I’m Mr Ormsby and thank you very much for dropping by.
Each of us has our own guilty pleasures: Chocolate Blackout Cake, slot machines, staying in our pyjamas all day, seeing a stranger walk into a lamp post, etc.
Mine is words. Whether I’m at work or walking the dog, words are constantly ricocheting around my brain. For example, whilst writing this I’ve been wondering what the word is for that little piece of plastic on the end of shoelaces.
[for what it’s worth, it’s an aglet]
Sometimes I like to chew words and blow bubbles with them. Other times, I’ll painstakingly place the little so-and-sos in regimented rows where they’re not allowed to move until given the order. Most days, however, I rely on words as ammunition in a world where I’m increasingly expected to explain my actions to others. And I must admit that it’s during these encounters when, for me, the fun begins. This is especially true when the occasion calls for returning swimwear without the receipt or spicing up one’s court testimony.
And so, this blog.
However before we continue any further, some context…
I recently started teaching in a new school where it has been pointed out to me, more than once, that I have replaced a very popular member of staff who left “before he was ready to go” (I don’t even want to know). This, now I’m only guessing here, might explain the slights I received in the form of gifts from my Secret Santa: a Yankee candle (they’re fully aware I’m Canadian), a voucher for 10 free tanning sessions (I’m ginger) and Maltesers (choking hazard). It’s the anonymity which is the appeal of Secret Santa, but if I had to wager money on it I’d ascribe these unpleasant undertones to Jerry, our racist librarian. Needless to say, I now keep the small talk to a minimum when checking out books.
In my blog you’ll find humorous poetry, vignettes, characters and outrageous word play along with the odd sober moment. And you can join me in my quest for the perfect rhyme because to me, and you purists are going to hate this, poetry needs to rhyme. Well, mine does anyway. I mean, could it be worse reading free verse?
See what I just did there?
(they hate that)
Lastly, if you’d like to read some of my best stuff in book form, It Started When You Farted: Witty Rhymes for Playful Minds, is available on Amazon. I think it’s a cracker and all proceeds go to Teenage Cancer Trust UK. Here’s one spiffing review:
https://lightpoetrymagazine.com/book-reviews-summer-22/
I hope you laugh ’til you fart.
Mr Ormsby At Large
Mr Ormsby At Large 