I’d rather get shot at in the desert than lie on the beach looking at pretty girls in bikinis. Yeah. Right.

Sammi offered another bait, and I took it. I apologise for the quality.


Tired of this geography

Beach life just ain’t right for me

Sun and surf and perfect sand

Naked skin perfectly tanned

Lead me to another region

Adieu! Off to the Foreign Legion!


Rhyming ‘Adieu’ with ‘Off to’ perhaps not a high point of poetic genius.

The Fool

To continue the theatrical theme ….

I was looking at a post from Kate, in which she suggests that ‘life is no different from acting on a stage’, and I thought it begged for a Shakespearean reference.

For whatever reason I started thinking about Marcel Marceau and how sad, to me, he always looked. It seemed that people that don’t talk much give the impression of covering something up. I don’t talk much myself, to be honest.


The curtain opens, I must show
The only face you’ll ever know
Clasped lips that hold the truth inside
A costume that can barely hide
The scars, the buried injuries
The nightmares. Bitter memories
No role here for the truth to play
The audience must have it’s way
The actor, he must always act
Absorb the laughter, not react
Mimed emotion. Hidden pain
Tomorrow do it all again
For all the world’s a stage, you see
Come watch my comic tragedy


I have never been a great fan of Shakespeare, to be honest, thinking him to be something of a hack, but a lot of his words were planted within me during an almost forgotten education. If I had to pick a favourite quote, though, it would be, ‘As flies to wanton boys are we to the gods; they kill us for their sport’.

In a long ago production of King Lear, by the way, I was (type?) cast as ‘The Fool’. I jest you not.

What is it all about?

The above is a question that constantly plagues me. I am not alone in that regard, of course. The best answer I have come up with so far is ‘probably nothing much’ which seems a little bit unsatisfactory. Even if we accept life as entirely without meaning it remains difficult to shrug off the impression that, for some reason, it should mean something.

Anyway, I spotted a post from my buddy, Cyranny, that suggested the human act of breathing in and breathing out was sufficient for getting one through to another day. That might be right, I suppose, but it is notion that, likewise, struck me as being a little bit unsatisfactory.

It occurred to me though, that if two humans were involved …together … just breathing in and out … together … then just maybe, somehow it might all be worthwhile.

So this is what I wrote …


Our beating hearts, our inhalation

Beating faster. Perspiration

Skin to skin. Sweet expectation

No spoken words. Negotiation

Two souls entwined, let no-one sever

Moments pass that last forever

Just breathing in and breathing out

And that’s what life is all about.


I’m not really trying to say very much. Because there’s really not very much to say.

A Visit to the Cinema

This is supposed to be 87 words. I cheated a bit. But THE and END are both words and I seem to remember them featuring at the completion of those magical movies of my youth. So they sort of belong here.

This is for a prompt from Sammi (#230 …. so I’ve only missed 228 thus far) … to be found here


I shed my worries, take my  seat

A box of popcorn at my feet

Brief encounter. Brush with fame

Though I don’t know your real name

You take me places I’ve not seen

With magic on the silver screen

Smiling starlet, look my way

Remind me of a yesterday

When everything was wrapped in gold

And I believed all I was told

This brief escape. Just you and me

This refuge from reality

Open curtains. Dim the light

Be my dream for just one night