Month: June 2018

Ten Rules for Aspiring Poets

1. Poetry does not have to rhyme.
Well, at least not all the time always.

2. Metaphors are great!
But mixing them is not so good.
If they start to fly in all directions,
then nip them in the bud.

3. Focus and concentration
are important skills to hone.
Turn the wi-fi off.
Don’t get distracted by your ph-

4. Avoid clichés like the plague.

5. Don’t do stuff that’s too vague.

6. The use of needlessly long words
may result in reader alienation.
Rein in your sesquipedalianism
in case it should cause obfuscation.

6. Always proof-read you’re work.
Accuracy can be it’s own reward!
And remember that the penis
mightier than the sword.

8. Haiku look easy
but plan ahead or you may
run out of sylla

9. Never ever follow rules.

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Selected Proverbs

A fool and his hair are soon parted.
Do not put all your baskets on one egg.
People who live in glasshouses shouldn’t.
Summer comes before a Fall.

Don’t count your line drawings before they are hatched.
History repeats itself.
If at first you don’t suck seed, try, try a grain.
Incidents will happen.

A flat tyre will get you nowhere.
A watched pot gathers no moss.
Give a man a fish and he’ll eat for a day. Teach a man to be Fish
and he’ll ask Kayleigh whether it’s too late to say he’s sorry.

He who hesitates is … um …
Don’t get mad, get even madder.
A leotard cannot change its spots.
History repeats itself.

Shameless Promotional Message

My bank manager has told me that I need to promote my book some more now that I’ve given up my proper job – or I’ll soon find myself on the breadline.

So, here’s a photo of it. It can be found in shops, some of which are mentioned in the link below:

Click here to find some of the places where you can buy my book

It publishes in paperback in the US tomorrow.

Thanks very much,

Brian

*End of shameless promotional message*

Paperback edition

Number Five Forty-Three

There’s a hole in my life where you really should be
Because I’m stuck on you but you’re not stuck on me.
Until I possess you, I shall never be free,
Panini sticker number five forty-three.

I don’t care for your Neymar or Lionel Messi.
You can shove your Ronaldo – of him, I’ve got three.
It’s not about quality but quantity for me,
and I have zero of Gabriel Gomez, you see.

And now my money’s all gone, unfortunately.
The bailiffs are here and my family’s left me.
But it was worth every penny, I’m sure you’ll agree
For Gabriel Gomez, number five forty-three.

Fixtures

Don’t get me wrong, I’d love nothing more
than to commune with Mother Nature.
But what can I do? It’s out of my hands:
Nigeria are playing Croatia.
 
What’s that? Another meal on your own?
You’re quite right, there is nothing bleaker.
But this is the big one. I’ve waited all day.
Switzerland – Costa Rica.
 
Sorry I shall miss your mum’s funeral
but I should be there in time for the wake.
Do understand, it’s Morocco – Iran
and for both teams there’s so much at stake.
 
I see that you’ve filed for divorce.
I’ll sign the papers as soon as I can,
just ten minutes more (plus time added on)
of Colombia versus Japan.

The Unsound Alphabet

The question ‘Can you spell that for me, please?’
when I am on the phone and ill at ease
is enough to fill my heart with dread
because the words that pop into my head

come randomly, unplanned, frenetic:
my examples panicked, unphonetic.
I should take time to think. Just wait a while.
But no, ‘A,’ I will blurt, ‘as in … “aisle”.’

“Bdellium” I declare to illustrate B
(bravo for knowing that’s gum from a tree).
No Charlie for me, rather “Czar” I will cry.
My D is “Djibouti”. My E is an “eye”.

At least with F, I cannot go wrong
although “floccinaucinihilipilification” is probably too long.
It’s like aural GBH. “Gnat” and “honour” don’t work.
My choice for I must be starting to “irk”.

For reasons unclear, my J is a “Juan”.
Of all the Ks I could choose, “knee” is the one.
For L, a place-name! But not Lima, oh no:
“Llanfairpwllgwyngyllgogerychwyrndrobwllllantysiliogogogoch.”

‘That’s right, M,’ I blather, ‘as in “mnemonic”.’
People generally “ngwee”, my N is moronic.
“Ouija” I offer. No Oscar for me.
For P, “pterodactyl”, for Q I use “quay”.

Which is the right “right” to write? It’s a farce!
They must think I’m talking out of my Rs.
I declare ‘S as in “sea”.’ I can’t take it back,
like T for “Tchaikovsky”, a tough nut to crack.

Then there’s “urn” and “volk”, I know it’s far-fetched.
My W attempt makes me feel such a “wretch”.
I talk of “Xylophones”, “Yttrium” and old “Zaragoza”.
All hopeless, unsound. I just shouldn’t bother.