bahern7

 

A chara, To tip my hat to Gadsby, kindly find this short composition which sticks to a similar condition Mr. Wright put on his own writing in his famous book; a lipogram if I may. For inspiration I cast my mind back to Branton Hills. This is my upshot or conclusion, call it what you will, I only ask that you furnish it with good scrutiny and put it in your august organ. Yours faithfully, BA

 Mish, My final shot goeth like this: a cold coming I had of it this morning lugging my corpus to the desk. A local access road was closed in D15 and I was forced to trudge through a barren field before I could rejoin civilisation and proceed to Dublin’s heart. The field was rocky and frozen and populated by a large flock of Stymphalian birds who tracked my steps with dagger glares. At least I think they were Stymphalian birds though they may have been literary critics. The whole experience left me quite shaken by the time I entered the Ship Street gate of an Caisleán. Luckily, when I did, I came upon a most pulchritudinous sight that instantly lightened my mood. A female figure was sitting on the curbside eating fish from a tin with one hand and reading from the bible with the other. Her hair was long and golden, the face and overall form divine, and she seemed to me to be an angel (albeit of the fallen variety). Or, if not fallen, then certainly flying too close to the ground. Sh...

 

1. He gazed upon the sleepy Sunday towns of summertime, Crawled back to his machine determined to go on, He wrote a thousand bad stories before he wrote a good one, In his mayfly life between the two great silences.                                                          Chorus When you know you know you know  You know you know you know you know. 2. The only time he got high these days was in his dreams, And that's where the story of the robot started to appear, The strangest thing nothing was as it seems, So he gave it a name called it Broken Future.                            Repeat chorus 3. She worked as a maid in the 7-star Oslo Hotel, And drew a Star of David on some hotel paper one day, Fifteen years later he stood at her shock funeral Wondering what she meant by...

He'd had enough of life on the crooked and the broad, And howled like a shipwrecked man who'd lost everything, So he headed down Straight Street trying to be good, In his hour of grief all he could do was sing...                                      Chorus When you know you know you know  You know you know you know you know... © Brian Ahern 2024                                                     

  She worked as a maid in the 7-star Oslo Hotel, And drew a Star of David on some hotel paper one day, Fifteen years later he stood at her shock funeral Wondering what she meant by the Star of David to say... © Brian Ahern 2024

  The only time he got high these days was in his dreams, And that's where the story of the robot started to appear, The strangest thing nothing was as it seems, So he gave it a name called it Broken Future... © Brian Ahern 2024

He gazed upon the sleepy Sunday towns of summertime, Crawled back to his machine determined to go on, He wrote a thousand bad stories before he wrote a good one, In his mayfly life between the two great silences... © Brian Ahern 2024