Marc my words Chagall!

Roof and roofs
a brace of quail,
a hoof and hooves
a snail and snails.

A gaggle of geese
a herd of deer
always keep
your spell check near.



For more tiles on roofs, go to Magpie Tales.

How do you tell the gender of an egg?

Coming out of her shell.

Her shell started falling to bits
And we were all watching like twits,
As more pieces fell,
We were caught in her spell
And everyone looked at her dog.

“But that doesn’t rhyme!” you demand.
“It will in good time,” I say. “And,
For all you voyeurs,
Be patient, good sirs.
‘Cos, after she lands, she will stand!”

Answer: Male eggs are in more of a hurry to get laid.

Similar intellectual contributions can be found at Magpie Tales.

House trained magpie.

Pa Magpie, somewhat of a mouse,
Was scared of his wife, the old rouse,
And followed her rules;
To take off his shoes
Before he came into the house!
.........

Then the pose suggested something completely different....

‘Pa Magpie’, she called. ‘Are you free?’

‘I need you to come here to me!’

She sounded quite terse;

But he answered in verse:

“Please wait, I am having a pee!”

............

PS. Thank you everyone who contacted me over the last few days, by comments, mail and phone. It doesn't stop the anguish but it lessens it and that is the best anyone can do. The tide of tears is on the way out.

Visit the home of Ma and Pa Magpie to see more eggs hatching.

Mirror Images.

.

Left is right as you can see
It looks that way to you and me.
But turn your arse
Toward the glass,
And all’s in place as it should be!

Image pinched from Tess for Magpie Tales.
PS. As the doc would say; 'This is getting really silly'.

So, for those who wake to the sound of Bow Bells,

Her norf ‘n souf, mince pies that glows,

Her Harold blair, o’er boulders flows.

Twice mirrored there

Her face so fair…

Shame about the garden hose!


PPS. If makes sense to you, explain it to me!

The Works.

Brown earth
Blue planet


We tinker
At our peril








Few things in this world are black and white, except magpies.

Fortunate Metamorphosis.

Our eyes met.
I fell in love
with the image
I created.

Over time,
cicada like,
emerging, real,
I loved you more.

Take a tip, take the trip to, go to Magpie Tales oh!

Attraction.

The nature of the bind that ties
eludes the minds of sage and wise,
Legs and hair?
Curves and flair?
For me it’s always been the eyes!


Prompted by dear Tess Kincaid
her Magpie pic, a poet's aid.
Take the link
and in a blink,
see yarns and poems there displayed!

Homing Magpie-pigeon

Calling Home

I love my bike, I must confess
But reading maps, well, somewhat less.
Lost, alone,
Aha! A phone!
“Please Mummy, bring my GPS!”

.....................

Take your GPS and find Magpie Tales for real poems and stories!

Magpie Colours

Images

Still bodies,
black or white,
Entwined or dumped.
asleep or dead.
Beautiful collage
or reminder of Auschwitz.


Sorry folks, no chuckles here today. But try your luck at Magpie Tales where Tess's friends give and give.

RIP Magpie

Here lies the body of Jessica Kelly,
Who stuffed so much cake and tart in her belly,
That she could not eat
Her veggies and meat
And choked on a huge slice of strawberry jelly!

More offerings can be seen at Magpie Tales.

Magpie with hubris or spot the red face..

“A child could do better,” I said.
“So why does this shyster have cred?”
‘Because his vermilions
are selling for millions,’
"I see," I said. "Is my face red?”

A Philistine in the presence of the cognoscenti has a duty to reveal his ignorance.
Poems and stories by the latter can be found at Magpie Tales.

Magpie 101: Tenderness.

Echko Namazawa

Stage doll of Nipon
Dancing through my
Nights of magic.

Body of grace and
Exquisite face were
Beyond lust.

But while I slept,
She came once unbidden
To my room.

Waking to soft hands,
I should have, but could not
Send her away.

...............

Many read this poem at its last outing and I pray your indulgence again. She still lives in the loveliest of my memories where beauty and wonder never fade.

This memory prompted by Tess at Magpie Tales.

Magpie-blub one-blubdred.

If dying by violence, the best
is drowning, as experts attest;
I'd rather have choice
to choose something noice,
and not put that theory to test!

......................

If anyone presumed I had drowned, they are wrong.
My lack of blog activity is mainly due to lack of access.
Here in Yeoman's Bay there is the occasional blip, just enough to push a Magpie into Cyberspace.
But in case anyone is tempted to feel sorry for me, I include these i-camera shots of my surrounds taken a few minutes ago. The 27 fish in the bucket are tailor caught yesterday and now in my fridge! Other shots are of the bay facing north and south. Oh how I am suffering in this silence and isolation!

You can find intelligent and serious contributions at Magpie Tales.

Black and white Magpie

Tragic life
Role model
A generation.


Hidden
Unknown
Beyond blondness.

Written for Magpie Tales with compassion for all of us who live in a persona, tragically fearing judgement of our reality.

Magpie in a purple treehouse Haiku

To you I was a subject
To me you were a shadow
I wanted more


For Magpie Tales and The Purple Tree House Haiku Challenge.
And to my Christian friends, I send a wish for a Happy Christmas, to my Muslims friends, seasons greetings and to the Atheists, a year of human cooperation.

Kidnapped for ransom.

.

I’m up to my nipples in sand,
The tide’s coming in again and
This time, I’m afraid
You win, Tess Kincaid
I’ll give you the five hundred grand!

Take the risk and visit Tess at Magpie Tales  but run if she's toting a shovel!

Lunch time Magpie

Hey Fritz! Did you hear the one about the...
Shuddup  'n eat!


My reaction to this week's Magpie Tales prompt.
( I would hate to work there!)

Mission Impossible.

.



I told you I'd done it with pairs
Of cows, horses, even with hares.
But what you are asking
Is past multi-tasking.
Have you ever tried herding chairs?!

..............................

Latin version.
Chairs upon chairs upon chairs infinitum,
Mystery milieu, a ghostly conundrum.
What is this miss
Doing here in the mist?
She’s looking for people to join her and sitonum!

...............................

There's always a somebody who
Will write something better than you.
So click on the link,
You'll be tickled pink
At what clever poets can do!

Moore's more-more Maw!

Enormous Johnny Trencherman,
With gluttony was cursed
His rotund middle section
Ever threatening to burst.

And so it did one fateful day
When at a barbecue.
His innards just exploded out
And Johnny’s life was through.

So bits of steak flew all about,
With chops and shish kebab
Mixed up with toxic juices that were
Mainly Coke and Tab.

Some took cover under chairs
While others weren’t so blessed
And some were blown right off their feet,
But all of them were messed.

An eerie silence overwhelmed
The women, kids and men.
As pairs of eyes looked at each other,
Blinked and looked again.

And then the screams and cries began
As people voiced their fright,
And one old dear was heard to mutter;
“Not at all polite!”

So all as one, they scurried off
To shower, scrub and clean,
The hosts were left to gather up
His stomach, bowels and spleen.

They raked and swept and tidied up
For days on end until,
They’d found about enough of him
His casket, to just fill.

Then came deliberations
On what words could be said
Too mark poor Johnny’s passing
While respectful of the dead.

They came up with an epitaph
To best describe his flaw,
But stonemasons are sometimes cursed
With spelling, very poor.

So on his stone, a homophone
Appears forevermore,
The one word that he uttered most:
He’d always asked for ‘More’.

.........................

Sir Thomas Moore
He used to snore
With volume quite prepost-er-ous
And some would swear;
“I do declare,
He’s like a hippopotamus!”
.................................

Disclaimer: Any similarity to any person living or dead is absolutely intentional.
More Moores can be found at Magpie Tales.

Magpie colours

.
Old technology.

I take such pains to make it right,
Avoiding mundane and the trite,
Seeking hues
Just right to use,
But out it comes in black and white!

PS. All the writers in my family were girls except the electric typewriter which was a Brother.

More writers' blues can be read about at Magpie Tales.