Tag Archives: nonsense

Piffle

naked-pun

Once

a pun a time

saved nine

~~!~~

 Written for the Word of the Day Challenge: Piffle, I present to you part 1 of a 1 part series of short poetry. Each part highlights a single aspect of the nonsense embodied by the word Piffle.

This is both the first and the last poem in a short series which is too sad to make a sandwich, or even to be buttered. It curls alone on the plate, drying to a crisp while readers glance toward it, then look away quickly, embarrassed to witness the shame of this small, tragic pun.

“Take pity,” croaks Pun, its eyes growing hazy, but Pity has changed its name to Party and is celebrating the excellence of metaphor, meter and rhyme. It’s drunk too much wine and has no time for humble Pun, who disconsolately chews a few crumbs of humble pie, a single tear falling from its eye. Just when I think it is losing consciousness, it catches sight of me. It points the withered tail of its P in my direction, and with its dying breath it cries:

“She’s to blame. She made me.”

Fortunately nobody is listening. They’re either at the party, enjoying great poetry, or this nonsense has lulled them to sleep.

I see my mistake now, but I think I’ve got away with it. The poem should say:

Once

a pun in time

saved nine.

THAT makes perfect sense.

.

 ©Jane Paterson Basil

SPRING CLEANING

I thought I’d have a bit of fun with my writing today, so here’s a really silly romance.

”Pour yourself over me! Let me absorb your fragrant fluid!” said the dishcloth to the cleaning fluid.

”There’s only so much of me to go around, and when I’m gone, I’m gone. Why would I wish to waste my valuable time with you? There are plenty of other cloths in the cupboard,” replied the cleaning fluid.

”Life is short. Take this moment to be with me. Together we can make this house a home. We can whiz over the surfaces, delve into the crannies, sweep the cobwebs away, and make the world sparkle.”

”I suppose you’re as attractive as any other rag. You’ll do. Here goes.”

”Oh, but you are cold. I didn’t think it would be like this.”

”This is what you wanted. Stop complaining, and get on with the job.”

”But I thought if would be different somehow. What we are doing is making me feel dirty, grimy.”

”It’s the way it is. Would you prefer atrophy?”

” Oh! I’m beginning to enjoy the intimacy of us rubbing along together. I feel a kind of thrill. It no longer hurts.”

”Stop talking and let me concentrate.”

…………….

…………….

”Say something to me. Tell me you love my textures, my fibre, my solidity.”

”Your what? You are just a wet rag to me.”

”But we are together now. United. You cannot leave me now. Tell me you love me.”

”Love? We only exist to perform a function. Where does love fit into that?”

”Then go. Leave. There is no tenderness in you. I am disappointed.”

A tap turns on. Water rushes into the sink.

”Help me! Hold onto me! I feel myself dispersing, diluting!”

”I’m glad to be rid of your transience. Be gone.”

A pair of hands wrings out the rinsed cloth, and hangs it outside to dry in the healing sunshine.

© Jane Paterson Basil