My original Brother typewriter

Photo: Brother Typewriter

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My original brother typewriter decoded

Casked Limerick

There’s an awful lot of coffee in Brazil, And sweet juicy oranges from Seville, You’d die for French wine, Which is dandy and fine, Be it red, white, sparkling or still. — Philip Wood

Globules rouges

Globules rouges vainqueurs et festifs observés au microscope par la mouche avant sa fuite par le télé transporteur hyperbolique de Scotty à bord de l’Enterprise. – Et la main qu’on voit ? dit quelqu’un dans le public... – C’est le cascadeur. On coupera au montage ! — Eleonore Sur

Une bonne excuse

Mon marteau ne vaut pas un clou, Ma scie perd ses dents, Ma pince est bien trop mince, Comme c'est embêtant de ne pas être performant ! Mon tournevis est hors-service, Ma perceuse est paresseuse, Ma ponceuse, c'est tout comme, Quel malheur, pour un bricoleur, de ne pas être à la hauteur ! Mon serre-joint ne va pas bien, Mon équerre me désespère, Mon rabot n'est pas beau, Mes vieux outils sont bien décatis, Tant pis ! ou, peut-être, Tant mieux ! Car lorsqu'on est maladroit, pouvoir accuser ses outils, quelle bonne excuse ! — Gérard Miro

Around the World in Eighty Years

Eighty years is the allotted time most of us have to last, By the time we’re grown and matured, twenty summers have come and passed. We then get wed and raise our kids, there goes at least a score, Next, its work flat out to save enough to survive post sixty four. When we finally get to put up our feet, and take that well earned break, We can do all those things we’ve always put off, and new hobbies undertake. “How we ever found the time to go to work?” is a mystery we all ask, We’re busier now than we’ve ever been, no time in the sun to bask. The garden beckons as do unread books, so rain or shine we’re set, Medieval towns to meander through, autumn hillside trails to trek, Grandkids to mind and play their games, to their parents we return, Clubs and groups that weekly meet, new crafts to start and learn. Long dreamed of ocean cruises with tropical beaches to explore, Ahoy! Beautiful New Zealand, exotic Bali, bustling Singapore, Retirement is brilliant, it’s the best age of your life, Time to enjoy being together, savouring your love as man and wife. — Philip Wood

Akaroa Harbour – New Zealand

Shade of Influence

We live our lives from day to day, Dealing with our lot having little say, We seem to just go round and round, Not realising the folk our shadow’s found. Its shade falls across our vulnerable youth, How they mature is our final proof, We coach our boys to become self-respecting men, Before eclipses of evil try to knock them down again. Cast over all our precious ones we love, Can be destructive or peaceful as a dove, When our time is up, our shadow fades from sight, Ensure they know you adored them right. Hosts of fellow shadows a community make, Overlapping talents, giving more than they can take, We think our lives small, insignificant, of no consequence, Whereas combined shade bestows cultural legacy, an inheritance. — Philip Wood

Behind Closed Windows

Porto

Women cooking, Children playing, Television watching, Stereo thumping, Nintendo gaming, Husbands snoozing, Couples fighting, Lovers embracing, Widows mourning, Spinsters sobbing, Girls flirting, Boys sparring, Siblings quarreling, Teenagers stressing, Families chatting, Pensioners reminiscing, Babies feeding, Toddlers toddling, Grandmothers caring, Grandfathers doting, Students aspiring, Unemployed squandering, Addicts injecting, Gluttons guzzling, Anorexics purging, Gangsters plotting, Escorts earning, Sinners cheating, Priests forgiving, Guitarist strumming, Vocalist humming, Artists painting, Models posing, Sick recovering, Infirm dying, Life continuing………… — Philip Wood

Les vieilles mansardes

En immersion dans les nuées, les vieilles mansardes contemplent les bleutés des beaux matins, les mordores des couchers languissants ; les lavis gris des jours de pluie les enchantent aussi... reste à intégrer un intrus de graffiti « Street art » naissant sur l’aplomb des toits. Peu importe ce signe du présent, le regard s’apprivoise avec le temps... En attendant, sensations et sortilèges hantent ces lieux perchés, si proches des dieux. — My

Pierre qui vole

Une pierre qui vole ? On n’a jamais vu ça –lui disaient les autres– Alors elle se taisait Parfois même elle pleurait À grosses gouttes Des larmes de pierre ! On n’a jamais vu ça –se disaient les autres– Et pourtant chers cailloux Cette pierre en versait bien Et plutôt des belles Si bien qu’un jour Qu’ils ne regardaient pas Elle s’envola Elle s’envola à la nage ! — Eleonore Sur

Échec génétique

Petit scooter T’es comme des milliers de congénères Que des algos aléatoires génèrent Scooter toujours prêt ! Ton but : revenir à la maison Tu pleures, tu crisses « maison, maison » Machine évolutionnaire Tu erres dans le dédale de calcul Toujours avance, jamais ne recule Engin effrayé Dans ce coin, tu coinces, t’es bloqué Tu te meurs, affamé, dépenaillé Pauvre con Ton code n’est pas le bon. — Paul Sanson

Barbares

Codes barres Parallèles Queues de bars Pâles ailes Barbares — Eleonore Sur

Tu chériras la mer

« Homme libre toujours tu chériras la mer » Et la femme ? Si elle se libère ? Que chérira-t-elle ? La mer ? Et sa mère ? Se libérera-t-elle ? La mère qui a vu l’homme libre partir en mer, Qui a su se résigner à chérir le ciel Et qui laisse la mer libérer sa fille ! Elle est fatiguée la mère. Fière, mais fatiguée. Alors elle regarde dehors. Vers la mer, qui emporte les gens libres, Et les vagues qui transforment son décor. — Eleonore Sur

Soir d'été à Marseille

Les bateaux peuvent rentrer La sardine qui bouchait le port Est partie se coucher. Marins, n'ayez plus peur du mauvais sort ! Sur la digue, promeneurs et pêcheurs Ne semblent pas s'inquiéter de l'heure, Bien que le ciel s'assombrisse. Mais sur la mer, quel feu d'artifice ! Une dentelle de reflets argentés scintille, Le soleil a déposé une mantille Sur sa bien-aimée, la mer, Sous le regard bienveillant de la Bonne-Mère. — Gérard Miro

It's... Monty May’s Plunging Circus!

The proud lion has been tamed, By the clown with the crazy hair, Now transformed into lemmings, He’s no longer there. Twenty seven friends disappear at the magician’s bequest, The people have spoken, so he grants their request, Manipulated the crowd by swiftness of hand, Told lies on a bus the length of the land. Jugglers struggle to control both left and right, Denying gravity exists, with their egos they fight, Behind cabinet doors they practice their act, Despite the denial of every logical fact. Show ponies dance to their ring master’s tune, Strutting their heads blandly covered in plumes, The chimpanzee tea-party is the most realistic of all, Conjuring up images of Westminster Hall. The audience is vetted, no Johnny Foreigner at this show, They offer nothing to the experience so away they must go, No man is an island, but it appears that we are, We’re free to make new friends, not from near but a far. The star of the show determined on her solo high wire act, Despite all the jeers and shaking to the end she must get, The bigtop’s crowd stir in a mood of dark discontent, This isn’t what they opted for when granting consent. They demand a full refund, a second go at their show’s choice, But the circus acts are stubborn and deaf to their powerless voice, We believed all the lies and the false testimony, We now know we made the worst decision in human history. — Philip Wood

Homeward Bound

Curvy farm track leads home into the setting sun, Westward traveling when a hard days work is done, Summer gone, the path no longer dusty and bone dry, Harvest collected, stored safely wheat, oats and rye. Leaves have turned golden; orange, browns and red, Trees are stark naked their foliage shed, This most beautiful season adorns evening skies a glow, Homeward journey to enjoy all that nature has to bestow. — Philip Wood

Signs of Children

Untidy bedrooms, toys in disarray, Quick to play, never put away, Eager to win, reluctantly share, Add to mum’s workload, not their care. Messy eaters, uncleared plate, Snacks between meals, hard to wait, Crumbs cover the table, over the floor, Gobbled all up, who's for more? Moan to get up, late for school, Uniform needs ironing, so uncool, Homework not done, excuse prepared, Chat to friends, answers compared. Who’d be a parent? we ask each other, All the effort, so much bother, We love them each and everyone, So proud of what they achieve and won. The chicks have flown, the nest is bare, We ask ourselves, “were they really there?”, Then we hear a knock on the front door, The grandkids have arrived that we so adore. — Philip Wood

Time is not lost

Time is fast, can be slow, Time to go and see a show. Time to take kids to school, And after to the swimming pool. Is it Time to go to work? Have I Time to iron my shirt? Quick, it’s Time for a break, Let’s have coffee and a cake. Time to go shopping for our tea, Lots of goodies for you and me. Time to get the kids in the bath, Time to take the dog down the path. Time for us all to go to bed, Everyone happy and well fed. Time will wait until the morning, We will wake when day is dawning. — Gillian Reid

The alien has landed

Is it a martian ? asked a little lad, It’s more like a turtle, said his dad. Shall we go and look inside, It might even take us, for a ride. No said his dad, we hab better go home, Just leave the poor old thing alone. — Gillian Reid

Camelot

The knights are toasting the end of the war, The people of Camelot will suffer no more. King Arthur and Guinevere are safe once again, Merlin used magic to ease the pain. Lancelot can now marry his bride, With his friend Galahad at his side. Remember this tale of ancient times, Keep love, not war on your minds. — Gillian Reid

A City Shattered

12:51, time for lunch, What shall we have today? Made a sandwich; about to pour my tea, When the whole world begins to sway under me. 6.2 goes on for ever, Time to move to a sturdy doorframe, Two rooms are skewed at awkward angles, Will anything ever be the same? 185 didn’t make it that day, The dust and rubble covered where they lay, A city in ruins, history destroyed at a stroke Hearts and morale left all tattered and broke. Red and black spirit arises, stands tall, Trouble and disaster bring out the best in us all, Student armies and neighbours are quick to volunteer , Liquefaction’s stinking sand and mud to clear. To rebuild the city, make it a modern place, A functional heart; maintaining its former art and grace, Stronger in both build and community ties, Always remembering those who sadly paid with their lives. — Philip Wood