Barroso steps down after ten years in office
as European Commission President
Ding Dong! The bully is gone. Which old bully? The Barroso Bully!
Ding Dong! Barroso Bully is gone.
Wake up you sleepy head, rub your eyes, get out of bed.
Wake up, Barroso Bully is gone. He’s gone where the goblins go,
Below – below – below. Yo-ho, let’s open up and sing and ring the bells out.
Ding Dong’ the merry-oh, sing it high, sing it low.
Let them know Barroso Bully is gone!
************************
Double, double toil and trouble;
Fire burn and caldron bubble.
Writer crazy, madman he,
In the maelstrom boil with glee.
*
Eye of newt and toe of frog,
Wool of bat and tongue of dog,
Author’s charm and writer’s sting,
Wizard sage; wolf dog sing.
*
For a charm of powerful trouble,
Like a hell-broth boil and bubble.
Double, double toil and trouble;
Fire burn and caldron bubble.
Read it with your glowering brood,
Read if fast, quick and good.
Oh, you’d better not shriek
You’d better not groan
You’d better not howl
You’d better not moan
Pumpkin Heads are coming to town.
*
They’re making a list of those they meet
Those who will get tricks
And those who deserve treats
Pumpkin Heads are coming to town.
*
They’re searching every pumpkin patch
Haunted houses far and near
To see if you’ve been spreading gloom
Or bringing lots of cheer.
*
Oh, you’d better not shriek
You’d better not groan
You’d better not howl
You’d better not moan
Pumpkin heads are coming to town.
Call of the Kindred
Come to me, little mortal
I can bring you to heaven’s portal
There’ll be no sorrow, there’ll be no pain
Feelings of joy will fill your brain
*
Come to me, sweet human thing
Give me your heart and I’ll make it sing
Forget your fears, leave them behind
Forget the troubles of your kind
Come to me… yes, that’s right
Now hold still, it’s no good to fight
I’ll take your blood, and leave you dying
Didn’t you realise I could be lying?
Solinquair, 1996
I dwell in a lonely house I know
That vanished many a summer ago,
And left no trace but the cellar walls,
And a cellar in which the daylight falls,
And the purple-stemmed wild raspberries grow.
.
O’er ruined fences the grape-vines shield
The woods come back to the mowing field;
The orchard tree has grown one copse
Of new wood and old where the woodpecker chops;
The footpath down to the well is healed.
.
I dwell with a strangely aching heart
In that vanished abode there far apart
On that disused and forgotten road
That has no dust-bath now for the toad.
Night comes; the black bats tumble and dart;
.
The whippoorwill is coming to shout
And hush and cluck and flutter about:
I hear him begin far enough away
Full many a time to say his say
Before he arrives to say it out.
.
It is under the small, dim, summer star.
I know not who these mute folk are
Who share the unlit place with me—
Those stones out under the low-limbed tree
Doubtless bear names that the mosses mar.
.
They are tireless folk, but slow and sad,
Though two, close-keeping, are lass and lad,—
With none among them that ever sings,
And yet, in view of how many things,
As sweet companions as might be had.
……………..
“You are old, Crazymad Writer,” the youth said,
“And your hair has become very white;
And yet you incessantly stand on your head—
Do you think, at your age, it is right?”
*
“In my youth,” Crazymad Writer said to the son,
“I feared it might injure the brain;
But now that I’m perfectly sure I have none,
Why, I do it again and again.”
*
“You are old,” said the youth, “As I mentioned before,
And have grown most uncommonly fat;
Yet you turned a back-somersault in at the door—
Pray, what is the reason of that?”
*
“In my youth,” said the sage, as he shook his grey locks,
“I kept all my limbs very supple
By the use of this ointment—one shilling the box—
Allow me to sell you a couple?”
*
“You are old,” said the youth, “And your jaws are too weak
For anything tougher than suet;
Yet you finished the goose, with the bones and the beak—
Pray, how did you manage to do it?”
*
“In my youth,” the writer explained, “I took to the law,
And argued each case with my wife;
And the muscular strength which it gave to my jaw,
Has lasted the rest of my life.”
*
“You are old,” said the youth, “one would hardly suppose
That your eye was as steady as ever;
Yet you balanced an eel on the end of your nose—
What made you so awfully clever?”
*
“I have answered three questions, and that is enough,”
Said the writer; “don’t give yourself airs!
Do you think I can listen all day to such stuff?
Be off, or I’ll kick you down stairs!”
**************
Three women die together in an accident and
go to heaven.
When they get there, St. Peter says, ‘We! only have
one rule here in heaven: don’t step on the ducks!’
So they enter heaven, and sure enough, there are
ducks all over the place. It is almost impossible not to
step on a duck, and although they try their best to
avoid them, the first woman accidentally steps on one.
Along comes St. Peter with the ugliest man she ever saw.
St. Peter chains them together and says, ‘Your
punishment for stepping on a duck is to spend
eternity chained to this ugly man!’
The next day, the second woman accidentally steps
on a duck and along comes St. Peter, who doesn’t
miss a thing. With him is another extremely ugly man.
He chains them together with the same admonishment
as for the first woman.
The third woman has observed all this and, not
wanting to be chained for all eternity to an ugly man,
is very, VERY careful where she steps.
She manages to go months without stepping on
any ducks, but one day St. Peter comes up to her
with the most handsome man she has ever laid eyes
on … very tall, long eyelashes, muscular, and thin.
St. Peter chains them together without saying a word.
The happy woman says, ‘I wonder what I did to
deserve being chained to you for all of eternity?’
The guy says, ‘I don’t know about you, but I stepped
on a duck!’
Read the story through the lines, feel the warmth of reading time.
Dream of softly written words, warm we know, stories told.
As the reading days unfold, hearts grow warmer in the fold,
Peace of mind is all we know, warm they go, stories told.
**************
Stories for children and adults
by ME, The Crazymad Writer – ARRRGH.
The Crazymad Writer 