Archive for the ‘Friday 5’ Category

The Attic

For the Friday 5 this week Michelle has given us: doctor, roll of film, stairwell, telephone, secret.

First they tried to doctor

the evidence. Then

they hid the roll of film

with her jewellery in

the carved wooden box

she brought back from the Balkans,

placed it amongst sawdust inside

the old tea chest

they tried to doctor

after it smashed as

she fell. The mystery of

the body in the stairwell

– too late to telephone for a doctor –

stayed a secret till today.


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There was I thinking what an amazing vocabulary Michelle has – until I realised that this Friday’s 5 at Poefusion are all nonsense words. Well, I’m no Edward Lear or Lewis Carroll and I’m ashamed to offer today’s poem. The prompt words are: caprussule, mozzle, cack, skrey, and glureon. A snippet of information for our trans-Atlantic friends. I am somewhat clumsy and I might be described as cack-handed.

Let me lead you to a space
where inhibitions have no place,
You can dazzle, you can dizzle,
shake your mozzle, slap your wizzle.

Just look deep into a gold caprussle,
do not resist or use your muscle,
in its muntle-coffeled seems
you’ll find planishment for dreams.

In an out-of-town red shack
behind a screen that’s blue and black
the grice have built a stack
of crenellated cack.

At the closing of the day,
when the skrey have gone away,
the best part is left to last.
It’s the glureon repast!

Click here for links to more nonsense.

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Today’s words are: peanut, polaroid, aluminium foil, brittle and salt.

The Collector

He wore matt blue Polaroid sunglasses,

had a penchant for peanut brittle

and was the lone crusader for skunks.

The smell of a skunk, he declared,

is not unpleasant,

and people who say someone is as

drunk as a skunk

don’t know what they are talking about.

He put up posters saying that

the skunk is a friendly animal,

quite unlike his cousins the weasels,

who are not, in any case,

as bad the reputation they have acquired

from a certain Mr Toad and, more surprisingly,

a Mr Badger, in a book called Wind in the Willows.

He intended to sue a Mr Kenneth Graham

for the circulation of libellous literature.

His love of skunks dates back to when

one entered his house through the cat flap

and settled down to sleep with his cat.

He named the skunk Sylvester and allowed him to stay.

All the other skunks he has collected

live in a woodpile in his back yard.

After Sylvester died, he took plaster casts

of his paws, wrapped his body in aluminium foil,

put it in a crate, packed the crate with salt

and then placed it in his freezer.

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