vingt Gitanes, Sil vous plait!
and Merci becoup, Madamossell!
After a while I start to read the shop front names.
The street signs come alive -
Rue de St. Germain, Montparnasse
and Parc de Champs de Mars.
Advertising bollards suck me in.
Newspaper HEADLINES shout at me.
Eventually, I speak my first French sentence.
But the girl behind the Turkish bar
answers me in broken English.
Chicago, hey Mac? she asks.
Manchester! I tell her.
Oh, Bobby Charlton! she grins.
And I can't tell if she's taking the piss
out of my haircut, or what?
From 1987 rewritten 20697 and previously posted on my
StraightTalkingStreetTalkingSweetTalkingGuy.. archive.
Here's a link to a picture of Sir Bobby Charlton.
Finally, the September issue of Nicola Batty's Newsletter Raw Meat.. is now Online.

Steve Taylor

Hi everybody,
Here's a link to a Manchester writer we know.
Steve Taylor author of The Fall and Making Time
has written some cool poetry and posted it on his website.
Clink-the-link-HERE.

Back for the weekend..

NORFOLK
BROADS
We were talking turkey
in the pub, about Norfolk
and eating out and farmers...

And I said
They’re not usually
known for their culinary
skills are they?

And the barmaid said
No, but at cunnilingus
they’re red hot!
300808

Checking In..

Hi everybody, just back from Lower Shaw Farm but I'm not about for long, 'cos we're off to Norfolk in a few days. I've posted a bit about my first amazing trip on Nicola's Raw Meat site in my Urban Scrawl column over there, you might have to scrawl down to the end of the post if you want to read it. Anyway, I'll try and write a poem for tomorrow!

TOP Prompt - Humour..

Sorry Folks,
Gone Camping!

But please just scroll down this page to find a new poem to comment on..
I hope to visit everybodies blog when I get a chance to stop..

Matinee Muse #2

WHAT IF…
what if
I told you
that love isn’t true

what if
I said that
the ocean ain’t blue

what if
you believed
me just for one day

what if
my freedom
took your life away

what if
tomorrow
was much like today

what if
it rains when
we go out to play

what if
I miss you
will you miss me too

what if
what if I
fall in love with you
260708

RWP #37

WHAT SAY YOU
When you’re lying in the gutter
Long way from heaven's crown
I hear every word you utter
What say you when you’re down?

Tell me which ways the Milky Way?
Where is the galaxy?
Can you even see the stars hey?
Why won’t you talk to me?

Somebody made a wish for you
That you would be there too
There’s nothing to get mad about
If you can twist and shout.

Tell me which ways the Milky Way?
Where is the galaxy?
Can you even see the stars hey?
Why won’t you talk to me?

He got right up and bounced right back
and headed for the road
still spaced out from the attack
and jumping like a toad.

Tell me which ways the Milky Way?
Where is the galaxy?
Can you even see the stars hey?
Why won’t you talk to me?

You just can’t keep a good clown down
No matter how you try
He’ll turn up in another town
to make somebody cry

Tell me which ways the Milky Way?
Where is the galaxy?
Can you even see the stars hey?
Why won’t you talk to me?

When you’re lying in the gutter
Long way from heaven's crown
I hear every word you utter
What say you when you’re down?

Repeat...

240708

Rockin' Chair Writers. Prompt #4.

The Rockin' Chair Writers prompt today was :
When you seek out entertainment to relax,
what gives you the most pleasure?
For me, that has to be my blue suede shoes..

BLUE SUEDE SHOES
Blue suede, blue suede, blue suede shoes.
He only wears blue suede shoes.

Red ones green ones pink won’t do.
She only wears blue suede shoes.

Big ones, bad ones, baseball boots.
They only wear blue suede shoes.

Fab fit, phat fit, flat flip-flops.
Fi only wears blue suede shoes.

Winkle Pickers in the news.
I only wear blue suede shoes.

Eat your heart out Elvis P.
We only wear blue suede shoes.
150708

TOP Prompt - FOREIGN LANDS

FOREIGN LANDS
There’s only one way in, the tour guide tells us, as we prepare to jump.
We didn’t think about how we would get out of these foreign lands then.

As the aeroplane disappears, we begin to realise where we are.
Surrounded by an angry mob with guns in a small jungle clearing.

Yagadee baskins alba Choggludities! Their leader screams at us.
What’s he saying? All our group ask the tour guide to interpret at once.

With a fresh smile on his face he replies, Welcome to Choggludities!
Relieved momentarily, we relax till the shouting starts again.

Yest emen claxstungbery! Byst chem nader ich icer!
The brigand continues threateningly, screaming and pointing his gun.

The tour guide starts to look worried now that the great oaf has stopped yelling.
You will enjoy yourself! He starts to interpret, then adds; but not here!

240708

RWP #36

Written for the Read Write Poem prompt.
Inspired by Rick Mobbs Portrait of Nanda.

NANDA
Watering eyes
Faithfully watching
Peeling garlic
Dreading Vladimir’s return

Falling asleep
Eyes open knife ready
Silver bullet handgun drawn
Dead men don’t bite
210708

Rockin' Chair Writers. Prompt #3.

Partly because of last weeks
Rockin' Chair Writers Prompt
the following little verse has been
on my mind this week.

THESE STREETS
(ARE PAVED WITH GOLD!)
The church bells are ringing
the choristers are singing
London is calling you
I know 'cos London's
calling out to me too!

'And, I've been told
that these streets
are paved with gold!
A gleaming stream
of much told unseen gold!

Red, yellow, green or blue
it dosen't matter who
your vote goes to.

'Cos, I've been told
that these streets
are paved with gold!
A gleaming stream
of much told unseen gold!

Since Richard Whittington
told the world about
the London scene
people plot + people scheme
to replicate his dream.

And, I've been told
that these streets
are paved with gold!
A gleaming stream
of much told unseen gold!

The church bells are ringing
the choristers are singing
London is calling you
I know 'cos London's
calling out to me too!
3107

TOP Prompt - My Ghazal (attempt).

KISS
Caroline sent me a little kiss, a school notepaper crisscross kiss.
Then she puckered up her lips like this, and blew me a whacking great kiss.

Though I know it was hardly a touch, my first time I thought it enough.
And there will be time later for stuff, whenever I date her, to kiss.

Not a crime to be loved the first time, but does she still want me to come?
I can’t tell well by her rule of thumb, if only she’d give me a kiss.

She smiled licking her sensuous lips, and came in the bedroom last night.
Behind the door I put out the light, and she gave the mirror a kiss.

Oh Caroline where did I go wrong, did I say something to offend?
I only want you to be my friend, so please don’t refuse me a kiss.
160708

RWP #35

HATE
THE HEAT
sun
after sun
and more sun
on the way tomorrow
but not here
here it
is

persisting
it down
with the proverbial
don’t you know anyhow
we’ve been waiting
since february
for

weather
like you’ve
got over there
but i don’t care
don’t you just
hate the
heat
140708

Rockin' Chair Writers. Prompt #2.

NO MATTER WHERE YOU WALK
Montmatre to Montparnasse
Sorbonne to Pigalle.
Fifth Avenue to Forty second street
and Broadway.
No matter where you walk
these streets sing
and those walls talk.
If this was Paris
or New York
these streets would sing
those walls would talk.
But this is England
and it hums and it hums.
London and its rubber drums
Manchester and her slums...
11596

SHINING SHOES

Shining shoes at Waterloo, his medals at his side.
Jon was born in Salford in Eighteen ninety-five.

His Daddy came from Ireland a digger of the ditch -

The Ship Canal to Manchester -
that kept that city rich.

His Mammy was a mill lass in Ancoats Lancashire

She worked long days for little pay -
nothing much to cheer.
Jon's Grandpa was a Bargee -
on The Bridgewater

carting coals from Worsley to dirty Manchester.

By Nineteen ten, Jon’s schooling done –
an apprenticeship that was no fun …

from early morn to after dark
at an engineer's in Trafford Park.

At eighteen he went to France
to fight the German might.

Jon lost all his pals there but he came back alright!

He's got one leg to stand on
but man can't live on pride

shining shoes for farthings his medals at his side.

AS 1991

Glossary:

Waterloo is a railway station in London.

A Bargee lived and worked on the canal barges.

The Bridgewater is the oldest proper canal in England.

Ancoats is an area of Manchester where many cotton mills stand.

Trafford Park had many factories.

Farthings are old money, four farthings = one penny.

The Medals are from the first world war 1914-1918.