He’s crazy and he’s bonkers,
As mad as flaming conkers,
He’s altogether zonkers,
The Crazymad Writer.
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His stories are a dream,
When people read, they gleam
He really is a scream
The Crazymad Writer.
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Download a book today,
And join the mad brigade
Who love the tales he’s made,
The Crazymad Writer.
Stories for children
and young at heart adults
by, ME, The Crazymad Writer – arrrgh.
Don’t call me that name, the new Roald Dahl,
I am not that man, either new or old,
I am a writer, as mad as can be,
The Crazymad Writer; it’s the truth – YIPPEE.
Whilst out on a drive in my beetle, one day,
She put-putted along quite happily away,
Down streets so crowded with people, that’s right,
I was slap-bang in the centre of London, so bright.
*
As I drove my love bug through old London town,
Watching the people all milling around,
Something caught my attention within this mad rush,
An item, in the gutter, all covered in dust.
*
Applying the brakes, I screeched to a halt,
Then opened my door despite the retort,
From drivers not happy all with my tack,
You’re blocking our way, they shouted, quite hacked.
*
I won’t be a tick, I said smiling at them,
As leaning down low, I inspected this thing,
That although almost totally covered in dust,
Glistened so brightly, like gold; it’s a fact.
*
Wiping it clean, the gold sparkled, and how!
It’s an amulet and chain, I spluttered out loud,
Then apologising again, for the jam I had caused,
I returned to my bug amidst facetious applause.
*
Slamming into gear, I tore down that street,
Away from old London, and all of those feet,
Where people could see me, and what I had found,
An amulet – my amulet; I left London town.
*
Far out in the sticks, I slowed to a halt,
Away from all eyes, or so I had thought,
Inspecting my prize, my amulet, so dazzling,
With diamonds and rubies and garnets, enticing.
*
It’s mine, all mine, I cried out, with joy.
I’ll be rich, I’ll sell it – I’ll sell it today,
Then a hand dove through the window, into my car,
And took it, it took it, my amulet so rare.
*
What are you doing? I gasped, trying to see,
Who was taking, stealing the amulet from me,
Then I saw him, a man, bald-headed and robed,
With eyes so black, as black as coal.
*
I am Miafra, he said, in a slow, haughty tone,
With this power, of Oxmosis, I will crush all my foes.
Wot, Nott and Kakuri will cease to be,
They will crumble and die, in ignominious defeat.
*
The Amulet of Oxmosis, is that what it is?
That’s what I asked him, my brain in a tizz,
But Miafra, already chanting his spell,
Made ready to dispatch me downwards to Hell.
*
Wait, WAIT! I pleaded, stalling for time,
I have some information, of the magical kind,
With that his ears perked, and he listened for more,
But all that I did was slam shut the door.
*
Turning the key, the engine burst into life,
Put-putting away; it didn’t think twice,
With pedal to the metal, I swiftly sped off,
Forgetting all about the magical amulet.
*
Yes, yes, I know, Miafra still had it, clear,
As he hastened away to Onisha, I fear.
To crush his opponents, Wot, Nott and Kakuri,
But that was their problem, for I had to hurry.
*
If you are thinking of me as cold and aloof,
Leaving folks to their fate, not giving a hoot,
Then open that story at chapter, first one,
To see what will happen, and what can be done…
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Stories for children and young at heart adults
I am The Crazymad Writer – ARRRGH
*
99 cent eBooks you can download today.
Stories for children and young at heart adults,
courtesy of The Crazymad Writer – ARRRGH!
I told you in an earlier blog post how much I have traveled, to places like Africa, The Philippians, Europe (I loved Venice), Australia, Egypt, Thailand – even Cuba.
One of the most recent countries that I have had the pleasure of visiting is Madeira. It’s a small and quiet place, but there is something so special about it. I can’t quite put my finger on it, though. I will be returning there again.
In case you’re wondering why there is a picture of a grasshopper at the top of this page,
I will explain…
I ate grasshoppers, and giant ones at that!!!
I ate them while holidaying in Thailand – and they were okay – they really were. The locals deep-fry them in oil, like chips, yummy. Having said that, I have to admit that I tactfully refused the offer of deep-fried scorpions – I had to draw the line somewhere!
I’m not mad; mad, mad mad,
I’m not mad – not me!
I’m not mad, mad mad, mad,
Mad, mad, mad, oh hee.
I’M NOT MAD, am I?
Flummoxed by the Rabbit, Alice said, “I bet you are mad!”
“That all depends,” he replied.
“It all depends on what?”
“On whether you mean mad or mad.”
“That’s silly,” said Alice. “They mean the same thing.”
“If you were mad number one,” the Rabbit explained, “and someone happened to tell you that you were mad number two, you might be very mad indeed at so fundamental a mistake.”
“But I’m not mad!” she insisted.
“How do you know,” asked the Rabbi, “when you can’t tell the difference between mad number one and mad number two, I might ask?”
“I just know that I’m not mad!” Alice insisted. Informing him that another door had appeared, she awaited his response.
The Rabbit tried to open the door but he was unable to do so.
“Might I try?” Alice asked.
The Rabbit said nothing, but his pink, beady eyes watched her intently.
The door opened easily for Alice. “Could a mad person have done that?” she asked. Stepping through, she fell into a hole on the far side.
“No, they mightn’t,” he replied. “But would they have fallen down there?” Then, jumping into the hole, he followed Alice.
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The day the weather went mad
Was a day I thought I had been had,
By a weather extreme; quite obscene,
The day the weather went mad.
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Some people might think that I am so cracked,
Two sheets to the wind, and that is a fact.
But I say it is they who are lacking of sorts,
Afraid to speak up, to convey their true thoughts.
*
To speak and to mean just what we might say,
Is honesty so lacking in the world of today.
If people joined in with this wonderful cause,
They would value and welcome and give it applause.
*
But people are strange; so nice to the face,
Then turning their back they fall down in disgrace,
Lying and cheating with no thought of the pain,
That neglecting truth causes, and who is to blame.
*
They just follow the herd, they follow the crowd,
Ticking off those who stand alone from the crowd,
Laughing at those two sheets in the wind,
Oblivious to the fact that they are happier than them.
*
If more people were ‘two sheets to the wind’,
More would be happier and less would have sinned.
***********
*****
“What is the difference between a slug and a bag of salt?” Bert asked his friend Fred.
“Go on, tell me,” Fred answered.
“Salt makes your food taste better; slugs, however, shrivel and up and die if they come into contact with salt.
“That’s terrible!” Fred protested. “That’s not a joke!”
“You think it’s terrible?” Bert replied, flapping his arms about wildly, with excitement. “Imagine how the poor slugs feel!”
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The Crazymad Writer Writes Again 