CCC #78

Young Fergus was a bullock

A highland bull was he,

Like any other fine bullock

as proud as punch to be

out in the field, tossing

his head, so all the girls could see

while looking for a lover,

think, he’s the one for me

But they were all in for a shock

as he would soon be dinner or tea.


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Ronovan writes #Weekly #Haiku #304

First appearance, slight

enraged, an awesome power

might of a mother

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CCC #77,

The cottage at the end of the street

had a thatched roof incredibly neat

though the walls were stained brown

and the old fence was falling down

the windows were a positive treat.

Plenty of allusions to Shakin’ Stevens hits in this picture, see if you too can spot them….

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Ronovan writes #Decima #3 #Mad

Mary Roberts was oh so glad

the boy she loved would be back soon

tomorrow in the afternoon

when he returned from Trinidad.

Then they would ask her Mum and Dad

if they were happy for the two

to live together somewhere new

maybe in the future married,

forget about grudges carried

due to his Caribbean roots.

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Ronovan writes #Haiku weekly challenge #303

Having lost his wand

Houdini uses a stick

but the trick still works

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Van Goch at his worst

Thought I’d put one in for

FOTD – April 21 – Waterlily

Water lilies

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Ronovan writes #Decima poetry challenge #2

Drifting slowly over the sea

Her cargo remains in the hold

Her secret may never be told

To unlock the great mystery

For this is the vessel Marie

Who was often called the Celeste

I suppose the name she is best

remembered by those who have made

suppositions as to her fate,

and that of her crew, is their quest.

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CCC #76

The picture above must be Abigail

She had a mouth as big as a whale

When the fog closed in they used her as the horn

She’d have been in films but was no good for porn

When she died they buried her under a tree

And it grew up looking like her as you see

Sadly the end of my little tale

But if you believe it , in life you’ll fail.


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Excalibur returned, his duty done

We watch the Lady of the Lake
one pale white hand in shimmering 
view, as if through mist of morning,
pluck from the mournful air the blade,
to bold King Arthur, Merlin gave
and now returned to waters deep
where only nymphs and spirits sleep
to lie in wait until such time
another hero then may find
a cause to save a land in need


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Crimson’s creative challenge #75

A sweet little girl from Gwent

With me in my dinghy often went

She used to hold the tiller

And that seemed to thrill her

But that was as far as we went


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