Author: Low Wattage

Expat Welshman, educated (somewhat) in UK, left before it became fashionable to do so. Now a U.S. Citizen, and recent widower, playing with retirement and house remodeling, living in Delaware and rural Maryland (weekends).

Sixth Poetry Competition – Results

Sixth Poetry Competition  – Parody

A small field, but choice, as the locals here say.

Christopher’s Wheelbarrow had all the right ingredients, wit, brevity and a pungent skewering of a presumptuous poem.

Soutie’s Rugby anthem certainly met the requirements and in addition “sparked some lightning” as that old toper Dylan Thomas might say.

Peter’s saga of late night perambulations was beautifully crafted and as familiar and chilling as this morning at three am.

But I truly loved OZ’s Fido’s Dream a classic take on a ponderous piece, deserving of a little literary criticism of the kind my old English Lit. teacher used to dish out in liberal portions (poor long suffering Mr. Voake).

A literary analysis of “Fido’s Dream”

Here we have Drake’s Drum made into a Dog’s Breakfast, the concept of “let sleeping dogs lie” applied to that old “Sea Dog” himself.

The wooden walls of Fido’s kennel, no doubt echo the more famous “Wooden Walls” – the great wooden fighting ships of Drake’s navy.

The unopened tin of Fido’s food brings to mind the toy tin drums of our youth, bringing Drake’s drum back to the present.

Of course the Golden Meal is a reference to  “The Golden Hinde” Drake’s flagship for many years.

As Bonio figures large in this story could this be a reference to Boazio Drake’s cartographer?  Such creative daring would make the parable complete.

Well Done O Zangado, over to you for the Seventh.

Georgia, Sweet Georgia

Into Georgia, just, had a few mechanical issues today, batteries, generator, invertor but all solved by suppertime.

Highlight of the day, took on 440 gallons of diesel so hammered a credit card for $1500.

Anchored overnight in Shellbine Creek, southern Georgia after an early start (7:00am) to make the tide, much grumbling from the first mate.

Only a few piccies.

The first one is “What is it?”

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6th Poetry Competition

Well I’m pleased and flattered, with the result of the 5th, especially as I managed to turn Stephen Hawking into Stephen Hawkin in the first one (you would not believe poetic license I suppose?).
For the next event I propose “A Parody” (not that many of the previous entries have not been inadvertently that), but this should be deliberate and should target some piece that is recognizably pompous, maudlin or melodramatic (or all three).
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Goodbye, Mister Jim

Mr. Jim died last week, he was a regular at the place I have eaten breakfast most mornings since my retirement. I have known him about thirty years, ever since I started going there he has been a regular, and was for years before that, so I have been told. He used to come alone, a small almost birdlike man limping in well before seven most mornings, untouched by the querulous focus on ailments that are often the mark of age. Always polite and inevitably cheerful, he made light of his own infirmities. Later he used a walking stick and towards the end a walker, folding it carefully and placing it out of the way of the other patrons.
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Bulging Bivalves Bringing Beaucoup Bucks

According to the Wall Street Journal, business is booming for purveyors of the World’s largest bivalve.

Geoducks (pronounced Gooeyducks) are being sold for record prices and the Squamish and other native Americans, harvesting them from Puget Sound in the Northwest are selling them to the Chinese in time for their new years celebration. They sell for up to $1 per ounce and a big one can weigh 30 pounds so that’s close to 500 dollars each, a lot of clams for one clam.

Continue reading “Bulging Bivalves Bringing Beaucoup Bucks”