Author: Toastingfork

Not afraid to rhyme.

Solo Traveller

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The Dark Pool by Laura Knight

Solo Traveller

Happy holiday, saddos !
In your needlessly double-rooms –
Honestly, single berths are only
For cots, and losers, and tombs.
Here’s your single-stayer supplement
To tax you for being alone
And your sad little single table
Where you silently scroll your phone.
Why did you even bother leaving home ?
Why do you care ?
What’s the point of meeting people
When you’ve nothing to share ?
Ah well, it’s all to our profit,
As you pass your gloomy weeks –
A mix of lonely spinsters
And asexual frigid freaks.
We do our best to rub it in, of course,
That’s always fun –
To let you know you’ve failed at life,
To holiday for one.
But in the end, you bring our other guests down
By being there,
You suck the sun right off the beach
With your self-contented air.

People are Stupid (and We are People)

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Photo by Anna Shvets on Pexels.com

People are Stupid (and We are People)

Welcome to the cock-up club !,
You find us in good company,
For all of life is here.
It only takes a simple flub,
Or wrong-conclusions jumping free,
To sign up for the year.
We’ve all pushed at those doors,
Ignoring signs
That clearly say to pull.
We’re all stripped to our drawers,
From time to time –
With wits of cotton-wool.
But dare to look us in the eye,
With chin held high,
And take all come-what-may –
“I may have lost the plot,
But it was still my shot,
And mine to throw away.”

Welcome to the cock-up club !,
Where fellows blunder in size-twelves
When hacked-off at the knees.
A school-of-hard-knocks learning-hub,
Where silly-billies kick ourselves
With foot-in-mouth disease.
We’ve all passed through those doors,
Pulled up a chair,
And slumped and sulked a-while.
My tale is much like yours,
We’ve all been there –
At least let’s gaffe with style…!
Let’s dare to look them in the eye,
And dignify
Our faults without a frown –
“We may have made mistakes,
But they were ours to make,
And ours to double-down.”

Sound Systems

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No surprise this monstrosity was created with AI

Sound Systems

Back in the Seventies, big cones were rare,
And so was the reggae they played.
But these days, both are ev’rywhere,
When blasting through suburban air
From weekend cars who love to share –
Just like in the cavalcade.

Yet come the Carnival, out come the gents,
As if it were yesterday –
It’s not a live show that this presents,
They aren’t musicians with instruments –
Their only action, in all events,
Is simply pressing ‘play’.

Sleep in Solo

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Dreamers by Albert Moore

Sleep in Solo

We may lie down together,
But we always sleep alone.
Whatever dreams we’re slave to,
We must face them on our own.
When sleep makes heavy weather,
I can hold you till the sun,
But I cannot come and save you,
And there’s nowhere you can run.

Pastoral Symphony

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Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

Pastoral Symphony

The countryside is sometimes all a chorus of its own,
With the songbird sky-sopranos saying grace –
And the yapping dogs’ falsetto, and the tomcats’ mezzo tone,
And the hens and pigeons make an alto brace.
The sheep are then the tenor, the pigs are baritone,
While the cows are mooing low down in the bass,
And underlying ev’rything, the bees provide the drone,
While the clip-clop hooves of horses beat the pace.
And finally, the donkey starts, a soloist alone –
She’s the braying primadonna of the place !

The Prayer in the Purr

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Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

The Prayer in the Purr

What do cats dream,
Those tabbies, napping in the Sun all day ?
Are they getting cream,
Or perhaps they fighting with a scar-clawed stray ?
Does it scratch their itch,
Or raise a threat that’s coming out to creep ?
Ev’ry time they twitch,
Are they trembling from a nightmare stalking sleep ?

A cat has no other cats to call for mental health,
It’s up to them alone to learn to wake themself.
Is that why they sleep when the Sun is shining stark ?
As if they’re too afraid to have to lie there in the dark ?

What do we dream,
We humans, snoring to the Moon all night ?
Cheering on our team,
Or racing through our minds from guilt and fright ?
So is it so odd,
If felines fear, and maybe find some faith ?
If cats have a god,
I hope she’s keeping well her clowder safe.

So when they come to humans, just to join us on our bed,
And even though we partly know they’re looking to be fed –
Yet just for a moment, we feel it feel so deep,
As if they’re seeking comfort here to calm their troubled sleep.

Cats in Progress

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Photo by Lucas Pezeta on Pexels.com

Cats in Progress

A cat may be a hairless sphinx,
Or taleless Manx, or beefy Coon –
But most are more a mini-lynx,
That have no need to tweak or jinx
That classic shape of ancient minx,
That slinks beneath the Moon.

The Siamese design is striking,
But it is a custom frame.
The common tabby has been hiking
Through our lands, and through our liking –
Kept by Pharaoh, Greek, or Viking,
Looking much the same.

But maybe, underneath that fur,
A change is slowly going on.
As certain traits succeed, and spur
A rise in smarts behind the purr –
They’re not the loners once they were
In ancient Babylon.

We humans chuckle, and pretend
That cats will do just as they suit –
But truth is, they still sculpt and bend,
Through generations without end,
To suit our need to be our friend –
And learn how to be cute.

Faffage in Five Acts

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The End of a Bad Show by Joseph Keppler

Faffage in Five Acts

Poetry is the enemy of plays,
And has no place upon the stage –
Its narratives are not well told,
Pentameters do not engage.
They think their verse is true and bold,
Yet tends towards the bloated beige.
Dialogue is the standard of gold,
Not monologues spouted for page-on-page –
We need nuts-and-bolts for the tale to unfold,
While wisecrack-a-tat is the wit of our age.
Poetry is the enemy of plays,
It sound so trite, verbose, and old.

Plot Armour

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The cover of Superman #75 by Dan Jurgens & Brett Breeding

Plot Armour

I recall when dead meant dead,
When heroes died and I’d believe it –
Weeping as they nobly bled,
So sad, so happy to receive it –
What a way to go, I said,
And what a grown-up tale I’ve read…
Before the retcon raised its head,
To gaslight ev’ry tear, and thieve it.