PERFUMEREE

Don't

you dare

suggest I

wear fragrant oil!

The Old Goat in his

garden shed has daydreams

of romance while he's bedding

his tomatoes in the greenhouse

soil. A spoon of garlic if I may?

A clove a day keeps Caddoc's hands at bay.

(*) Just my little joke!

Renewal of Vows After 40 Years

Has it really been that long
that we aren't put asunder?
How do I put up with you?
That's what I often wonder.
Have you not learned in forty years
to keep your Welsh hands to yourself?
You can get stuff to keep you calm
free on the National Health.
Get out to your garden shed
or do some DIY.
And don’t come in with muddy boots.
And never ask me why
I’m such a crabbed old battleaxe.
I’ve lived with you too long!
TWO THOUSAND weeks ago it was
when life went badly wrong.
All veiled in white, my Mam in tears
The Best Man reeling drunk
The darling bridesmaids rioting.
I knew that I was sunk.
And when I think there’s more to come . . .
I must try to be brave.
Perhaps, with Fortune on my side
I’LL dance upon YOUR grave.

Concrete Poetry

On my tours of Blogscapes I sometimes see references to "concrete" poetry and a novel form known as the "etheree", what will they think of next?  I have asked Caddoc about concrete, for he does have some uses. I have consulted Google and Wikipedia: -

"Concrete poetry begins by assuming a total responsibility before language: accepting the premise  of the historical idiom as the indispensable nucleus of communication, it refuses to absorb words as mere indifferent vehicles, without life, without personality without history —  taboo-tombs in which convention insists on burying the idea."

- which presumably means something in the Ivory Towers of the Universities of Abergele, Bradford or Connecticut.  

Concreteree

Mix

four parts

gravel with two

parts sand and one

part O.P.C(*). Add

water. Stir with paddle.

Pour into two big buckets.

Put one foot in one and one foot

in the other. Wait till mix hardens.

Now you can't move or fall over. Schimples!

(*) Ordinary Portland Cement according to Caddoc Trellis, 
to whom this etheree is dedicated.

“Big Tent Poetry” Sept. 6th.

 Prompt  is HERE -

"Think of something you said. Now write what you wish you had said”

Ladies Choice

At the Abergele ballroom long ago
the M.C., such a nice young man, you know,
announced – he had a nice Welsh lilting voice –
“The next dance, ladies, is a ‘Ladies’ Choice.’”

The band struck up – I yomped across the floor.
I’d spied a nice young man beside the door.
“You'll dance with me, young man. Indeed you shall.”
I should have said “Where are the toilets, pal?”