I
The golden sun dips, below the horizon is where it grips
Shemu will arrive early, farmers in a flurry
The final grains trickle, time not mickle
Sickles drawn; scarecrows menace gone
The coming of the harvest,
standing in the shadow of the darkness.
This tale is about Pickle Onion Percy
Who is besotted with a little cocktail pickle called Tracy Tickle
Many hours are spent together chatting and laughing
On a warm soft fresh slice of rye pumpernickel
Now, Percy is known for being somewhat fickle
He is poor and only possesses a nickel
He is the target of Asparagus and Gherkin… who take the mickle
Who harass and bully him …. As tears down Percys face do trickle
Truth is , Gherkin and Asparagus also fancy the sweet Tracy Tickle
Though she thinks they are bullies and so very mean
Both tall ,weird and lumpy looking
And horrible shades of green
Tracy Tickle only has eyes for Percy Pickle
Asparagus and Gherkin actually make her feel quite sickle
Percy is sweet, funny and kind
Tracy desperately wants to become Mrs Pickle!
Mickle pickle schmickle ding dong due
Eyes on the prize for both me and you
Dragon flies by on a plane summer blue
Mickle pickle schmickle ding dong due
M-ysteriously
I-nvisible
C-oronavirus
K-ills
L-ungs
E-mploying
&
R-espiratory
E-ffeteness
Y-ou
N-egate
A-s
L-ife
Y-ou
N-icely
S-ave
A-voids
H-azardous
A-ttack
G-allantly
U-pending
N-astiness
Topic: Anniversary of Mickle & Reyna Lyn Sahagun (April 08)
Form: Vertical Monocrostic
Walking, shrouded by the echt loneliness of reality,
I lost my gaze in the uniformity of chaos.
Souls in slumber, malinger around with an ever dying goal in sciamachy,
Rebellious against the fallacy within our Ethos.
As I stepped across these vast edacity of desires,
I alleviate myself from the conformity of reasons.
Excavating myself from forced judgement and guile empires.
Distant, detaching the maw for quantities of neologized Love.
Returning to self. To inchoation.
Susurrating under my breath while dulcifying my path.
Does choice comprehend life or destiny an absolute notion?
Drowning in mickle hopes while infinitely landing in the rough.
Though sessile within this flesh, I confronted the banal of my actions,
Experiencing the innate rebirth in an inane, fusty existence.
It's just! It's just! Confused and flabbergasted in knowing only in fractions.
I live dying in life, striving to thrive in absolute endless coexistence of inconsistent constants.
Tis sore int' thwait
wi mor'n a few folks a gippy
loose tha's snap as M'pessons well
n tek sum brass from t'watter
na its nowt but a mickle midden
but them folks as a good un, narry a one of 'em flit
tek thasen a gander
but the's nowt in Eyam save 'plague
Translation
It is bad in the village
with more than a few people sick
Leave your food at Mompessons Well
and take some money from the water
Now it's nothing but a big mess
But the villagers are good people, not any one of them has left
Take yourself a look
but there is nothing in Eyam except the Plague
History
The village of Eyam in Derbyshire was hit by the plague at the same time as London (1665),
the villagers self imposed a quarantine to prevent the disease spreading any further, the
surrounding villages left food at a well near Eyam, in exchange for money which had been
left in the vinegar filled well to clean it.
For "Sista's Bloody Sista's" contest run by Deborah Guzzi
Honorable Mention
Hawk-teuchin - spitting up phlegm
Nimmer - dinner
Gundie-guts - fat slobs
Mickle-moud - great big mouth
Sachleasly - Innocently
Muckle herts - big hearts
Rabbie wis hawk-teuchin frae the back o’ his sare throat,
Afore he gave his efter nimmer speech.
He said tae the landed gentry, “ye’re a set o’ gundie-guts,
But far be it frae me tae staund up here an’ preach.
Ye ken ah’ve stacks o’ gumption fur ye widna asked me by
Tae render words o’ prose frae ma mickle-moud:
Sae sachleasly ah’ll spout ma rhyming ware fur ye,
It’ll mak yer muckle herts feel staunch an’ proud.”
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