“It’d been good to hear from sausage feet, so I slowly told her a tale; the tale of the ten little porkers…
‘ten little porkers’
ten little porkers went to the fair... one couldn't find a fez... then there were nine...
nine little porkers went to the fair, one got pissed... an then, there were eight.
eight little porkers went to the fair, one broke his leg on the dodgem... and the other plain didn't care... so left him there... and then, there were seven.
seven little porkers on the way to the fair and, one got eaten by a brown bear... and then, there were six.
six little porkers goin to the fair, one played in the middle of the road...
.. and was soon not longer alive, Now... there were five.
five little porkers on the way to the fair, took a short-cut cross the river... then there were four alive...
four little porkers on the way to the fair, turned on one that moaned and then... there were three.
three little porkers on the way to the fair; one felt a little rash and so there were two...
two little porkers were on the way to the fare, one fell in a griner and the other just didn't care... Now, there was one... going to the fair...
One little porker, all-on-it's own, stepped onna land mine...
and, up he was blown... And then, there were no little porkers, going to the fair...
And, did anyone care?
Oh Frell, I’ve got an itchy toe,
And I don’t mean to moan,
[well maybe I do]] but, if it’s
another symptom of something,
I really don’t want to know.
As I sit and watch the news I mouth, “Here were go again”, my hand over my eyes, as I hear the power brokers extol his lies.
United the Coalition stands, which the bloody corpse of their murdered dictator lies in state, for the queuing masses hate; and the Power-Brokers will soon start to cut each others throats, as if each were naught but sacrificial goats, while the people thank all those who helped; the French, the U.N. and, Cameron with his ton or two of bombs.
And, the camera rolls as a politician looks to the lens and says,” We have the oil, we have the people and soon all will be rich, ‘especially me’, I hear him say; on this, their liberation day.
Sausages & Mash can’t be beat as a treat. Yet, it’s all I can afford, as I’m strapped for cash. And heck, who’d ever class sausages as meat? ‘Coz though they taste good, they may as well be made outta wood.
New day, blue-sky day; warm on your face, as you travel on the bus day. And, for those of us, with a bright mind, ‘tis right to say, its your kinda day.
COMMENTS
yes a reminder to onces self that yes there is a new day tomorrow.
I’m dreamin of creamin it in, like a fat cat; ever spending, rarely lending: so I wanna be a fat cat, sittin on my… mat.
Sittin on the bus, I wish I were drinkin, musin on the bruising that we take, after yet another cut. And the fat cat is drinkin cream that I’d not dream of, havin someone else pay for, as they do. That ‘someone’ bein me ‘n you.
Cameron tells me to go out and get work, the jerk. Just to say it in rhyme; I’d like him to live in my place and then, maybe he’d see I’m not a waste of space. But, would he do it? I doubt he’d take the time, to understand my rage, at having no wage.
I am tired of the drones... and their incessant moans... although, once inna while, I do wish I were stupid, then all I see... would not bother me.
COMMENTS
be happy you aren't one of those drones....writing would become a chore and you might not remember how.....
Terry the truculent Toad trundled down the road. He wished it were a car he rode in, rather than a jar. Yet, a few moments later, in his time of need, he found himself freed, when a lorry rode over the glass and splat, his ass became quite flat.
COMMENTS
Lol, I like this. :)
Wow. You've told an entire story in under a minute. :)
‘If a tree falls in a forest,’ the sexist pig mused, ‘and it lands on a man, if no-one hears him scream does it really matter?’ And, I can’t help but wonder at the mindset of the person who would believe that and, what the law here would say, if it were me, who wrote it, what would the law say? Oh yes, they’d say it was illegal, that’s what they’d say. And, as I write this stormy day, I think of all the bitterness I’ve known and, how they must really feel to write as they do; and Now I wonder, if they really can speak of Love let alone, write poems about it, as they read more like a Hawk, not a Dove.
Irritate me sits to ponder on the motivation of someone who rails against the idea of energy equalling mass squared, which left my mind mired in confusion: I couldn’t figure how someone, well The Countess who I had thought was a girl, but isn’t could utilise a spurious theory that ignores relativity, just to say ‘I told you so.’ And you have to wonder, at the blunder they made, calling Professor Brian Cox a ‘Nerd’, which I realise was only a word; but as the fellow was a minor popstar, it shows how wrong he was… and gawd, I wish I didn’t get its gender wrong, yet again: next you know, I’ll be comparing them to Ben Ten!
And, ‘the other day’, I was at my friends, the day I acquired ‘Doctor Strange’ and, I’d sat cross-legged on the rug, in front of the gas fire, unlit, as he directed a red light toward the kitten cat; that had skittered on the wood, as it turned and searched and reached, for that little red dot. And, when he shone it on me, well to be precise, my knee; I noticed that the cat, the slim and elegant sinewy, kitten cat, had ignored me, just as if I were the invisible man. And then, my friend shone his light on other objects, like a giant ball of rubber-bands and all of these things had been treated as me; just as if they, me and we, were invisible and, of no real importance, until once more, my friend, would shine his light and then … the kitten cat, would skitter once more, across a the floor.
COMMENTS
lol sounds like my cats too
I LOVE this one. :)
COMMENTS
-
AkkiOokami
02:11 Oct 29 2011
Toes. Not feet.
Angelus
01:02 Oct 30 2011
It worked better, as a title.
NoctusAngelusProcella
02:10 Oct 30 2011
I think what every you write is grand
well it wasn't so grand for the porkers :P