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Galligaskins - wordoftheday.odo_uk@oup.com 24th April 2013

Wet Letter Day



I placed a note inside a bottle

I cast it off into the river

Hoping downstream currents

Might more speedily deliver

 So many perils on the way

May barricade my plea

Causing mistimed ambiguity

With my allusions all at sea

One day when my bottle reaches

A far off quiet lonely shore

Rescued by more steady hands

Who get my message heretofore

Field Sales

Buyers sellers floats on wheels

Examining each other’s deals

Books and pieces objet d'art

A temporary field bazaar

Scanning choosing past perusing

Discarded gifts once so amusing

Prices low though still contested

Reduced to clear all stock divested

All around the cash parading

Hustling bustling urgent trading

Last reductions sellers cry

To satisfy supply and buy

Over here, we call them Car Boot sales in the US they may call them Trunk Sales or perhaps even Garage Sales. Generally they are a sprawling mass of unloved junk looking for a cheapskate who buys purely on price.

They Called Her She

She heard a voice a calling
‘though she never looked around
yet the voice it kept a calling
so hollow was the sound

She heard someone a shouting
she turned around to see
what was it they were saying
she looked out curiously

She felt her heart a beating
then bent her head in shame
from all those voices calling
not a one called out her name

As Rhyme Goes By

A word or phrase in partnership

May suggest a certain meaning


Information busy gathering

Allows a reader's intervening



A thought as written down today


May go unnoticed or ignored


Until one day in a far off place


Friendly readers find accord

How many songs will pine away

Like a misplaced tinder strip


That never lit a raging flame


Or graced a celebrated lip



The passages of travelled words

Find a mountain in the sky


You put the notepad to one side


Let this one more rhyme go by

Crater of the Universe

The comet was predicted
its destination quite well known
an area of open land

where the night sky set the tone

Many folk had gathered there
you could feel the atmosphere
as the comet fast approaching
hit the outer stratosphere

A thunder crash a blinding flash

raining down a fiery grit

no spectator saw it coming
or the going when it hit

My Mother's Goose

We owe so much to Mother's Goose

our loyal feathered friend

she reigned supreme in our back yard

which she would tend protect defend

With diligence she ate the bugs
was ruthless with the weeds
yet gently she would move among
our flowers grown from seeds

She kept her eye on wayward kids
should we decide that we might roam

chastised us with a get back honk

making sure we stayed near home

Her eggs she gave where hearty meals
just one would fill up three

finest scrambled egg for breakfast

a light and fluffy cake for tea

On winter nights she keeps us warm
as though she cuddles us in bed

her memory fills the quilted spread
now that our old grey goose is dead

This is one my favourite poems as written by me. In the 1950's/60's I grew up in central London without much of a garden or any possibility of enjoying the company of geese. However, if I had been so fortunate then the above is an accurate outline of the benefits one might enjoy when keeping such a fine bird.