tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24222830408539244832024-03-18T20:53:09.522+00:00The Poetry WebsitePoetry - By Andy ThompsonAndy Thompson - Artisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05313668959205106985noreply@blogger.comBlogger1102125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2422283040853924483.post-29048589926939416602024-03-15T13:08:00.000+00:002024-03-15T13:08:01.579+00:00Brought MeDog left briefly in car<div>stares at shop door </div><div>door his master disappeared through</div><div>staring</div><div>constantly</div><div>head unflinchingly steady</div><div>eyes fixed</div><div>until...</div><div>until dog spots master again</div><div>at said door</div><div>"<i>He has returned!"</i></div><div>bursting with excitement </div><div>and</div><div>as master walks across carpark </div><div>returns to said car</div><div>opens car door</div><div>dog leaps...</div><div><br></div><div>out of faithfulness?</div><div>or is it</div><div><i>"I wonder what he's brought me?"</i></div><div><i><br></i></div><div><i><a href="https://www.lineofpoetry.com/fluffysausage/brought-me">Click here to hear me read this piece</a></i></div><div><br></div>Andy Thompson - Artisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05313668959205106985noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2422283040853924483.post-60424153990762060442024-03-15T12:55:00.000+00:002024-03-15T12:55:00.276+00:00Everything I Say Isn't True<div>Don't quit giving up!<br></div><div><br></div><div><div>Tea leaves 'Staines'</div><div>...in Middlesex</div></div><div><br></div><div>At least you've got nothing!</div><div><br></div><div>At least an empty jam jar has air in it!</div><div>Unless it's in a vacuum of course</div><div>...which sucks!</div><div><br></div>How do I stop my raincoat getting wet?<div><br><div>I'm dying to be in the Times obituary column!</div><div><br></div><div>Was that a 'tick' or a 'tock?'</div><div><br></div><div>That <b>down</b>pipe is depressed</div><div>as the water running down it - chuckles!</div><div><br></div><div>Does a clock ever get time off?</div><div><br></div><div>That's a big hole that digger's got itself into!</div><div><br></div><div>Gin! - that's the spirit!</div><div><br></div><div>I can't see my glasses to find my hearing aids - pardon?!</div><div><br></div><div>This broken truss offers me no support!</div><div><br></div><div>Why doesn't snoring wake up the snorer?</div><div><br></div><div>I don't find this bra uplifting in the slightest!</div><div><br></div><div>I'm sorry that my barometer is under so much pressure</div><div><br></div><div>Golf - balls!</div><div>...it's just my opinion!</div><div><br></div><div>The wind - blew</div><div>so what colour is the rain?</div><div><br></div><div>How heavy is a flame?</div><div><br></div><div>Who owns the view?</div><div><br></div><div>Why?</div><div><br></div><div>I said couldn't talk right now! OK?</div><div><br></div><div>What have I forgotten?</div><div>I don't remember</div><div>...I don't remember what I've forgotten?</div><div><br></div><div>Don't listen to me</div><div>... everything I say isn't true!</div><div><br></div><div><a href="https://www.lineofpoetry.com/fluffysausage/everything-i-say-isnt-true">Click here to hear me read this piece </a></div><div><br></div><div><br></div><div><br></div><div><br></div></div>Andy Thompson - Artisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05313668959205106985noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2422283040853924483.post-29408524740495398832024-03-13T15:16:00.000+00:002024-03-13T15:16:05.670+00:00You Never Really Went AwayYou never really went away<div>your pottery sits proudly on the window sil at the top of the stairs</div><div>You're there in the many family photographs we have on our walls</div><div>and the woollen bag you wove is mounted on the wall above the telly</div><div><br></div><div>You never really went away</div><div>You're there in those little phrases I use all the time</div><div>in the person you made me</div><div>you're there in the way I behave in life</div><div>like the way I put a line across the vertical on all my number 7's</div><div><br></div><div>You never really went away</div><div>You're always there when I look in the mirror </div><div>and you're there when I look at my children - you never met them</div><div>but you're there when I see the things they do</div><div><br></div><div>So;</div><div>...you never really went away </div><div>you're in my thoughts </div><div>and my memories</div><div>and at this time of year</div><div>...more so</div><div><br></div><div><a href="https://www.lineofpoetry.com/fluffysausage/you-never-really-went-away">Click here to hear me read this piece</a></div><div><br></div>Andy Thompson - Artisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05313668959205106985noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2422283040853924483.post-32787361309235384772024-03-08T15:07:00.000+00:002024-03-08T15:07:57.620+00:00Should I?<div><div>Should I send you a card </div><div>I hear your mother's died - you'll have to send me your address 'though.</div><div>...should I - would that be a kind thing to do?</div></div><div><br></div><div>Should I attend your brother's funeral - because I never actually knew him</div><div>...should I - but what would be the point?</div><div><br></div><div>Should I send you details of a good divorce lawyer?</div><div>They might be able to get back some of that cash that that bloke conned out of you.</div><div>They're also are good at getting compensation - I hear you recently had complications after a procedure!</div><div>...should I - or is that too cold?</div><div><br></div><div>...should I say I'm sorry because you're unable to have children - when I don't even know you?<div><br></div><div>...should I say sorry because you lost your job?<br></div><div><br></div><div>...should I say sorry </div><div>because that plane crashed </div><div>and many people died?</div><div>I wasn't on it!</div><div><br></div><div>...should I say sorry because the world's in a mess?</div><div>but my life is fine!</div><div><br></div><div>...should I say sorry because too many people are starving?</div><div>My life is comfortable!</div><div><br></div><div>...should I say sorry?</div><div>well should I?<br></div><div><br></div><div>...do you want me to?</div><div>Would that be a kind thing to say?</div></div><div><br></div><div>Should I?<br></div><div>Would it help if a stranger said sorry?</div><div>What if I said it but didn't mean it?</div><div><br></div><div>...would that help?</div><div><br></div><div><a href="https://www.lineofpoetry.com/fluffysausage/should-i">Click here to hear me read this piece </a></div>Andy Thompson - Artisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05313668959205106985noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2422283040853924483.post-60386530875963771542024-03-06T16:21:00.000+00:002024-03-06T16:21:31.297+00:00Make The Best Of It<div>If life presents you with many flavours</div><div>but not the flavour you want -</div><div>try a new flavour!</div><div><br></div><div>If life offers you a rainbow of colours but not the colour you feel - enjoy the rainbow!</div><div><br></div><div><div>If the words to your life just won't rhyme - learn how to write poetry and write them in a different form!</div></div><div><br></div><div>If all your days are white and grey and black - learn how to paint clouds!</div><div><br></div><div>If you find no interest in life - look harder!<br></div><div><br></div><div><div>If you don't like the music - change the channel!</div><div><br></div><div>If you don't like where you are at - move!</div><div><br></div><div>If you don't like your lot - change it!</div></div><div><br></div><div>Choose if you have a choice - not everyone has!<br></div><div><br></div><div>You are '<i>you' </i>for such a short time - make the best of it!</div><div><br></div><div><a href="https://www.lineofpoetry.com/fluffysausage/make-the-best-of-it">Click here to hear me read this piece</a></div>Andy Thompson - Artisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05313668959205106985noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2422283040853924483.post-12240324166079624992024-03-06T15:46:00.000+00:002024-03-06T15:46:08.610+00:00Come To An EndI bumped into her quite by chance<div>(I never imagined...)<br><div>it was good to catch up!</div><div>(to think that she...)</div><div>to hear her talk!</div><div>(had plans - all pointless now)</div><div>retirement had been such a long time coming!</div><div>(...neither of us knew)</div><div>she'd have more time to walk the dog!</div><div>(...about the clock)</div><div>more time to enjoy life!</div><div>(...ticking)</div><div>she had so much she wanted to do!</div><div>(...inside her)</div><div>she had so many people she wanted to visit!</div><div>(...the countdown had started)<br></div><div>how it was good to get out of that job!</div><div>(...counting down)<br></div><div>she asked of my family!</div><div>(...not knowing <i><b>why</b></i> it had started)</div><div>it was a sunny day!</div><div>(...neither of us knew)</div><div>a day to enjoy life!</div><div>(...that her allocated time)</div><div>as she wandered off...</div><div>(was about...)</div><div>she was happy - oblivious!</div><div>(...to come to an end)</div><div><br></div><div>RIP Jane. </div><div><br></div><div><a href="https://www.lineofpoetry.com/fluffysausage/come-to-an-end">Click here to hear me read this piece</a></div><div><br></div><div><br></div><div><br></div></div>Andy Thompson - Artisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05313668959205106985noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2422283040853924483.post-24902568318244005422024-03-06T15:22:00.000+00:002024-03-06T15:22:31.683+00:00The Sea <div><br></div><div>Go to it - it calls you!</div><div>Face it</div><div>across this border</div><div>the shore</div><div>this rugged outline</div><div>like a black line drawn around our lands.</div><div>The sea</div><div>with its violent moods</div><div>shifting our beaches </div><div>tearing down our landmarks </div><div>reshaping our cliffs</div><div>and undercutting our feeble defenses!</div><div><br></div><div>To this transition from land to water</div><div>from safety to uncertainty - we come</div><div>and we love to stare into this abis</div><div>and we challenge it to take us</div><div>standing full square </div><div>we gaze deep into its eyes</div><div>as if...</div><div>as if into the face of death!</div><div><br></div><div>Having answered this command</div><div>this call to be at its feet</div><div>this call which tugs at our hearts</div><div>which talks to our evolution</div><div>our soul</div><div>our very being</div><div>as if...</div><div>as if it's drawing us home</div><div>telling us - we must return to it</div><div>once more</div><div>we must be alongside it<br></div><div>with it<br></div><div>on it</div><div>in it - to hear its call</div><div>to smell it </div><div>to taste it</div><div>this most powerful force!</div><div><br></div><div>So we stand</div><div>and we stare at it</div><div>as if...</div><div>as if to ridicule it</div><div>safe upon the promenade its trying to consume </div><div>along this edge we come</div><div>on this black line we stand</div><div>as if...</div><div>as if to taunt it</div><div>as if to say</div><div>...you shall not take me</div><div>do your worst!</div><div><br></div><div><a href="https://www.lineofpoetry.com/fluffysausage/the-sea">Click here to hear me read this piece </a></div><div><br></div><div><br></div><div><br></div><div><br></div><div><br></div>Andy Thompson - Artisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05313668959205106985noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2422283040853924483.post-42119268206873508002024-03-06T15:07:00.000+00:002024-03-06T15:07:00.017+00:00SpringSpring - your mattress tore<div>Spring - '<i>dafs</i>' their faces show<br></div><div>Spring - there in your step</div><div>And spring - new waters flow.<br></div><div><br></div><div><div>Spring - to smooth a ride</div><div>Spring - bulbs take the sun<br></div><div>Spring - to originate from</div></div><div>And spring - the cleaning done</div><div><br></div><div><div>Spring - something on someone <br></div><div>Spring - springs to mind</div><div>Spring - Springing a leak</div><div>And </div><div>I'm no spring-chicken </div><div>I think you'll find</div><div><br></div><div>Spring - I hope springs eternal!<br></div><div>Hot springs - a body soothes</div><div>Spring - spring into action</div><div>And active springs - smooooth!</div></div><div><br></div><div><div>Spring - the winters end</div></div><div>Spring - the days length grows<br></div><div>Spring - vegetation appears</div><div>And spring - it fills your nose</div><div><br></div><div><br></div><div><br></div><div><br></div>Andy Thompson - Artisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05313668959205106985noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2422283040853924483.post-34159762589790484802024-03-05T14:51:00.000+00:002024-03-05T14:51:27.094+00:00(Haiku)Two trash drinks, three bars <div>of chocolate and some </div><div>antacid tablets!</div>Andy Thompson - Artisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05313668959205106985noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2422283040853924483.post-39121680738835060002024-03-01T19:00:00.000+00:002024-03-01T19:00:43.129+00:00(Haiku)How come I have the<div>time to make a mess but not</div><div>time to tidy up?</div>Andy Thompson - Artisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05313668959205106985noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2422283040853924483.post-90820753541974594722024-03-01T16:25:00.000+00:002024-03-01T16:25:00.028+00:00All This RainA wet Sunday in February.<div>Rain drops streak down the patio doors to the terrace,</div><div>which wait</div><div>locked shut - longing for spring.</div><div>The washing machine shudders to a halt</div><div>with another load that certainly won't see the washing line - it'll have to hung it up on the on the '<i>dolly'</i> in the kitchen!</div><div><br></div><div>Water drops fall from a gutter unable to cope.</div><div>In the drive,</div><div>puddles gorge themselves on yet more rain drops</div><div>which</div><div>gang together to catch out those brave enough - or foolish enough</div><div>...to venture out!</div><div><br></div><div>We wait</div><div>longing for the days of summer</div><div>with games and barbeques</div><div>maybe a '<i>Pimms</i>' or three!</div><div>Almost lake like</div><div>the lawn is now unable to absorb any more rain </div><div>and now has huge oceans forming across it - should we get the dingy out?</div><div><br></div><div>And still it rains.</div><div>The dreams of a Sunday morning </div><div>trimming the shrubs</div><div>mowing the lawns </div><div>then</div><div>after lunch</div><div>taking tea - have simply been washed away </div><div>by all this rain!</div>Andy Thompson - Artisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05313668959205106985noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2422283040853924483.post-12759665961098943502024-03-01T15:59:00.000+00:002024-03-01T15:59:22.779+00:00Such Detail<div>With a repeated sharp '<i>crackling</i>' sound </div><div>followed by a small - '<i>pop</i>'</div><div>then a '<i>rattle</i>'</div><div>my wife</div><div>sorted out her latest delivery of tablets.</div><div>The crackle was from the plastic of a tablet slide - rows of transparent bubbles in which tablets were held prisoner,</div><div>safe,</div><div>clean,</div><div>uncorrupted,</div><div>and specifically proportioned,</div><div>waiting to be taken - as prescribed by her GP!</div><div><br></div><div>So; as each bubble yields to the pressure of her thumb</div><div>with a crackle of its plastic, </div><div>the tablet slide being expertly positioned</div><div>over the required section,</div><div>just one of seven sections </div><div>with their lids open</div><div>waiting to receive </div><div>'<i>Monday to Sunday</i>' written on the lids...</div><div>with a '<i>pop</i>'</div><div>the shiny silver foil</div><div>a coating on the reverse side of the tablet slide</div><div>full with printed information about the tablets...</div><div>fails,<br></div><div>submits to the applied force </div><div>realising the once captive tablet,</div><div>this released tablet,</div><div>then drops successfully into the first section of the row of clear plastic containers </div><div>with a rattle,</div><div>which,</div><div>are designed to take that days allocation of tablets</div><div>and so will be joined by other tablets soon.</div><div>This routine is continued until each daily section</div><div>has the correct amount</div><div>of the correct tablets within it.</div><div><br></div><div>This is a routine my wife undertakes each weekend</div><div>those long plastic containers each with seven sections</div><div>one for each day of the week</div><div>the weekly containers that people use</div><div>to make sure they have taken the correct tablets</div><div>on the correct days</div><div>at the correct times.</div><div><br></div><div>...it is then I remember!</div><div>It's only because I've put my hearing aids in...</div><div><br></div><div>...that I am hearing such detail!</div><div><br></div><div><br></div>Andy Thompson - Artisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05313668959205106985noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2422283040853924483.post-55078986793938040862024-02-29T15:36:00.000+00:002024-02-29T15:36:17.249+00:00(Haiku)I have a pen. I <div>have a note pad. All I need <div>is an idea!</div></div>Andy Thompson - Artisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05313668959205106985noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2422283040853924483.post-83464701891634991392024-02-23T17:18:00.000+00:002024-02-23T17:18:29.215+00:00Nothing If It Wasn't For Us The country ground to a halt<div>yet another rail strike had been called<div>not involving the train guards nor the drivers </div><div>...they were both equally appalled </div><div><br></div><div>The rolling stock had a disagreement</div><div>it turned into quite a fight</div><div>they all thought they were most important </div><div>so they argued deep into the night</div><div><br></div><div>The wagons said the carriages were lazy<br></div><div>but the carriages said they'd <b><i>so</i></b> much to do </div><div>"<i>We wagons carry lots of dirty cargo </i></div><div><i>you carriages simply haven't got a clue!</i>"</div><div><br></div><div>A snooty locomotive then chipped in</div><div>with a fact that the group had sadly missed</div><div>"if we locomotives didn't pull any trains - then</div><div>all of this would simply not exist!"</div><div><br></div><div>Then a little voice was heard </div><div>a voice whose anger grew and grew</div><div>it was the metal rails and the concrete sleepers </div><div>both keen to deliver <b>their</b> point of view</div><div><br></div><div>"There'd be nothing for anyone to run upon<br></div><div>if it wasn't for us here on the ground</div><div><b>you</b> would all be sinking in mud</div><div>how on earth would anybody get around?"</div><div><br></div><div>It was then somebody heard a distant shouting<br></div><div>and everybody turned their heads and found</div><div>it was coming from the station and getting louder </div><div>there were many angry passengers stood around</div><div><br></div><div><b><i>"You are here to get us to our destinations</i></b></div><div><b><i>to get us to our friends and to our work - thus</i></b></div><div><b><i>if we didn't buy the tickets </i></b></div><div><b><i>you would all be nothing...</i></b></div><div><b><i>nothing if it wasn't for all of us!</i></b></div><div><br></div></div>Andy Thompson - Artisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05313668959205106985noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2422283040853924483.post-29579153094532757632024-02-23T17:04:00.002+00:002024-02-23T17:04:57.312+00:00In The Graveyard After our deaths - when we're laid to rest<div>...no-one in the graveyard will care.</div><div>No-one will care that we thought ourselves '<i>the big cheese'</i> of something - there's no power to wield in a graveyard.</div><div>No-one will care about the grandeur of our tombs</div><div>the family mausoleums in which we lay - leave that to the living!</div><div>No-one will care about the words carved onto our headstones - as touching as they are!</div><div>No-one will care about fresh flowers</div><div>regularly placed on a tidied grave.</div><div>No-one will care that you've chosen to leave no mark</div><div>to have your ashes scattered...</div><div>anonymously</div><div>feeding the deep lush grass of the crematorium gardens.</div><div>No-one in the graveyard will care!</div><div><br></div><div>Death comes to us all </div><div>Be we black, white yellow or brown.</div><div>Who will we be in death?</div><div>No-one in the graveyard will care!</div><div><br></div><div>But...</div><div>who we were in life is more important.</div><div><br></div><div>Think about it!</div>Andy Thompson - Artisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05313668959205106985noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2422283040853924483.post-36998416909271567252024-02-23T16:00:00.000+00:002024-02-23T16:00:31.400+00:00Who Are We?<div>Who are we?<br></div>Who are we if not just the culture in which we were raised?<div><div>Are we our lineage</div><div>our ancestry </div><div>are we just our DNA - maybe?</div><div>Are we the sum of our own experiences?</div><div><div>Are we our family's traditions?</div><div>Are we the music we were exposed to</div><div>the TV programmes <b><i>they</i></b> </div><div>watched - <b><i>they</i></b> watched them </div><div>so <b><i>we</i></b> did.</div><div>Did the jobs our parents had define us?</div><div>Did the wisdoms they passed onto us</div><div>their religions and their beliefs </div><div>in a kind of subliminal inherited wisdom</div><div>of rights and wrongs</div><div>how things should be done</div><div>how to carry yourself</div><div>how to <b><i>be</i></b> in this world...</div><div>did that define us?</div></div><div>Were all these elements imprinted onto us by our family</div><div>our people</div><div>our culture</div><div>our upbringing?</div><div><br></div><div>Growing up you may not have realised this</div><div>or - if you did</div><div>you might not have liked this</div><div>how <b><i>they</i></b> did things</div><div><i><b>their</b> </i>choices</div><div><b><i>their</i></b> ways<br></div><div>but these ways were already instilled in us.</div><div>Growing up you might have felt the need to rebell</div><div>but you would only have been rebelling against what you were destined to become</div><div>or we're already </div><div>these standards which had been instilled in you</div><div>which <b><i>you</i></b> in time</div><div>will pass on to <b><i>your</i></b> children.</div><div><br></div><div>After all...</div><div><div>Who are we?<br></div>Who are we if not just the culture in which we were raised?<br></div><div><br></div><div><a href="https://www.lineofpoetry.com/fluffysausage/who-are-we">Click here to hear me read this piece </a></div><div><br></div></div>Andy Thompson - Artisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05313668959205106985noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2422283040853924483.post-16045669478865960952024-02-23T15:31:00.000+00:002024-02-23T15:31:24.155+00:00We, We Two, One, Us<div>I am - '<i>me'</i><br></div><div>the personal pronoun - <i>'I"</i><i> </i></div><div>I've always been - '<i>me</i>'</div><div>'<i>myself'</i></div><div>I thought I didn't know how to be anyone else - but I found a way</div><div>when I became - '<i>us</i>'</div><div>when I met - '<i>her</i>'</div><div>when I asked - '<i>her</i>'</div><div>the big question</div><div>and she said - "<i>yes!</i>"</div><div>so she and I became - '<i>we</i>'</div><div>'<i>we two'</i></div><div><i>'one'</i></div><div><i>'us'</i></div><div>and we've been - '<i>we</i>'</div><div>'<i>we two'</i></div><div><i>'one'</i></div><div><i>'us'</i></div><div>for so many years</div><div>so much so that </div><div>being - '<i>we</i>'</div><div>'<i>we two'</i></div><div><i>'one'</i></div><div><i>'us'</i></div><div>is all I know - now</div>who would I be if there were no '<i>we</i>'<div>'<i>we two'</i></div><div><i>'one'</i></div><div><i>'us'</i></div><div><div>for - at some point in time</div><div>one of us is going to loose the other </div><div>what we have </div><div>now</div><div>can all be swept away so very quickly!</div><div><br></div><div><div>But...</div><div>have I forgotten who I am</div><div>what the personal pronoun '<i>I</i>' means anymore</div><div>what '<i>being</i> <i>me' - </i>is or was?</div><div><i><br></i></div><div>Who I am?</div><div>Who would I be?</div><div>And...</div><div>could I ever be '<i>me</i>' again?</div><div><br></div><div><br></div><div><a href="https://www.lineofpoetry.com/fluffysausage/editpoem/9AN7jePSKkfA2gz9J">Click here to hear me read this piece</a></div><div><br></div></div></div>Andy Thompson - Artisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05313668959205106985noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2422283040853924483.post-59129846390485321132024-02-23T15:11:00.001+00:002024-02-23T15:13:44.143+00:00LooeLow cloud hangs over the steep valley sides above what was one of Cornwall's busiest ports.<div>Separating the twin towns of Looe - '<i>The River Looe</i>'</div><div><div>nearly at it's end </div><div>is spanned by a small grade II</div><div>listed bridge</div><div>built replacing an ancient 15th century structure.</div><div><br></div><div><div>Once both angry and fast </div><div>tributaries,</div><div>the two main rivers</div><div>with identical names to the two towns - are joined as one</div><div>in a confluence north of the towns</div><div>they become a calm </div><div>tidal harbour </div><div>where for many centuries</div><div>shipwrights made the ships which set sail</div><div>to fish</div><div>and to sell</div><div>exporting all that Cornwall could produce.</div><div><br></div><div>Nowadays it's quays produce</div><div>beds for the night</div><div>and lunches</div><div>coffees and teas for tourists</div><div>who</div><div>in the summer months</div><div>flood in; in their thousands</div><div>by train</div><div>by boat</div><div>or by car </div><div>down the narrow winding lanes that feed the two towns. </div><div><br></div><div>The single river having become a slow </div><div>calm</div><div>harbour</div><div>provdes shelter for a small fishing fleet</div><div>a mere fraction of what it was -</div><div>the pleasure crafts and weekend sailors making up the numbers</div><div>then</div><div>finally </div><div>the river becomes an estuary </div><div>and passes '<i>Banjo Pier'</i></div><div>when this former gateway to a wider </div><div>waiting world</div><div><br></div><div>...becomes the sea.</div><div><br></div><div><br></div><div><a href="https://www.lineofpoetry.com/fluffysausage/looe">Click here to hear me read this piece</a></div><div><br></div></div></div>Andy Thompson - Artisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05313668959205106985noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2422283040853924483.post-38173505691358986122024-02-17T07:59:00.000+00:002024-02-17T07:59:05.934+00:00An Encounter He came in from the night. <div>He was thin - very thin<div>and had a gaunt and pale complexion.</div><div>His overall appearance was dishevelled,<br></div><div>you could say he looked '<i>shifty</i>'.</div><div>His face was weather-beaten </div><div>hardend by life.</div><div>He had thin lips - which he kept tightly shut</div><div>and supper for this thin</div><div>dishevelled</div><div>weather beaten soul?</div><div>10 cans of cheap lager</div><div>with a bag of crisps on the side.</div><div><br></div><div>His tobacco stained fingers handed the cashier a crumpled ten pound note </div><div>which he took from a pocket.</div><div>It could have been his last - who knows</div><div>he certainly didn't look well off</div><div>but had a homeless look about him</div><div>unkempt</div><div>wearing many layers of dirty clothes</div><div>looking like he hadn't the means </div><div>nor the circumstances to do anything about it.</div><div><br></div><div>He took his change from the cashier's hand</div><div>and loaded his empty rucksack with the lagers - with what looked like a very well practiced routine...</div><div><br></div><div>...he then turned</div><div>and disappeared back into the night.</div><div><br></div><div><a href="https://www.lineofpoetry.com/fluffysausage/an-encounter">Click here to hear me read this piece</a></div><div><br></div><div><br></div></div>Andy Thompson - Artisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05313668959205106985noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2422283040853924483.post-10133224458845081522024-02-14T10:21:00.000+00:002024-02-14T10:21:03.863+00:00(Haiku)Valentine's day cards<div>hastily being bought and</div><div>written on the day!</div>Andy Thompson - Artisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05313668959205106985noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2422283040853924483.post-6765813834991942702024-02-11T13:29:00.000+00:002024-02-11T13:29:40.903+00:00People call me the professorPeople call me <i>'The Professor</i>'<div>I'm really not sure I know why</div><div>maybe I have the authority</div><div>the presence of that sort of guy</div><div><br></div><div>I'd like to have been a professor</div><div>my colourful outfits would fit in</div><div>my wild hair would make much more sense - and match the stubble that covers my chin</div><div><br></div><div>Maybe it's my BBC accent</div><div>or maybe they think that I'm bright</div><div>that with my round horn rimmed spectacles</div><div>I fit the perception just right</div><div><br></div><div>I like all that cerebral thinking</div><div>writing papers in an important '<i>rag</i>'</div><div>but there is a good reason why I'm not the professor - and it is, one very big snag!</div><div><br></div><div>I would have loved being a professor </div><div>but I must confess to you</div><div>I'm not over-burdend with qualifications</div><div>and Professors require quite a few</div><div><br></div><div>I have a certificate in swimming</div><div>and 25 yards was very tough!</div><div>I didn't really like it at school much</div><div>learning - and all that stuff!</div><div><br></div><div>School sucked me in at one end</div><div>and at the other end just spat me out!</div><div>I'm sure that all they were teaching me</div><div>was very important - no doubt!</div><div><br></div><div>I really didn't have a life plan</div><div>only college - so there must've been a spark</div><div>but college didn't have any professors</div><div>who on me, could maybe have made a mark</div><div><br></div><div>People call me the professor</div><div>but I'm not the professor type</div><div>I don't think I'd have be very good at it</div><div>but it's too late for having a gripe!</div><div><br></div><div>I think that I'm much too old now</div><div>to help young students to learn</div><div>so I'll sit with my wife and my dog - as</div><div>some peace and quiet </div><div>is what I now yearn!</div><div><br></div><div><br></div><div><a href="https://www.lineofpoetry.com/fluffysausage/the-professor">Click here and hear me read this piece</a></div><div><br></div><div><br></div><div><br></div><div><br></div>Andy Thompson - Artisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05313668959205106985noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2422283040853924483.post-53676571222003507152024-02-07T13:52:00.001+00:002024-02-07T13:56:14.598+00:00Don't Grow UpAs an adult <div>you must never overlook </div><div>nor forget<div>the unadulterated joy there is to be had </div><div>by a child</div><div>in blowing hard </div><div>down a drinking straw</div><div>which sits in a glass of milk</div><div>or similar childhood beverage</div><div>- especially a carbonated one</div><div>which then sends the drink</div><div>in the form of bubbles</div><div>cascading over the glasses rim</div><div>and onto the table </div><div>and over itself</div><div>and the floor</div><div>oh and the cushions on the chair as well!</div><div><br></div><div>As an adult of course</div><div>this is very annoying</div><div>and contains no joy</div><div>as we are the ones who usually have to clear it all up</div><div>and possibly change the childs outfit</div><div>which is now soaking wet</div><div>so it will need washing</div><div>and drying</div><div>because this was the outfit you were going to send them in </div><div>to the party tomorrow </div><div>and then we need to wipe the table down</div><div>and the cushions on the chair</div><div>might need dry cleaning</div><div>...not forgetting to mop up the floor!</div><div><br></div><div>...you then grow up </div><div>you grow up not remembering this joy</div><div>and forget just how amazing it was</div><div>then</div><div>when your time comes</div><div>and you find yourself on your hands and knees</div><div>annoyed</div><div>because your child has done this very same thing</div><div>the thing you did</div><div>many years ago</div><div>that you thought amazing</div><div><br></div><div>...this is the time to search your memories</div><div>rummage around and recall</div><div>remember the joy you found</div><div>by this simple act</div><div>and</div><div>maybe... </div><div>maybe forgive them just this one time!</div><div><br></div><div>...or just don't grow up!</div><div><br></div><div><a href="https://www.lineofpoetry.com/fluffysausage/dont-grow-up">Click here to hear me read this piece</a></div><div><br></div><div><br></div></div>Andy Thompson - Artisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05313668959205106985noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2422283040853924483.post-50351757892312001962024-02-07T12:06:00.001+00:002024-02-07T12:07:59.345+00:00Me: Retail Worker<div>We: customer</div><div><br></div><div>We drive straight past the no-entry sign using the carpark as a "<i>rat-run</i>".</div><div><br></div><div>We defy the architects and planners and take a short cut across the flower beds.</div><div><br></div><div><div>We pull - when it says push.</div><div><br></div><div>We enter - when it says exit.</div></div><div><br></div><div>We don't need a basket</div><div>then we drop things </div><div>and they break.</div><div><br></div><div>We look straight through the thing we're searching for </div><div>then ask someone if they have it in stock.</div><div><br></div><div>We buy junk and ask not to be judged.</div><div><br></div><div>We mistake members of the public for staff</div><div><br></div><div>We wait until the last item has been scanned to suddenly remember </div><div>we've forgotten something - dashing off to get it </div><div>leaving a huge queue of angry customers </div><div><br></div><div>We pay for something then leave it in the shop.</div><div><br></div><div>We bring every personal item we own into the shop - then leave it <i>in</i> the shop.</div><div><br></div><div>We argue about the price of something - then buy it anyway.</div><div><br></div><div>We don't want to pay for a bag, nor did we bring one,</div><div>then we promptly drop all our shopping on the floor.</div><div><br></div><div>We seem surprised when finally at the head of the queue </div><div>and we're asked to actually pay for our shopping.</div><div><br></div><div>We pay with pennies.</div><div><br></div><div>We use contactless but don't know how it works. </div><div><br></div><div>We think that just because the terminal '<i>beeped</i>' </div><div>that means that the transaction is complete.</div><div><br></div><div>We need to pay with our phones but haven't got a clue how to do that.</div><div><br></div><div>We leave baskets and trolleys to roam free 'round the carpark...</div><div><br></div><div>we: customer </div><div>me: retail worker</div><div><br></div><div><a href="https://www.lineofpoetry.com/fluffysausage/me-retail-worker">Click here to hear me read this piece</a></div><div><br></div><div><br></div><div><br></div><div><br></div>Andy Thompson - Artisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05313668959205106985noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2422283040853924483.post-16595974451315100522024-02-07T11:46:00.002+00:002024-02-07T11:49:49.771+00:00I Wonder What They Talk About<div>They arrived in a '<i>gangster-mobile</i>'</div><div>big</div><div>white with blacked out windows</div><div>The car's emblem has been lit up with an aftermarket part - it looked naff!</div><div>if you'd have told me he was a dealer - I wouldn't have been too surprised </div><div>not that he was - he just could have been</div><div>every hair on his head was in the exact place he wanted it to be in </div><div>the edge on his beard was so sharp </div><div>you could have cut a sandwich in two with it</div><div>he smelt like there'd been an explosion at the men's cologne counter </div><div>in Boots in the high street</div><div>and that he was standing next to it at the time</div><div>I think he was wearing the latest fashion</div><div>his trousers - sorry track-suit bottoms</div><div>were too short</div><div>showing off his designer labelled socks</div><div>she was in very tight black</div><div>they came in holding hands - not in a romantic way</div><div>more - a creepy way</div><div>her skin tight black leggings showed every detail</div><div>it was like he was directing her every move</div><div>he tells her to have a milk shake - she had a milk shake</div>then he places his hand on her arse as the milk shake mixes<div>she giggled <br><div>in fact she giggled a lot</div><div>not surprisingly</div><div>he paid</div><div>taking cash out of his </div><div>'<i>over-the-shoulder-man-bag thing'</i></div><div>you know the ones I mean</div><div>turning away to get it out</div><div>maybe he was out doing deals</div><div>maybe he had his gear and cash in there</div><div>I sort thought he'd get a bent fifty quid note out</div><div>and that I'd have to refuse this poor copy of the kings currency</div><div>but no</div><div>just two crumpled fivers</div><div>I gave him his £1.41 change and he returned to his girl</div><div>her shake was ready</div><div>they discovered the lids and straws...</div><div>"It is nice" she eventually said</div><div>the first actual words she spoke</div><div>the <b><i>only</i></b> words she spoke!</div><div>he thanked me as they headed for the door</div><div>she said nothing as they returned to their '<i>gangster-mobile</i>'</div><div>its music - well it was music to them</div><div>drifted to me across the carpark</div><div>and - with both sucking on their milk shakes straws - they drove off</div><div>into the night.</div><div>Thump, thump, thump thump, thump!</div><div><br></div><div>...I wonder what they talk about?</div><div><br></div><div><a href="https://www.lineofpoetry.com/fluffysausage/i-wonder-what-they-talk-about">Click here to hear me read this piece</a><br><div><br><div><br></div></div></div></div>Andy Thompson - Artisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05313668959205106985noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2422283040853924483.post-4820313141509260792024-02-05T16:13:00.001+00:002024-02-05T16:14:21.558+00:00(Haiku)A bus went by and<div>there was one person not on</div><div>his phone! What a freak!</div>Andy Thompson - Artisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05313668959205106985noreply@blogger.com0