Omnishambles

Surely omnishambles will be the word of the 2019, at least for the UK. I am utterly saddened by the lack of leadership and example setting. MPs debate one thing, then vote against it. A British MEP inflicts a tirade of abuse on the European Parliament, but is responded to with supreme dignity. Our Government admits that Brexit will damage the country, but persist with it.

The sword of Damocles hangs over our country, perilously close to being unleashed. But what has been free is the hate and intolerance shown by certain sectors of society, generally the extreme right and the extreme left.

Rumour takes the place of researched fact. Campaigns were illegally funded, and almost certainly manipulated by other parties who wish to destabilise the EU.

I believe that the government needs to put its hands up and say sorry, we got it wrong, we rushed into something we didn’t understand, we should have spent a couple of years putting a proposal together and then asked you to decide.

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Falling off a cliff

Here’s a bit of doggerel as I’m trying to find some humour in my fears for the future!

The future’s quite uncertain,

Of that you can be sure,

You’ll hide behind a curtain

When they pass the lobby door.

Division’s what we’re looking at,

The whips push them all through.

The DUP can smell a rat,

Lib Dems have not a clue.

Jeremy sits on the fence,

Shouts till his face goes blue.

Theresa lacks all common sense,

And knows not what to do.

Juncker says ‘We will not shift,

Ask us what you will.

You need to heal your party rift,

Sort out the Brexit Bill.’

The Speaker roars himself quite hoarse.

He sends them through the lobbies,

Make up your minds, decide your course.

Perhaps I need more hobbies.

They’re coming back to take their seats

Like sheep they bleat and baa.

The back-bench votes are just repeats

Their minds won’t shift that far.

They don’t appear to understand

What no deal will deliver,

That fateful line’s drawn in the sand.

They’ve sold us down the river.

You cast your vote three years ago

You said ‘Can we remain?’

People, let’s go with the flow,

Let’s keep it all the same.

Creativity Contest: The Sealed Safe (Open)

Creativity Contest: The Sealed Safe (Open)

Peregrine Arc

Last week you received a mysterious letter about a dinner guest arriving at six. The guest was yours to invent, along with building the anticipation and laying out the setting. The results were pretty humorous with some unique timing and guests who showed up at the end. I appreciate everyone participating and encourage you to take a look at other’s takes you can find in the entries’ comments. Together, we can spread the joy of writing and dig in the garden of imagination. 🌷

For this week’s prompt, I want you to imagine you are a thief. Whatever motive you have, good, bad, or both, is up to you. Whatever setting and condition the safe is in is also up to you. It could be underwater, in a mine, in a delapidated mansion…Take the wheel of literature and drive us there!

But here’s the twist: you don’t get what’s inside…

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WINNER of the Weekly Terrible Poetry Contest

Hahahaha, lots of appalling poems

Chelsea Ann Owens

For several contests now, I’ve wanted to do a multi-person tie. You are all doing so terribly!

(That’s a compliment.)

But… since you’ve all skipped to this part anyway, the winner is Michael B. Fishman.

Don’t Skippy Over Me (or I’ll Be Back in a Jif)

by Michael B. Fishman

I like chunky peanut butter sometimes –
and sometimes I don’t.

Ask me why,
or don’t,
(I don’t care)

Peanut butter’s rough.
The chunks? A diamond in the rough.

That’s because I like peanuts and . . .
I
don’t
like
peanut
butter.

It’s not even butter!

Once upon a time there was a peanut farmer who became President. A giant named Fezzik came along and asked if he wanted a peanut. The President-to-be said no, but he asked the giant where he could fill up his empty peanuts. The giant didn’t know, but some other guy – I…

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Playing with the pony

So this week has been about playing with the pony rather than the pen. Coals Dee Olena, better known as Dee or the diva, is a very special little horse. When life fell to pieces in 2015 she kept me going. She’s had some soundness issues over the last couple of years, but having a joint in her foot medicated last year has worked wonders ( I am now crossings fingers and touching wood). We haven’t been to a competition since last June, and haven’t really done much training, so today’s trip to Doncaster for an arena TREC competition was just going to be a bit of fun. It involves doing a course of ten obstacles, and then being able to do a fast walk and a very slow canter.

Well the diva lived up to her name. Three classes, three wins. I am so proud of this pony. In November I thought she was going to be retired – she’s bounced back with a smile on her face, and put one on mine too.

WINNER of the Weekly Terrible Poetry Contest

Really enjoyed writing my little effort!

Chelsea Ann Owens

Wow.

I’m speechless, so it’s a good thing I’m able to type.

I read through all the entries this week several times, and kept thinking that I need to make a ten-way tie. Only two or three of the submitted poems were too fancy for our dubious standards, and even those were just barely so.

The winner this week is D. Wallace Peach.

Poots

by D. Wallace Peach

There once was a hairy old coot
Who loved to squeeze out a poot
It was stinky and smelly
Gurgled like jelly
And popped off a sound like a toot

But he wasn’t close to the worst
My granny caught poots in her purse
She saved up the sound
For when grandkids came ‘round
Then out of her purse they would burst

Now MY poots are dainty as roses
No trouble for delicate noses
They make a small putter
Wheeze or…

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