The Jumblies by Edward Lear

They went to sea in a Sieve, they did,   In a Sieve they went to sea: In spite of all their friends could say, On a winter's morn, on a stormy day,   In a Sieve they went to sea! And when the Sieve turned round and round, And every one cried, 'You'll all be drowned!' They called aloud, 'Our Sieve ain't big, But we don't care a button! we don't care a fig!   In a Sieve we'll go to sea!'       Far and few, far and few,             Are the lands where the Jumblies live;       Their heads are green, and their hands are blue,             And they went to sea in a Sieve.

II

They sailed away in a Sieve, they did, In a Sieve they sailed so fast,   With only a beautiful pea-green veil Tied with a riband by way of a sail,   To a small tobacco-pipe mast; And every one said, who saw them go, 'O won't they be soon upset, you know! For the sky is dark, and the voyage is long, And happen what may, it's extremely wrong   In a Sieve to sail so fast!'       Far and few, far and few,             Are the lands where the Jumblies live;       Their heads are green, and their hands are blue,             And they went to sea in a Sieve.

III

The water it soon came in, it did,   The water it soon came in; So to keep them dry, they wrapped their feet In a pinky paper all folded neat,   And they fastened it down with a pin. And they passed the night in a crockery-jar, And each of them said, 'How wise we are! Though the sky be dark, and the voyage be long, Yet we never can think we were rash or wrong,   While round in our Sieve we spin!'       Far and few, far and few,             Are the lands where the Jumblies live;       Their heads are green, and their hands are blue,             And they went to sea in a Sieve.

IV

And all night long they sailed away;   And when the sun went down, They whistled and warbled a moony song To the echoing sound of a coppery gong,   In the shade of the mountains brown. 'O Timballo! How happy we are, When we live in a Sieve and a crockery-jar, And all night long in the moonlight pale, We sail away with a pea-green sail,   In the shade of the mountains brown!'       Far and few, far and few,             Are the lands where the Jumblies live;       Their heads are green, and their hands are blue,             And they went to sea in a Sieve.

V

They sailed to the Western Sea, they did,   To a land all covered with trees, And they bought an Owl, and a useful Cart, And a pound of Rice, and a Cranberry Tart,   And a hive of silvery Bees. And they bought a Pig, and some green Jack-daws, And a lovely Monkey with lollipop paws, And forty bottles of Ring-Bo-Ree,   And no end of Stilton Cheese.       Far and few, far and few,             Are the lands where the Jumblies live;       Their heads are green, and their hands are blue,             And they went to sea in a Sieve.

VI

And in twenty years they all came back,   In twenty years or more, And every one said, 'How tall they've grown! For they've been to the Lakes, and the Torrible Zone,   And the hills of the Chankly Bore!' And they drank their health, and gave them a feast Of dumplings made of beautiful yeast; And every one said, 'If we only live, We too will go to sea in a Sieve,---   To the hills of the Chankly Bore!'       Far and few, far and few,             Are the lands where the Jumblies live;       Their heads are green, and their hands are blue,             And they went to sea in a Sieve. Don't ask me why, I never thought this was good poetry even as a kid - but it was fun, it has lovely rhythm rhyme tortured out of perfectly good old fashioned prose - and it's stood the test of time.  So why not post on my unofficial week off Tuesday poem posting :)  Have a great week everybody and don't forget the Tuesday Poetry group is right here at your fingertips. A.J. Ponder   A.J. Ponder's work is available through Rona Gallery, Amazon, and good Wellington bookstores

Throw Away World

I gave you water

and you spilled it

I gave you flowers

and you crushed them under your boots

I gave you light and you hid from it

preferring to make your own

now, at the end, I give you darkness

and still you throw coal on the fire

A J Ponder

So tired this week, everything hurts like lead - and I'm thinking its time to start consolidating and getting some stories into publishable form and having them escape out into our little throw away world.  Time weighs heavily, and has to be meted out with great care - but the more I do that the more it slips through my fingers...

A.J. Ponder 

 A.J. Ponder's work is available through Rona Gallery, Amazon, and good Wellington bookstores

Snow White

There is a god

not The God

but worshipped

nonetheless

"...as we bow low

and break our brittle bones

and grind them with our bread

let us give thanks

"As we walk across the sand

as we crawl over the mountain

as we eviscerate the sacrificial lambs

let us give thanks

"As we flagellate our bodies

and fill our minds with sweet opiates

and forgetfulness

let us give thanks..."

Yes, there is a god

wealthy beyond compare

powerful beyond knowing-

so bow

and scrape

and worship

and shun the unbelievers

for your god is mightier than mine

a physical presence

a rod, a cage, a red hot poker

no son, but a soft white daughter

to feed your intoxicated soul

I must be the evil queen

to hate her so,

let me pick up the burning slippers

and dance.

A. J. Ponder 

 All right - was going through a hundred and one poems to try and find some work on Eastbourne - there's surprisingly little in my collection - mostly just the beach poems or complaining that I'm too busy for the beach.  It's quite sad really.   So is the fact that I have a fairy tale portal and still don't have all my fairy tale poems up.  Not that this is so much your traditional Grimm's version, but a little sidestep away from the traditional poison apple.  Think of it, if you will, as a rail against the worship of the artificial prettiness so prevalent in modern tales, after all that is as true as anything else.

...BTW this is my hundredth post.  I'm now an old hand with over 13,000 views, .  It must be almost time for a break :)  My most popular poem is still "Sex Sells" - which does rather prove the aphorism I guess.  Also I'm rather pleased the rather traditional "Stolen Time" has hit the top ten.  I'm hoping this means that others also like the rather deadly romance of fairy-tale poetry, where dancing is not always the harmless occupation one might think - and even songs and sight are dangerous...

A.J. Ponder 

 A.J. Ponder's work is available through Rona Gallery, Amazon, and good Wellington bookstores

A New Skirting

Green petticoats ruffle the shore

frothy laughter dancing to and fro

around a traffic cone perched jauntily

on a well-dressed rock

#

Across the bay a digger

tears old concrete apart

ready for the shiny metal corsets

to hide an old lady's unsightly shoreline.

Soon she'll be dressed in black,

the perfect evening wear

clinging to luscious curves

that will never breathe again.

A.J. Ponder

This is the dread poem I started working on two weeks ago.  And like any old lady, she's certainly had her whims and tantrums - not unlike the weather.   But she's a game old bird, and love her or loathe her, (or the new walkway around the bays to Eastbourne) the new version is a lot safer - at least for humans...

A.J. Ponder 

 A.J. Ponder's work is available through Rona Gallery, Amazon, and good Wellington bookstores