Ode to VB3

Custom controls on a Visual Basic form.

Custom controls on a Visual Basic form. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

It became the norm’,
to fill up one’s form

With tons of controls
to avoid any holes

Add in some sex
with a VBX

Inside a frame,
controls all the same

The user went click.
The cursor would stick

An hourglass appeases,
as the progress bar wheezes

Although coding was sloppy,
it all fit on a floppy

How I miss thee, VB3,


Beware telling tales of the beast of the sea, for he just might be listening to thee…

"Erda bids thee beware"

“Erda bids thee beware” (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

We came together, fishermen three.
Telling tales of the beast of the sea.
Gathered we sat round the roaring fire,
accompanied by my trusty lyre.

I know I’ve heard that terrible beast
enjoys an ungodly dreadful feast.
He likes to swallow severed nipple
washed down with blood, his choice of tipple.

I know I’ve heard he has seven toes
arranged in oddly crooked rows.
On the end of each is a savage claw.
Many a soul has been gored before.

I know I’ve heard he has massive fangs
from which his last meal generally hangs.
With a massive roar, he opens wide,
lunging to capture his prey inside.

I know I’ve heard he attacks at night,
which truly is a terrible sight.
The only clue to impending slaughter,
is the sound of slowly dripping water.

Eventually we lay to sleep,
looking for slumber dreamy and deep.
The fire burned low. We began to doze.
Before, we wakened and then we froze.

What roused us from our fitful kip?
The sound of an insistent drip.
We strained to listen with growing fear,
the sound of dripping began to near.

At last we heard an unearthly roar,
and different dripping hit the floor.
Face to face with the beast of the sea,
We fishermen three chose to flee.

The monk with no head, from Piccotts End Lane

Misty night (pattanaik00_mul_18.6978_cone_0.5_...

Misty night (pattanaik00_mul_18.6978_cone_0.5_rod_0.767677) (Photo credit: cosmonautirussi)

I can’t stand it here,
I’m going to the bar.
Spluttered my brother,
but the bar was too far.

I know a shortcut,
I’ll show you the way.
But when I saw where he meant,
I heard myself say…

My brother, you’re mad
Completely Insane.
Have you forgotten the legend
of Piccott’s End Lane?

You mean the monk
deprived of his head?
I’m telling you brother,
I don’t feel any dread.

So off to the Old Town
we went with a cheer,
For bawdy young ladies
and lashings of beer.

But as we returned,
loaded with drink,
the darkness closed in
and we started to think…

As I bounced off the hedge
from one side to the other,
I bumped into something
I prayed was my brother.

The more sounds we heard,
the more that we worried.
We heard a dog howl,
And onward we hurried.

Now and again,
we thought we were sunk.
How would we escape
that headless old Monk?

It took a long time,
to reach the top of the path.
My brother, relieved,
gave a nervous laugh.

You see my brother,
there was nothing to fear.
Aren’t you glad we went out
for a relaxing beer?

This is kind of based on a true story. For many years, my brother and I trekked up and down Piccotts End Lane in search of nocturnal entertainment. The ghost story is real. Allegedly, a headless monk has been seen along Piccotts End Lane many times and I have to say, it could be quite spooky along that lane, especially on a moonless night when the mist closed in.

Alas, we never saw the headless monk himself, thank goodness. But that long walk chilled my bones.

Maisie saves the sky


Sunshine (Photo credit: Jong Soo(Peter) Lee)

The sky was hazy so Maisie felt lazy and drifted off to sleep.
But she dreamed and she schemed and so it seemed her sleep was not that deep.
Her mind it whirred, it stirred and it purred trying to find a clue,
as to why the sky so high had taken such a particular hue.

A bumble bee in a tree decreed that the change was here to stay.
A butterfly gave a cry and a sigh that it sometimes went this way.
A snake in the grass was fast to pass that the change was no good thing.
In order to arrange a change in the range, someone will need to sing.

To fix what’s wrong, we need a song before long, but which is the proper tune?
If we delay, I say we’ll pay and we’re going to need the right song soon!
Maisie, less lazy went crazy wracking her brain in order to choose.
Each song was wrong but before long came along the right song with no time to lose.

Maisie began and she sang, her voice rang with just the proper tone.
The bumble bee hummed, the butterfly strummed, the snake felt numbed, Maisie was not alone.
With a flick of her head, look Maisie said! The sky less red, our singing has saved the sky.
The sky is now blue, the proper hue, and Maisie-Lou bid her friends goodbye.

The girl who crowned her Daddy King.

My Only King

My Only King (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Maddie was out with her Mum at the shop.
She really wanted the shopping to stop.
In and out of the aisles they went,
until Mum’s money was nearly spent

At last Mummy’s shopping came to a halt,
when into the basket she threw the salt
“As you’ve been good, you deserve some treats”
said Mummy as she looked at the sweets

“No Mum”, said Maddie pulling her away.
“I don’t want any sweets for treats today.”
Giving the sweets a disdainful look,
Maddie picked up a big sticker book.

At home Maddie was back with her Daddy.
When he had no treats he threw a paddy.
“Would you like a sticker instead?”
sweet Little Maddie kindly said

“What – a special sticker just for me?”
her father said with joyful glee
Eying her stickers with a careful frown,
Maddie selected a big golden crown.

“Would you please bend right over” young Maddie said,
stickering the big golden crown to his head.
Standing up straight her daddy looked proud.
His voice went from soft to very loud.

“I am King and before me you must bow!
You and Mummy my loyal subjects now”
Mummy and Maddie started to laugh
“You can’t order us like we’re your staff”

“That’s it! I’ll have to chop off Mummy’s head”
The last thing Maddie wanted was Mummy dead
She jumped on a stool and her Daddy squealed
As she reached for the crown and off it was pealed

As Daddy’s voice returned from loud to soft,
“You’re no longer the King” her Mummy scoffed.
“Any more nonsense you’ll sleep in the shed,
and all you’ll have for dinner is bread.”

With apologies to Robert Browning…

Robert Browning

Robert Browning (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Oh, to be in writing,
finding food to feed my soul.
Nothing so exciting,
as a proper writing role.

I care not what about,
words would pour upon the page.
I don’t have any doubt,
my readers would engage.

My keyboard ever tapping,
more titles on the shelf.
There’d be no time for napping.
I’d have to pinch myself.

My workrate never dropping,
until the next deadline is hit.
My typing never stopping,
’til I’m sure I have a hit.

My message to you readers,
is to give this man a chance.
To join those rare succeeders,
and earn my first advance.

Just relax…

Writing Magazine in the UK has regular writing competitions. One of them this month is a short poetry competition. The rules are simple, just write an 8 line poem in the form of an “acrostic” – the first letters of each line spell out a word – CREATIVE. This is my first attempt – probably reflects the fact that I am currently on holiday 😉

Clouds float lonely across the sky
Relaxing in the dying sun
Ever wondered. why oh why?
A man is never done
Toil away, night and day
If only to make the rent
Vital time just ebbs away
Energy always spent