It’s the Great British Bake Off
And I’ve got to week six
But I think it’s all over since
They’ve dissed my bread mix.
They said it was rubbish
When I baked my plum duff
And Mary said my cake
Was sandy, coarse and rough.
There’s a slinky little blonde
Who’s giving Paul the eye
And I think it must be working
Cos she’s more than getting by.
Her bagels were quite dodgy
Her bottom soggy and wet
Yet he said they were delicious
Definitely teacher’s pet
They’re going to push me out
Deep down this I know
But I’ll take the b’s with me
If and when I go
I’ve planned my revenge
With my Kamikaze pudding dish
With TNT and dynamite
And petrol, just a splish.
I’ve made my own shrapnel
With glass and tacks and nails
To ensure there’s a back up
If my pudding mixture fails,
So, when they tell me that
It’s time that I went
I’ll push the detonator
And blow up the bloody tent.
There’ll be weeping and wailing
And lots and lots of tears
But that’s one Bake off episode
They’ll not forget for years.
I’m the Kamikaze chef
Divine Wind of the Aga Range
Apres Moi le deluge
After me things will change
The Beauty of the End, is, It's Beginning!
For Aspen never rise, till fire is still,
And all Endeavors, Loves, and Lives are Ash...
All that is product of the Human Will
Persists, till not a stone's upon a stone,
And every outbreath lifts the dust to motes,
Upon the Light that shows a Pilgrim Alone;
Gone far to see what's left -- dust chokes the throat...
So, Ancient Empires fall, but, 'apres le feu'*
The Aspens grow, and someday, gild the slope.
And Life and Death there dance a 'pas de deux',**
And Life gets the Applause, lets go Death's rope,
Death fades and bows and then... was never there...
And leaves a Scent of Morning on the Air...
*'apres le feu' - after the fire
**'pas de deux' - a duet dance in a ballet
Alone, aging actor alive after abuse.
Adult adept, adapt action above acute ankle.
Admit ached, agree affix aptly crepe.
Ashen apres, amigo angry apart afore.
Asked aloof aunty avoid awful baloo.
Alarm nurse ahead, agony alert.
Aggro afoot...adios amigo.
Unsung Heroines Sung
below in palace kitchen
over fire in wattle hut
during lunch breaks coffee chatter
or the health spa apres sweat
where ever women gather
when ever women are
comes a quiet time of voices
a calm time, feelings slowed
then silence……
for a moment gentle communion flows.
in this precious, timeless space
our bardic songs are sung.
the victories over loneliness
prejudice and fear
being out there on ones own
when no one can come near
of woman battles ever fought
and now some woman-won.
Tel un phoenix tu renais apres chaque deception
et tu fais pour trouver une solution
crois moi les vrai amis qui peuvent taider
sont beaucoup moins nombreux que tu peux imaginer
7 est leur nombre dans mon cas
ils ne font que amener de la bonne humeur et de la joie
qui sont-il je ne te le dirai pas
mais crois moi je ferai tout pour contribuer a leur joie
Je t'avoue , ton existence
Est bien devenue une indifference
Apres tout ce que tu as fais
Pourquoi suis-je en train encore de parler
Tu n'as plus de place dans mon coeur
Esperons que tu es partie voir ailleurs
Je ne peux plus te voir
Ni entendre chacune de ces histoires
Fais-moi plaisir s'il te plait
Pour toujours , disparais
-- Just a bit of silliness --
"Baissez le rideau, la farce est jouee..."
---- Daumier
39 & 1/2 days had passed;
the rain had lessened.
Noah, grungy and grumpy,
paced the wet deck
like a caged Lion of Judah.
Reading the Odyssey by blubber-light,
Jonah, a free-thinker, cruised
in his whale below; he marveled,
captainishly, carefully pronouncing
the unfamiliar Greek, an uninvented
tongue he couldn't speak.
Ham, an adherent to all the dietary
restrictions, was relieved
at the journey's almost-close.
Consultation of the Holy Books
had proved he wasn't kosher
and, therefore, could not be served.
Still, Shem and Japhet eyed him oddly.
They had a lean and hungry look.
The wives, sensible lot,
cleaned the kennels, did the chores
and tried to keep an even keel
in the anachronistic mess.
They drifted onward,
tired of fishing fruitless waters,
doubtful now of being made
fishers of men.
All things considered, it was
a perfectly normal situation:
men were mystics
and women staid and sturdy workers.
And yet, Ararat, still beneath the waters,
may not have been the only futuristic
structure in this grey, flat
seascape.
The
apres
dejeuner,
post-brandial-
choice