L.D. Tudge

@dreadfullypoorpublishing

Humourist/storyteller—not necessarily both at the same time, or either at any time. Writer-ghostwriter-consultant I've lent my pen to Steve Martin, National Lampoon, Ripley's Believe It or Not!, and untold more.

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L.D. Tudge@dreadfullypoorpublishing· 41m

I didn't do any of today's "required reading." I offer this with minimal regret. #vss365 #poetsofdoom #poetsabout #vssdaily #writingcommunity #HaikuFeels #verse #DailyHaikuPrompt #Senryu #Haiku #HaikuSky #Poetry #MicroPoetry #writing #poem #prose #emoetry #poets #poetrycommunity #blueskypoetry

In the very small town
that I lived in,

I ran into,
of all things,
a woolly mammoth.

As I said,
the town was very small,

and the woolly mammoth,
the one who lived
in the same small town
that I lived in,
the very same one,

was not.

L.D. Tudge@dreadfullypoorpublishing· 16d

I once wrote a train station tale that made Waltham quite cross. #poemsabout #lasttrain #prose #verse #poetry #poem #writing #blueskypoetry #poetrycommunity #writingcommunity #trains #poets #bath #dorset #poole #blandford

I know of several trains,
most of them from being, rather on;
I know not the last time
a certain train ran,
but I recall, for certain,
the last time I ran on—
and caught a certain train.
a claim verifiable only
by the certifiably unliving.

On one train, there I was upon,
but that one train is no more.
Nor is that train’s line.
Nor its tracks.

I have, in evidence,
a photo of a train, one I did not catch.

That makes me somewhat of an expert
in train catching,
in respect of,
in the matter of,
and by way of how not to,
yet the expertise is now plain,
a coal shovel’s worth of knowledge,
train-catching tales that have fascinated trainfarers
since Old Dirty had his day.

L.D. Tudge@dreadfullypoorpublishing· 24d

Drinking, swearing, breaking curfew—habits or rituals? #poemsabout #badhabits #writing #poem #prose #emoetry #poets #poetrycommunity #blueskypoetry #poetry

Up the River Stour,
up late, at this hour,
having sour ales
in a musty old English pub.

The sour it was meant,
intentionally, in it went;
souring the ale
in a most un-English way.

If I'm being offered a beer,
in front of me, right here,
I'll regale that ale
in as English a way as I'm able.

Don't take me a sour fucker,
my prunes & prisms pucker
from that odd ale, at this odd hour,
as you see on my soured English face.

L.D. Tudge@dreadfullypoorpublishing· Jul 15

The Souls of the #Conquered #vss365 #prose #Poetry #MicroPoetry #writing #poem #prose #emoetry #poets #poetrycommunity #blueskypoetry

The Common Fate of Men
The Souls of the Conquered — those but lately slain, where still their blood lies warm upon the ground whereon they fell, unhorsed upon this stricken field, the clamour of battle scarcely stilled.

Had you borne witness, you would have beheld Death astride a cold, yet fiery steed, whose reared ugly head turned upon you, nostrils breathing flame and frost, as though the Heat Miser and Snow Miser had somehow fused into a single ill-favoured horse. (ap•ld)

L.D. Tudge@dreadfullypoorpublishing· Jul 11

I wrote a #poemsabout #poem, about a #happyplace, the piece made me happy— 'til I learned it was out of place. So I wrote another. Now there are two pieces. We are that much closer to solving the entire mystery. #poemsabout #powercut #prose #poetry #verse #kipling #literature #booksky #readers

The Mahdi cut Dick Heldar’s power;
he couldn’t run on steam;
it was an unsightly, unkindly loss,
if one could only see what I mean.

Dick drew the wars for London
and painted all he knew;
the Empire’s hands looked cleaner
when Dick improved the view.

Then darkness crossed his vision—
the physician read the signs;
there are faults no man can mend
by inspecting the front lines.

He painted Melancolia
before the current failed;
then Bessie spoiled the picture,
and Maisie took the rails.

Torpenhow supplied the friendship,
the whisky and advice;
but neither love nor medicine
could make Dick’s darkness bright.

So Dick returned to battle,
where bullets need no aim;
the light that failed went out for good—
Kipling kept the name. (ap•ld)

L.D. Tudge@dreadfullypoorpublishing· Jul 5

The scorn can speak for itself, yet the villanelle cannot. #PoetsOfDoom #Villanelle #prose #poetry #poem #verse #writing

Dobson warned of villanelles,
his caution, coarsely translated:
Villanelles will put you through hell.

As many, but few remaining, can tell,
I've written shite verses, several ill-fated:
Dobson warned of villanelles.

They aren't all rubbish; some have done rather well,
though none emerged unbruised or untranslated:
Villanelles will put you through hell.

I'm no Villanelleur. That much you can tell.
I stumble on the form, then call it fated:
Dobson warned of villanelles.

The rhyme starts ringing its prissy little bell.
The refrain returns, gauche, over-decorated:
Villanelles will put you through hell.

So if this collapses, let it collapse well.
Let the Passeratian treatise lie there, violated:
Dobson warned of villanelles.
Villanelles will put you through hell.

L.D. Tudge@dreadfullypoorpublishing· Jun 1

I nicked this #midnight #prompt unprompted. As good a word as any, but far too late to #write. Artists need their beauty rest, not to stay up late at night. #vss365 #midnight #writing #prose #poetry #poem #MicroPoetry #poets #poetrycommunity #horror #gothic

The #midnight bells were jingling—
mere chimes, if one is strict.
They marked the stroke of twelve o’clock—
a point I won’t contradict.

They roused me from my proper rest,
and summoned me from bed;
a scholar should be sleeping,
not rising with the dead.

I peered into the outer dark;
the evidence was grim:
a pale hand tapped the window—
from the inside.

L.D. Tudge@dreadfullypoorpublishing· May 24

A summer in Marseille, my head held underwater by a young woman from Cassis, who taught me French #immersion. #vss365 #Poetry #MicroPoetry #writing #poem #prose #emoetry #writing #poets #poetrycommunity #marseille #france #immerse

In conversation I was immersed,
But also in gin, having had it spilled
Over my sober coat by a clumsy poet
Wearing an artistic shirt, as it happens;

And, as it happened, this drunken old Tom,
To everyone’s amusement, had not coin enough
To settle the reckoning for my cuff,
Yet found enough to stand Sam everyone’s Daffy.

L.D. Tudge@dreadfullypoorpublishing· May 12

Trarira, trari! There is he, the ratcatcher. One schilling per head. #HaikuFeels #verse #DailyHaikuPrompt #Senryu #Haiku #HaikuSky #Poetry #MicroPoetry #writing #poem #prose #emoetry #writing #poets #poetrycommunity #vss365 #fairytales

L.D. Tudge@dreadfullypoorpublishing· May 11

I daresay old fat Falstaff would have done worse, or called for sack. #poemsabout #NamesNotNumbers #prose #poetry #writing #poetrycommunity #shakespeare

Page Four, the Last
“Abby” complimented me on my riveting conversation, observing that my silver tongue was nearly as impressive as my argentian beard, though the truth would tell things differently about my conversation and my tongue.
She suggested we exchange information, and perhaps go for tea back in London, to which I happily agreed.
She handed me a card, kissed me on the cheek, and bid me parting is such sweet sorrow. I wrote down my addresses in Bloomsbury and Toronto, Canada.
I read her card on the platform at Paddington. It contained her first name, her age, her shoe size, a list of her favourite English writers — Austen, the elder James, Spark, Pym — and, at the bottom, of the other side, three of her hobbies, and a proper sketch of her family’s cocker spaniel, Mr. Tilford, leaving no space for contact information, I suppose.

L.D. Tudge@dreadfullypoorpublishing· May 10

William Marshal— this #guard knew how to play cards. His hand held five kings. #HaikuFeels #verse #DailyHaikuPrompt #Senryu #Haiku #HaikuSky #Poetry #MicroPoetry #writing #poem #prose #emoetry #writing #chili #poets #poetrycommunity #england #history #knights

L.D. Tudge@dreadfullypoorpublishing· May 10

I am reluctant to disparage the judicial opinions of Samuel Johnson, since he is in no position to disparage mine, and the exchange would certainly lack proper scholarly balance. #poemsabout #NamesNotNumbers #prose #poetry #writing #poetrycommunity #shakespeare