-It makes more sense than a couple of other things.

Mad Aunt Bernards Tortoise Poetry

"The page to come and visit for a fabulously sensible intake of poetry straight from the divinest of inspiration - and it's only a bit tortoisy. A cracking good read if you're under anaesthetic."
Lord Elpus - The Guardian

Sunday, December 18

Motor Cars, Grey Hairs and Geese

Good Evening readers of the local events in Trebollocks.

It's been an interesting time, I've been absent for a long sabbatical to follow my passion for healing the sick.  I am now gleeful to announce that I am a fully qualified Leech Putter-Onner and Taker-Offer.  The healing properties of leeches have long fascinated me since I fell in a ditch with a case of cow pox, and came out with a case of whiskey.  I am now Leech Master. With suck marks.
However, all has not been shiny.  As you know, I live in a hedge, with meagre possessions.  A bloody modern motor car flew through the shrubbery on a Sunday evening, just as I was dishing up nettled toad. I have to had to move out into a rented abode for the duration of the works. Since there is no estate agent criteria for a single, warted woman with toads, bats, a plethora of woodlice and a small buggered hedgehog named Clive, I put my magic to work and asked the great bearded Goddess of the Covered Chin to come to my aid.  She came up trumps.
I am now residing in a mansion - and I have geese.

You don't need Police
Gobby long necks
And beaks and no peace.
Web footed gobshites with beadiest eyes
Patrolling the courtyards in farmyard guise.
Will the noise ever cease?
In a word....no

So, there's my poem.  But on a lighter note, the woman at the local W.I., who didn't like my version of hedgerow bakewell tart (bitch, may she be wrapped in custard) has fallen from a height of 50ft while putting the fairy on the village tree.  The Christmas switch on has never drawn such a crowd...after.  
I must leave you now, Aunt Bench has been on the yoghurt pot phone, she's fallen out with Aunt Girda after a particularly agressive gin-fuelled game of Snap.  So that means I have Folly staying with me for Christmas.  Lord help me. 
Toodle Pip


  1. Welcome back Aunt Bernard. So glad you have survived life's ordeals and have come through smiling. Love the poem and hope to hear from you again quite soon. Merry Christmas and Happy New Year.

  2. Aunt Bernard, where haveth thee beeneth, all of my lowly life? I must write to inform thee of thy greatness! Reading your poetry hath given me such pleasure, even my pet binocular strap gave nods of approval.. That my friend, is the rarest of happenings.. Now I must go, the black trumpet calleth my name.. I bid you good week, happy new December.. Lady of The Muck xx

  3. Ah, Dear, Dear Aunt Bernard! Imagine my delight to emerge after nigh on a decade of levitational meditation in a dark cave in the farthest reaches of Knob Callench and discover your new poem! Rumors of your kidnap and forced marriage to a tree in Kent are unfounded and we rejoice in fulfilled hopes and new expectations of luminous verse from your warty hand.