Blog Archives

Objection, Your Honour: Tirtinska

OBJECTION, YOUR HONOUR

Ironic liberty caps put him in the dock here.
Plus a system not quite broken but severely bent.
Climbed a sycamore entranced by the texture, the scent.
Then someone comes down the road. Too late to disappear.

This officer of the law – you see his type worldwide.
Worships petty regulations. (i.e. benighted.)
“I proceeded to caution the accused who replied …”
The constable consulted his notebook, recited
“‘Oh, the colours, the colours,’ he giggled and sighed.”

Now the magistrate’s favourite part, inducing fear.
The power to deal harshly with any miscreant.
“Something you wish to say before I pronounce judgement?”
“Beam me up, Scotty. It’s getting rather hot down here.”

Chicken Noise In A Pig Neighbourhood

CHICKEN NOISE IN A PIG NEIGHBOURHOOD*

They tried to close off that shaft
With signs that said “Danger”
But the sign over the entrance read “Mine”
So he went in anyway

You thought those ways he took
Were simply for pleasure or escape
You’d been left knowing no better
I suppose

Lift your eyebrows
And mutter together in corners all you like
The street light is a comfort
But not where you dropped your keys†

——————————————————————

* Refers to a children’s party game. On a slip of paper, write the name of an animal that makes an obvious noise. Create five to ten slips for each animal, depending on the size of the party, although it clearly needs to be fairly large for the game to work. Give each participant a slip of paper, but tell them to keep their animal a secret. The participants are to find the rest of their kind, but there is no talking. So how do they find the others? They have to make the noise of the animal. Once two of the same kind have found each other, they stay together to find more. Continue until all of the like animals have created one big group. Fun as a child; as an adult you learn the dangers of making a chicken noise in a pig neighbourhood. Try supporting your team from the wrong end of the stadium …

† Most of us have heard the old story of the drunk who looks under the street light for his lost keys, even though he lost them elsewhere, because the light is better there.

%d bloggers like this: