Lets explore the sadness of life through the joy of limericks
A young lad I knew as a senior
he got cancer, I think ’twas leukaemia
the treatment it failed
he got thinner and paled
and then died and his wife got bulimia
My dad was a drunk and a cheat
every weekend my mother he beat
took her cash to do drugs
bringing home sluts and thugs
’till we all ended up on the street
First time we met how I tried
not to love, but I made her my bride
then the marriage it failed
when her sister I nailed
Took her life, overdose, suicide
My dog, my best friend always true
dedicated to me through and through
Drunk, I left the door wide
and she ran straight outside
got ran over and died now I’m blue
A chap that I know who loves choir
had to quit giving up his desire
he could not harmonise
when he lost both his eyes
and his tongue when he fell in a fire
I think I’ll stop there, I’m not sure that I’m trying hard enough to make them sad. Or maybe I should blame the limerick, either way I hope it’s not too inappropriate and I think it goes to show that even the most serious of subjects find some lightness in a limerick.
Will try keep these to no more than 200 words. Today the photo below was posted by Fandango as a prompt. Head over to see him, hes a thoroughtly decent chap.
After all of these years, she is still the beautiful girl I fell in love with. Though time has taken its inevitable toll, on both head and heart, there is still that same sparkle in her eyes which so ensnared me what is now a lifetime ago.
Lines paint a picture of a life well lived across her face, and even if now frail, everyone assembled in the room knows she remains a force of such joy and ferocious endeavour, and that she carries still more fervently a love quite fierce and unquenchable for those she calls friends or family, of which assembled now are as many as the days she has lived.
Tears hide that glint now though, and as I stretch out my hand to comfort her she turns slowly to where we spent those many nights, sat quietly, listening to the crackle and hiss of the ‘soundies’ she loved so dearly, and which she taught me to adore nearly as much as I adored her.
I hear my name across the hubbub of the busy room, and somewhere there is an open door as I feel the cold air of December blow through me. It will be Christmas soon. One more reason to celebrate, one more year to look back on. One more year with her.
Children’s voices drift in and out of earshot as I watch her, still light on her feet as she embraces old friends, her silver hair pulled in a tight bun on top of her head. I prefer it when she lets it hang loose, the way it cascades around her face and onto her shoulders, and oh the hours I have spent watching her in front of the mirror brushing it. She would laugh and tell me not to stare so much, but these were some of my happiest moments. Just us. Together.
I feel a tug, pulling me away. Probably one of the grand children I suspect. Cheeks red from the cold and hair tousled, eyes bright and filled with mischief. I allow myself to be led away, and the room becomes quiet. And then, in that moment, a sadness and an understanding descends up on me I look down and I am alone, there is no small hand in mine. I smile as I finger the ring that has sat on my finger these fifty years.
In the distant now I see her turn towards me, my favourite dress of pale blue contrasted against the dark backdrop of the room. She brushes the hair from her face and smiles as I mouth my last goodbye.
I sought another pic from Pixabay to go with it as further inspiration..
And I made this. Mostly a stream of consciousness, no real editing, just some fun with an idea…:
The ‘click-fizz’ of the opening can caused Brian to stir from his nap. Excited neurons darting across the primary auditory pathways of his temporal lobe, back and forth in frenzied stimulation, a primal response triggered as he slept. His brain processed the inputs, considering past and potential future behaviour in relation to the ‘click-fizz’, the likelihood of a positive outcome to that input, the propensity for one ‘click-fizz’ to result in many more ‘click fizzes’ and subsequently having a jolly good time being had by all. It then determined that an appropriate response to the stimulation would be to wake up and cause Brian to lick his lips.
“Yes please,” Brian said, reaching out an empty hand and sighing. His eyes opened slowly as his fingers clasped around the can he found placed into them.
“You seen that?” came a response.
Brian opened the can and straightened himself on the bench where he had been resting his eyes.
“Seen what, Carl?” Brian asked, opening the can, and taking a drink. It was not as cold as he would have liked but given the circumstances it would most certainly do. That is to say that given that when he went to sleep, he did not have any beer, and, now that he was awake he did, those were circumstances that now seemed decidedly in his favour.
“That,” said Carl, pointing into the sky.
It was hardly necessary for Carl to point given that directly in front of them, looming over the horizon, was something that was quite obviously the moon, but it stretched from one periphery of his vision to the other. Streams of reflected sunlight danced and swirled from the surface, and it had all of the appearance of a golden ball of flame.
“Well, that’s not mean to be there or look like that, is it.” Brian responded quite matter of fact, taking another drink. He paused for a moment, allowing himself to take in the full scene unfolding before him. Ten years on the streets and you think you’ve seen everything, but here he was, surprised once more. “Probably explains why everyone is running around rather panicked,” he added.
“You think?” said Carl, finishing his beer in one long slow gulp, and dropping the can on the grass beneath the park bench where they sat. He then opened a second.
“I’m no astrologist, but I’m pretty sure, yes. I imagine we ought to be panicking too.”
“You mean Astronomer.” Said Carl. “And yes, we could panic, I guess. But what would be the point.”
“Do I?” Brian asked.
“Yes. You mean astronomer. Not astrologist, that’s something completely different.”
Brian looked up into the sky again, then down to his beer, and then back into the sky.
“I expect you’re right on both points then,” Brian continued, “
He sat for a while and watched as a bride ran past them heading somewhere other than the direction that she was running from. She seemed quite determined, and she let her shoes and bouquet fall to the floor before disappearing behind two cars that had managed to have a quite inconvenient head on collision, smoke billowing from one as passengers staggered from both, pointing wildly at the sky.
“That’s a bit of a waste of good shoes,” said Brian, nodding to where they lay in the street.
“You think?” Carl replied taking another drink and opening a third can before he had finished his second. He motioned to the sky with a can in his hand, been spilling down his arm. “That thing’s getting bigger and bigger, so I doubt very much we will need very much of anything in a while.”
“Really?” said Brian as the wail of sirens echoed out across the city. “How much beer do you have?” he asked.
“Oh more than enough my friend,“ said Carl, offering his can to Brian as a toast, “more than enough.”
Will try keep these to no more than 200 words. Today the photo below was posted:
Nostrils flared and thin slits of bright yellow eyes blinked as they surveyed the unexpected scene below, glittering embers from the fire spiralling into the night, the fiery gold-red shards mixing with the stars of a million unexplored galaxies.
Well, unexplored to these creatures, came the thought, accompanied by a low guttural snarl. Green blue scales rippled in the dying light and a small red panel blinked on a wrist communicator. He punched in coordinates, confirming his location for extraction, and melted into the night and continued to watch.
Living hidden amongst them these many years had shown him their capacity for love, their ability to create from nothing great works of art, and he sighed as he reflected on the wonder of this young and beautiful race.
He had seen the best in them and smiled as he thought of the potential of these people.
But those before him were not those people.
Tonight, when the seventh reconnaissance fleet tore through the atmosphere and filled the skies with death, snuffing out their light and claiming the resources of this world for the First Galactic Emperor, he would sleep like a child at its mothers bosom.
But no, these were not those people. These were hipsters, and he would not miss them at all.
Last few years Ive been somewhat quiet, especially this year, but bloody hell, how time flies. Seems just 5 minutes since I started the blog and now I’ve vomited out over 2000 posts in that time.
In there is at least 1 book I did to prompts over the course of a month, which I really need to redo and publish. It also lead to 2 other actual physical books, which is mental, and oh the fun I have with what must amount to rather a lot of of words on so many different subjects. Poems, short stories, life stuff, camping, limericks, filthy drawings, oh the list goes on and on…
And fortunately, 1600 of you have chosen to follow me along the way which is just brilliant. (though I thinkmany are now dead accounts)
I realise I am very much an acquired taste, but that’s on you if you’ve acquired it, and I know some of my thoughts are illegal in much of America and North Korea, but I still I feel like I know some of you so very well and rather quite like you all through our interactions and your own blogs – and that’s something I never ever expected! What a treat indeed…