The Hole

The hole is a home.
Not the whole hole, but part.
The hole is home to
Well, it’s not a rat
Or a vole
Or a mole
Though it has soul.
Not the rat, vole or mole, but the hole.
The whole hole, not part.
It also has a heart.
The hole (and vole, mole and rat)
The hole that is the home
Part of the whole hole
With soul
The heart is where the home is.
The rat, vole and mole have soul too
And the owl, by the way,
Whose whole home hole with heart and soul it is!

(A darkened room is calling, methinks!)

Never was my nose so bulbous

Dainty as a flower it sounds.
Though not in the elongated appendage from the head of an animal description
In dictionaries the definition abounds.
My hooter is now a proboscis.
Not dainty by any means.
The size of a house and as bright and shiny as the Moon
Or so it seems.
The mirror never lies
Although the truth may be somewhat hidden
Like my top lip beneath the snout what I am now ridden.
My conk has always been large
Round and regal some in the know would say
But lately it’s its own archipelago
Though not volcanic, I hope and pray.
My nose is now a beacon
Like Rudolph’s only better
Much larger, rounder, shinier and distinguished
And thankfully not much wetter.
My bulbous nose is there first,
The face arrives seconds later
But never in my %@#*& years
Has its presence been much greater.

Please note: this is a piece of nonsense writing and is in no way a reflection of yours truly whose nose remains unaffected, unchanged and most succinctly unbulbous in any manner of imagination, real or otherwise.



Hissed the serpent with a lisp.


Shook the snake with no rattle.


Croaked the toad with a frog in its throat.

And all the witch could do was cackle.

(All images found on Pixabay)

Wordle: Attire

I dress
I confess
Like I belong to a sect
But I don’t
And I won’t
Go down that channel
I inject
Humour no less
As a treat
To this tale
To traverse
The torrid
Of the world
Out there.
Draw a line in the sand
And align
With what’s best
Well, what’s funky
And most surreal.
That’s how I deal
With most of what’s real
And the mess
Of the way how I dress

Lateness or Neverness

Lateness or Neverness…
Which is the betterness?
And can one be forgivensome
With no good excuse?

Lateness or Neverness…
In the realms of togetherness
Need something not troublesome
With not much to do

So, Lateness or Neverness…
Lateness is betterness
‘Though it can be cumbersome
With the words that I use

I don’t know about you, but I’m still caught up in a weird vortex. Part of me is a day ahead, another part is a day behind, and my blogging is all over the place. I’m still scheduling my posts (I don’t know if you’ve noticed) to keep myself vaguely on line, and commenting here and there, VERY sporadically. I’m getting by, although not as smoothly as I once did (I am smooth. You may or may not have noticed). I will get back into the swing. Into the groove. Into the rhythm (yes! I spelt rhythm correclty, first time – although I spelt correctly correclty so it doesn’t really count!) in due course.

I just need to free myself from this vortex, is all.

This morning I woke with that fabulous Friday feeling. It soon fell flat when I realised it was Thursday.