Ready for the surge
By Christ, peace on the morrow
The foe we will purge
An insight to a heart mind and soul.
Ready for the surge
By Christ, peace on the morrow
The foe we will purge
This week, Frank Tassone asks us to write the haikai poem of our choice (haiku, senryu, haibun, tanka, haiga, renga, etc.) that alludes to either the cricket (koorogi) or the morning-glory (asagao).
As always: Here’s how the challenge works:
1. write the haikai poem of your choice.
2. post the link of your post to Mister Linky.
3. pingback by posting the link to the challenge on your site.
4. read and comment on other contributors’ posts.
Whats the story morning glory, I ask as I walk out on to the veranda. The sun and the sea greet me and my spirits are lifted. The sound of dawn so different from the night before, no chirping cricket no mosquito buzz just sea lapping the shore. Then I wake to traffic, rain and another dull London day.
Bright bursts of colour
God’s welcome to the new day
Telling us a tale.
I chose a Haibun this week because I wanted to use the phrase , ‘what’s the story morning glory’ and it has eight syllables in the line which does not meet any of the other disaplins in the challenge. The phrase is one we use when we meet someone up bright and early. Like the flower greeting the sun.
Part 2. Poppet
The bright hot ball is high in the sky. Herdwick pooping park is full of hindlegs enjoying the summer fayre.
“Cockfest,Poppet,purecockfest!” Stonks sweats orange-sniffy lust. One handpaw covering her chops in a frenzy of excitement, other tightly clutching Poppet’s lead.
Stop it! Yor sh-strangling me
Stonks don’t listen. She’ surveying the lie of the land. First, she spies the large area for best of show. Second, the lavvies. Third, the beer tent. And fourth, eyeballs lock on, coordinate, and memorise all the fit looking cocksters wobbling ‘round abouts.
Nows her turn. Able to breathe again, Poppet lifts her snout, both snout holes twitching. First, she snifz out other fourlegs – zero immediate threats. Second, she snifz for fit males – zero immediate eightleggers.
Third, the line of nosh stalls all sniffing right tasty: Greggs, KFC, Pizzahut, PizzaRiot, Jimmy Thai’s, the Istanbool kebab joint, Fong’s Noodles, and Best Cornish Bakery with its eyeball-popping variety of Cornish pasties.
Blimmey! Get a nosh-load of all that
As it happens, Stonks starts wobbling fast towards the hindlegs marker posts.
“needthelavvy” she scritches “needaslash”
A sniffy blue purply-sniffy mist billows out from a row of portaloos stuck close to the entrance of the park, spreading its colours everywhere. Poppet knows the portaloo marker posts is where Stonks squirtz. Wotz wrong with just squirting on the ground, against a lamppost or corner of a wall? Hindlegs got no sense.
Hurry up Stonks, noshing time
Stonks wobbles inside. A moment later Poppet can snifz today’s brekkers and yesterday’s take-out dinner.
Two grey furrylegs are chasing each other across the branches above the portaloos, heading towards the nosh stalls.
Thems want noshing, too
While Stonks does her thing Poppet snifz out all the usual muttwits attracted to the nosh.
Greedy muttwits, the load of ’ems
Over by rural crafts tent are the Jack Russell brothers, Nutz and Boltz, a right pair of muttwits. Over by the beer tent is Gitorrf!, scrounging something alcoholic for Halfleg. Closer by is Giblets, the young Boxer, all big chest and tight little rear end. Thinks he’s dog’s answer to all the females.
Ah doggit, please don’t turn round as Giblets turns round, sniffing the air and eyeballing Poppet. He starts strutting her way, pulling along his hindlegs companion.
Oi, hello darling, Snifz yu
Snifz yu too, Giblets, but nows not a good time
They bump snoutz.
As it happens ‘nows’ is always a good time
Giblets muscles his way towards her rear, his stump wagging in anticipation of Afghan eightleggers. Poppet snaps at his earflaps.
Leave off, doggy
Ouch! he squeals.
He tries for another rear-ender, both fourlegs jostling ‘round in a tight circle.
Yu ain’t my type yer squash-snouted, short-haired mutt and gives him another nip.
Giblets leaps out of range.
“Oi,Giblets” his hindlegs companion scritches, hauling him off.
Laters, yer nasty witch
Poppet shakes her head, soft blond earflaps shaking it all about. And that there’s the problem, init? Every dog-eared muttwit with plum bobs attached wants to try his chance, at every opportunity.
And none of thems are mister right!
“that’sbetterPoppet,feelhumanagain” Stonks steps out the portaloo, shaking it side to side while wobbling down the three steps to the grass.
“comeon,needtobangthepiss,beforetheshow” she makes towards the beer tent, hauling along Poppet.
Inside the beer tent the wotz-a-nice-dog-like-yuz-doing-in-a-place-like-this only gets worse.
Snifz yu love-bug!
Henry leave off, mate
The slab-sided English mastiff bangs into her suggestively submit, girl, submit
Woz a time Henry had all the big gun assets. But after the vets, sadly, he’s out of ammo.
Henry, I loves yers to death really, but…
Big Knickers ‘enry, nows
Yeah, so I heard, but no thanks
Nah means nah, gettit?
“leaveit,Henry,LEAVEIT!” Franks, his companion tries hauling him off, Guinness in one handpaw, English Mastiff in the other. But Henry ain’t having any hauling off.
Only one thing for it Poppet howls an ear-splitting territory fit Get Away! Get Away! Get Away! all gnashing teeth and flying blond braids.
The beer tent flaps outwards in the pressure of fourlegs barking. Franks tugging, hauling, dragging a bewildered Henry out of the tent in a shower of Guinness.
“naughtyPoppet,wot’swrongwithyu,naughtyPoppet,embarrassingmelikethat!” Stonks tap-tap-taps each word on Poppet’s chain.
Wotz wrong with me? Me?
“andstopyapping,yernastycreature” Stonks scritches in a rising red-sniffy temper, raising her handpaw to give Poppet a right slapping. Some old hindlegs in a white smock and white trilby hatfurs is giving thems hard eyeballs over at the Pims punch table.
“oh,shite” Stonks smoothly turns slapping handpaw into waving handpaw “Armitage,thebleedin’judge,init” and starts wobbling fast towards the tent flaps “let’sgetouttaherePoppet”.
“notsofast,younglady” Armitage wobbles to block the way.
Pff! Good one, Stonks
“ha,finedisplayofcaninecontrol” Armitage scritchy slurs down his long snout, alcohol yellow-snifz pouring off him.
“erh…stagefrightbeforethebestofshow,misterArmitage” Stonks flutters.
Armitage sways on his footpaws ”bestof…wot?”
“bestofshow,misterArmitage” Stonks repeats.
“cancelled!” Armitage scritches, belching.
Erh? Poppet slips an involuntary squirtz of shock.
“cc-cancelled?” Stonks gasps.
Intelligence! Wotz that?
“so,goodluckwiththat,ha,ha,ha” Armitage gurgles on his Pims.
Poppet’s turn to be half-dragged outside the beer tent, front paws bouncing off the grass.
“thatsillyold– ” Stonks scritches under her breath.
Slow down yu ch-choking me again
Stonks stops, Poppet wheezing. A strong handpaw grips Poppet under the jaw and thrusts her snout level with Stonks’ own miniature hooter “listentome,Poppet” she threatens ‘yougonnawinthis…or,it’stheChinesetakeway”
“beautyain’tenough” she continues “needbrains,too”
Poppet don’t have a hope in hell. Stonks ain’t joking about the Chinese take-away, neither. They nosh fourlegs, thems pagans.
All Poppet wants right this moment is to trot away for good. Preferably sniffing behind some handsome stud muffin!
If only she squats and squirtz on the grass.
Brekkers over and Drizzle is still hungry. The clouds are working themselves up to give it a good green-sniffing rainlicking with thems endless whooshing scratchy noises. Seems lyk there’s never a time when rainlick ain’t making Drizzle wet.
Ah, leave off he accuses the clouds noshing first, yer buggas
And that leaves the next big question: wotz on the noshing menu?
Sitting on his haunches outside the High Street HSBC he weighs his noshing options on one front paw. Toe one: trot back down the High Street and hit Greggs.
Nah, been there, noshed that
Toe two: turn left into Huntsville Road and hit Chuckles chippy.
Fish? Nah, need nosh with legs
Toe three: wander down Nelson Ave and hit KFC. Chicken strips. Chicken wings. Or chicken anything really, in thems bins ‘round back.
Sounds lyk a plan
He quickly follows his snout, rainlick dripping from earflaps.
As it happens, KFC is close to Herdwick pooping park. Gob loads of sniffy colours are wafting out the park. Overriding thems blue-purply hindlegs portaloos is the chop-slobbery orange-snifz of nosh. Lots of nosh.
Worth a butcher’s hook he quickens his pace.
His snout don’t lie. Plenty’s going on in Herdwick pooping park. It points him through the front gate into a wonderful world of meaty-leg colours.
Right noshfest, this!
But nosh is not always enough. Eyeballing thems two Jack Russell brothers playing with some hindlegs pups invades his good humour. He recalls the colourful memories of his own hindlegs pups – lyk a sharp, confusing snifz in both snout holes.
Ah… memory snifz, only.
Shakes earflaps. Shakes off the fugue.
In the heres and nows, what he really needs is a right tasty noshing followed by a bit of sporty eightleggers. He stops and poops on the grass. Yes indeedy! Contemplating a sporting mood is actually putting him into a hot-bloodied sporting mood.
Get ready juicy butts, I’m a’coming he licks his whiskers and shakes his way into the park.
Sorry but I can’t take yuz…
Snifz of fresh fourlegs poop whacks Sparky up the snout. A foreign snifz he don’t recognise. Some fourlegs in Westley Piddle he ain’t bumped snoutz with! Worrisome. He starts tingling all over.
“goingdown,goingdownnow” KevLegs scritches before noticing Sparky, trembly all over “wot’s upmate?” squatting down, snout to snout “Sparkymate?youalright?”
KevLegs suddenly points with one handpaw “StarWarsdisplay,let’sgocheckitout”
There’s a stranger in the camp! Sparky raises muzzle and barks snifz yuz…Snifz yuz?
Sparky looks up with big eyeballs, twitching his snout at an awful sniffy loneliness suddenly rising off KevLegs. He hopes KevLegs can snifz up his own female. Guaranteed to make packmommy happy. And a happy packmommy means plenty of happy food treats dropping under the table. Happily, guaranteed, forever!
The star Wars exhibition is crap, corss. Local toy store displaying some naff spin-off cac, not even original 70s trilogy stuff.
“complete,shite!” KevLegs dismisses it and wobbles away.
“pissoffthen,HarrisonFord” the hindlegs vendor scritches after him “gostickyerlightsaberup– ”
Shut it, yer sniffy git! Sparky tugs at his lead and growls, still tingling from that worrisome stranger and in no mood for additional ag.
“harrisonforddon’tusealightsaber,yerknob” KevLegs shakes his head, disbelievingly.
Some hindlegs got no culture Sparky agrees.
Snifz yuz, Poppet
Snifz yuz, Sparky they bump snoutz.
Sparky stares at her with eyeballs of pure worship. All silver braids, sharp snout and glittery eyeballs. The fittest shield maiden in West Pid, no argument.
Getta load of that nosh she pants.
Yu in that dog intellectuals show, then? he asks, tingling more than ever.
Cors. All dog, all intellectuals, that’s me shaking her pretty earflaps.
Well…all dog, anyways Sparky wags his tail in a big smile.
Yor so funny Sparky, I just wish..
..I was bigger, stronger, furrier, and not a whippet?
“that’sanEDS1275,init?” Stonks scritches in amazement, staring at KevLegs belly
“wot?” KevLegs mumbles, surprised that a female hindlegs has actually noticed his existence, ‘part from his mom.
Wotz she scritching about? Sparky looks up, equally surprised.
Forget it sighs Poppet she’ll eyeball any hindlegs with tackle
“comealongPoppet,” Stonks pulls Poppet away “wegotashowtowin”
Nice seeing yu Sparky
Me too – oh, and careful of that stranger?
Both fourlegs prod at the air.
Urh? Poppet lifts her snout higher and snifz harder hmm!
KevLegs can’t stop eyeballing his own belly. The first hindlegs female that’s ever talked to him without a shop counter in between.
Try not to fart, Kev
“Oh,youmeanthe…?” he starts to reply, recognition dawning, but she’s walking away, already history.
“comeonSparkymate,I’mhungry” he sullenly scritches.
That’s the spirit, mate! hauling KevLegs towards the nosh stalls kicking off with tandoori kebabs this end and noshing ‘it all the way down to Cornish pasties that end. Ripe plan?
Kev lets off a whooooosh of breaking news in agreement.
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