The Fork of Ambiguity » Humour http://the-fork-of-ambiguity.com Multi-tyned Poems Tue, 13 Jul 2010 07:57:45 +0000 en hourly 1 http://wordpress.org/?v=3.0 Written History http://the-fork-of-ambiguity.com/archives/201 http://the-fork-of-ambiguity.com/archives/201#comments Tue, 13 Jul 2010 07:57:45 +0000 lunc http://the-fork-of-ambiguity.com/?p=201 terrible poems
names on the toilet door –
some of them are yours

]]> http://the-fork-of-ambiguity.com/archives/201/feed 0 Politipping http://the-fork-of-ambiguity.com/archives/200 http://the-fork-of-ambiguity.com/archives/200#comments Mon, 10 May 2010 12:00:02 +0000 lunc http://the-fork-of-ambiguity.com/?p=200 money changers
and common market breakers –
alternative votes
the colour of a slightly
used banana skins

]]> http://the-fork-of-ambiguity.com/archives/200/feed 0 Thought’s of the Narcissist http://the-fork-of-ambiguity.com/archives/198 http://the-fork-of-ambiguity.com/archives/198#comments Wed, 13 Jan 2010 11:44:07 +0000 lunc http://www.the-fork-of-ambiguity.com/?p=198 I am.

And you, Sir

definitely

are not.

]]> http://the-fork-of-ambiguity.com/archives/198/feed 0 Barefoot and Redfaced http://the-fork-of-ambiguity.com/archives/191 http://the-fork-of-ambiguity.com/archives/191#comments Tue, 14 Jul 2009 11:29:02 +0000 lunc http://www.the-fork-of-ambiguity.com/?p=191 my feet are a
labyrinth in the maze –
lobster on the beach

]]> http://the-fork-of-ambiguity.com/archives/191/feed 0 Dog Soup http://the-fork-of-ambiguity.com/archives/188 http://the-fork-of-ambiguity.com/archives/188#comments Thu, 30 Apr 2009 20:22:35 +0000 lunc http://www.the-fork-of-ambiguity.com/?p=188 Today I’m eating my dog.  His bones give a literal feeling to the credit crunch as I crack them in my month for marrow.  The old man dispatched him quickly; all over the country.  His soft white fur lines the slippers of several lawyers wife’s, his meat is resting in the window of a well known middle class butcher and his skull will soon be high London art.  I’m left with a bag of bones and bits for soup.  I threaded a dewclaw onto a tendon and fastened it around my neck and boiled the rest in tined peach juice.  He’ll warm cleaner feet tonight, but I won’t have to share my breakfast cabbage.  When the world turns my way again, I’ll use the DNA from the claw to clone him anew and after church we’ll once more dance in the local park before a heaped Sunday lunch. A Candle Maker is never out of work for long, so I’ll sleep deep for the morrow.

]]> http://the-fork-of-ambiguity.com/archives/188/feed 0 Tweet Tweet http://the-fork-of-ambiguity.com/archives/183 http://the-fork-of-ambiguity.com/archives/183#comments Wed, 04 Mar 2009 13:38:43 +0000 lunc http://www.the-fork-of-ambiguity.com/?p=183

birds rise early
to micro blog the morning –
new dawn for old

]]> http://the-fork-of-ambiguity.com/archives/183/feed 0 Channelled http://the-fork-of-ambiguity.com/archives/177 http://the-fork-of-ambiguity.com/archives/177#comments Wed, 10 Dec 2008 14:30:19 +0000 lunc http://www.the-fork-of-ambiguity.com/?p=177 i
Freedom is a White Dot.
In a state where even thought is vicarious, broadcast
wholesale, there is no struggle. No freedom fighters.

The free are seen every day, hidden only by last years drab.
Backgrounders; talking, playing, sitting almost off camera.
An underground of conscientious objectors; questioning.


ii
Tonight the voices of a million families raise in hilarity
as Bob’s futile levering with an old broom handle,
bursts the dead moose that has jammed in his rain gutter.

Four million pairs of eyes check the picture-in-picture display
of their patented intelligent anti-moose guttering system.
No moose has entered any gutter in 84 days of operation.

Tonight’s happiness: knowing that the smell of a rotting
dead moose won’t make them miss their shows or put them
off their micro-waved low fat cheese favoured nacho bucket.
iii
Creating the White Dot is easy; just point and click.
Within reach of everyone; but out of their line of sight.
A real alternative choice, maybe three paces away.

Stand up, walk forward and hit the switch. As the
crackling fades; go outside, into a different state of mind.
Your mind. One of us will make eye contact with you.

]]> http://the-fork-of-ambiguity.com/archives/177/feed 0 Evolution: Birth of Medusa http://the-fork-of-ambiguity.com/archives/169 http://the-fork-of-ambiguity.com/archives/169#comments Fri, 24 Oct 2008 12:19:56 +0000 lunc http://www.the-fork-of-ambiguity.com/?p=169 From a worm, wiggling in the bed of the Med,

to a sperm, banging my head on an egg.

Behold the evolved: a sperm with a perm.

Angry at life, what a fight for my right yet

not lying dead with the rest but the next.

Long curls at my birth, a mop on my top,

there’s some debate: It just isn’t straight.

A cheer, and some tears, and then sneers.

Their fear is clear, two sticks quickly click.

It is licked.  A woollen bonnet lies upon it.

With a flick and a nip the curls are on it,

sentient dreads shred the pestilent threads.

Their hand-made fleece is in pieces

but there are no moans; they are stone.

All dead, standing at the bed of their Med.

]]> http://the-fork-of-ambiguity.com/archives/169/feed 0 Where’s the Beef? http://the-fork-of-ambiguity.com/archives/57 http://the-fork-of-ambiguity.com/archives/57#comments Tue, 11 Mar 2008 11:00:43 +0000 lunc http://www.the-fork-of-ambiguity.com/archives/57 Town living is a blessing.
I can walk almost everywhere;
the shops, chemist and to bingo.
But a house right on the
High Street is not without issues.

It’s dark, it’s after ten PM
and my door bell rings.
Local kids are bored again.
Playing “knock and run”.
But without any actual running.


Again with the ding-dong.
Trouble is no one talks to kids.
I’ve seen “them hooded tops”
on Music Television at the pub.
I’ve listened to how they talk.

As I zip up my cardigan
It goes a third time. Persistent.
Very well, I shall answer them.
Flinging the door wide I shout
“So, where’s the beef, mobo?”

I look into each hood in turn.
Half a dozen blank faces.
Then one, a young girl (I think),
Says “Laterz Grandpa” and
They all move off laughing.

Smiling with my success,
I shout after them (as they do)
“That’s large, moobs!”
And then close my door.
You’ve just got to speak their language.

- o O o -

This was inspired by, and written for the Ad Lib Group Writing Project run by Randa Clay.

]]> http://the-fork-of-ambiguity.com/archives/57/feed 3 Feek Stink http://the-fork-of-ambiguity.com/archives/56 http://the-fork-of-ambiguity.com/archives/56#comments Sun, 17 Feb 2008 11:06:23 +0000 lunc http://www.the-fork-of-ambiguity.com/archives/56 Mostly a sock is much the same as the next.
Designers agonise over shades and logos
for a tube to keep stench off your boots.

Posh shops know this and wrap them well.
Each sock cosseted in tissue and branded silk,
inside a solid shiny box tied with a bright ribbon.

The quality of these socks is only perceived.
They won’t last as long or stop your new shoes
blistering your ankle; you’ve paid for packaging.

A person is a bag of bodily functions, attitudes
and ape imprinting with feet that stink up shoes.
A pretty ribbon is rarely worth the higher price.

]]> http://the-fork-of-ambiguity.com/archives/56/feed 0