Wild swathes of manic hues
struck ghostly angst in me
a fireball ambience
ensued and my banshee
wail at bright splodge ink sky
shattered stained glass moon’s glee
The whole world knows that
Adding vinegar to chips and fish
Turns the whole offering into
An almost Earth shattering dish,
But how many people know,
How many people realise
The amazing effect to be had
By adding Mayo to your fries.
Almost a Damascus Road event
The first time that you try it
Just take the humble spud
And very quickly deep fry it
Then take a huge dollop of
That thick yellow stuff
Don’t worry just how much
You can never have enough.
A nice thick blob to make
A very tasty tasty dip
Then use one by one
On every single chip.
An explosion of joy
Follows each immersion
It really is a case of
Taste bud subversion.
Oh vinegar can be nice
It never ever goes to waste
But lather on the yellow stuff
For that cosmopolitan taste.
It’s the simpler things in life
That can give it zest and glow
Like a bag of red hot chips
And a splodge of Mayo.
You can keep your Fine Dining,
Your food artfully arranged
Your Meat barely cooked,
Oh how things have changed,
Just give me fish and ‘taties,
Wrapped and ready to go
To be Eaten with the fingers
Hot fish and ‘taties alfresco
The pink flowers of the honeysuckle rise
Like crocuses in springtime on the green
Like eager maidens wanting to be seen
While sunshine glitters on their shapely thighs.
Too much sun has made them over-bold
They are at risk from their own desperate joy.
For all the rain and clouds made them annoyed
They must be fertilised or die before they’re old.
And this same sun makes me a melting splodge
A lick of oil paint mixed and uncomposed.
Who was this artist; what did he propose?
And will this portrait in my memory lodge?
As flowers will inevitably die
They do not lose by hurling up their joys.
But should we women imitate their ploys?
For we might live in shame, amply supplied.
Each child of nature feels the touch of sun.
Some stretch out in joy while others run.
If you might vacillate and never choose
She who chooses has the least to lose .
the sky is like a canvas
splashed with modern art
multi coloured daubs of clouds
streaks of blue apart
a reddish splodge sun
slowly slides towards the edge
and dusk has begun
Jack Horne, 29th September, for Nette’s WONDER OF DUSK IN SEGUIDILLA contest
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