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Ao oA, Back to front, Bring a tent it's an overnighter, Hay Ho - cannae go to read it but congrats said the pressed em, Humour, I used Ao first!, It's been reduced from 90 verses as well, Joseema Ao and Edward Underfoot, List of the mental, Lucian Fabble, poem, Poetry, Prose, She won't shut up and I'm trying to finish a book here, Spinning Joseema, Time travel, To tickle, Underfoot, Verily verbose, Yang to this Yin tong iddle I pose
The following letter and subsequent verses were found by rail guard Lucian E. Fabble on the first day of November 2026 in a scruffy taupe envelope stuffed down the side of an ancient-looking armchair that boasted a variety of tufts and rips across its wine-stained hide: an unusually bulky item that had been shoved into the Lost Property office when the smoking room was transformed into The Tat for Tit Cyber Café in 1995. The former was penned in beautiful cursive, copperplate — a style emboldened with elegant swirls and curlicues, handwritten with a dip-pen and laid upon vellum so fine Lucian felt as though the page would simply evaporate if he fingered it for too long. The latter verses were incongruously written in orange crayon on the back of two Weetabix packets stapled together (circa 1976, Bovver Boys Edition).
The envelope was addressed to Edward Underfoot Esq, 2 Oddstone Lane, Barton in the Beans, CV13 0DF. The ‘stamp’ was a hastily sketched portrait of the Queen wearing deeley boppers and holding aloft what appeared to be a kitchen sink plunger. Lucian noted the writer had taken more than a few liberties in the nature of poetic licence, but still tucked it in his pocket when he headed home that evening, untypically transgressing Rail Board regulations.
A month after his discovery, one weekend in late summer, Lucian E. Fabble drove to the address and knocked on the door, curious to see if there was any more to this puzzling matter. The curtains were drawn and no one answered (despite the vigorous employment of an unusual door-knocker in the shape of an hourglass), yet a loud clacking could be discerned nevertheless. Peeking through the letterbox, Lucian spied a hunched figure beyond the hallway, in the gloom of a back room. He soon identified a flailing of arms, some fierce typing action and, squinting, identified further a 1940s typewriter as the victim being pounded within an inch of its life: possibly an original Remington, he thought, being knowledgeable on all manner of levered mechanics as was his bent. He — for the hunched figure surely was that — looked at least two hundred years old, was likely deaf, and seemed to be more beard than man. Erring on the side of both caution and thoughtfulness, the guarded rail guard quietly slid the missive of bygone years through the letterbox, nodding to himself as he did so, then drove away, keeping a copy of said verses memorised in some corner of his mind, feeling an odd warmth tingling within his ribs, a pleasure to have safely delivered the long-lost words home at last — regulations or no.
The one thing that troubled him about it all was the amount of references — some cultural (American hegemonic influences, etcetera) — laid down still in vivid orange and which could not possibly have been known about when the piece was penned . . . crayoned rather, half a century previously in 1976. He decided that some mysteries may never be solved, but that was no reason not to enjoy them with vim, not to ride their glorious hides and admire their shine, along the way.
Dear Eddie,
I have some letters for you that insisted on being in the order (and disorder) of the verse below. As ever, use the map hidden within to find my latest coordinates. I’ll throw the envelope into the timeline when the Small Gods or their minions tell me to (this time by way of a house mouse or perhaps a blackbird, hopefully not a flea again — by gum that exchange took some time, and do you remember the baboon incident?! Dangerous, but funny).
Should anyone else read this whilst in transit, chances are they’ll not know what on earth it means, but that’s the way the Saussies roll with our exchanges, isn’t it? I hope they enjoy it despite the quirks, just as I hope the verses will have your smile lines a-creasing from eyes to toes long before you reach the distant end. It’s a cheeky one this time — as you know, I cannot survive without the salve of wit — but all quite true.
Time ticks on (backwards and sidewards too). Stay safe wherever and whoever you are when reading this, and regardless of anything else, write on Eddie, write on!
As ever, forever, whoever, whenever. . . the eema of your Jo. X
You are:
The ow! of my shad
Ass of my bad
Work of my fire
Tapper of my wire
Wood to my ply . . .
The scraper of my sky
The hammer to my sledge
Trimmer of my hedge
Bling of my bum
Lord of my slum
Nation of my dam . . .
The pooer of my sham
The motive for my loco
Nuts about my cocoa
Slinger of my gun
House of my fun
Oral to my corp . . .
The drive of my warp
The tiers on my bust
Ache of my must
Warmer of my heart
Work of my art
Tease to my strip. . .
The squeak of my pip
The wink in my hood
Lust for my blood
Saw to my chain
Twerker of my pain
The clogs of my clever . . .
More of my forever
But so much more Eddie, for you are also:
The sun to my liase
Paver of my craze
Muff in my ear
Sucker for my seer
Lifter of my face . . .
The walker of my space
The knot in my slip
Lashed by my whip
Embers of my rem
Fatale for my femme
Recant of my lube . . .
The Oo! at my boob
The king of my sin
Flick of my skin
Scene of my crime
Sharer of my time
Code of my Morse . . .
The sir of my sauce
The maker of my map
Doodler on my flap
Verse of my uni
Tunes of my looney
Taker of my breath . . .
Amphetamine of my meth
The piece of my master
Cast by my plaster
Bound to my spell
Bent over my hell
The glow of my after . . .
Presenter of my B.A.F.T.A!
On the other hand, I shall always be:
The shaker of your bone
Up rising of your grown
Teed up by your goat
Ages dedicated to your float
The spinner of your plate . . .
The jacket of your straight
The writer of your ghost
Mistress of your toast
Room in your dark
Plugged into your spark
Chair of your arm . . .
The cake of your barm
The boo! to your tickety
Split by your lickety
Faction of your rare
Devilish with your dare
Roller of your steam . . .
The puff of your cream
The raider of your masque
Ale filling your cask
My dodger to your jam
Bot blitzing your spam
Tock swift to your tick . . .
The taker of your Mick!
The winner of your award
Playing with your sword
Shee wailing at your Ban
The dango in your fan
Pepper in your cayenne . . .
The tangle of your pen
The maker of your trouble
Scope of your Hubble
Box of your glove
Thang of your love
Mindy to your Mork . . .
The ward of your awks
Yet still:
The ding in your shed
Shrinker of your head
Ado whilst you’re torn
Swoggler tug at your horn
Sheet of your Excel spread . . .
The bareness of your thread
The teller of your tale
Storm inciting your hail
Arms a-flexing your fore
Ping-ponging your war
The urge of your demi . . .
The Colon: behind your semi
The howl of your wolf
Stream source of your gulf
Land of your yonder
Lust feeding your wander
Fullness of your bash . . .
The pan for your flash!
The blower of your mind
Siding idly with your blind
City sleeping ’neath your scar
Pie eyed in your Shar
The shine upon your shoes. . .
Um . . . irrevocably your muse
For those who are new to the Cloud, please read the information at the following link regarding the Simulcast Fragments. Thank you – Esmeralda Cloud
Esme's Cloud 
Thunderous applause.
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Thank you sir! And for the reblog too!
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I’m sure my discerning ‘followers’ will appreciate this wonderful piece, you
smith hammering out such great words
with handfuls of worthy bushy birds.
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I thought it might be a bit long and arduous if you aren’t me. Hahahahaha. Handfuls of worthy bushy birds, and great ones too. Extra chuffed now.
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Reblogged this on Ben Naga and commented:
A four de force
To be sure
And not
To be missed
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Good and funny read and write ☺️
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Thanks for telling me so Poetpas, I very much appreciate it.
Esme letting party poppers off from upon the Cloud
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Haha. You’re welcome cloudster ☺️
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This was delightful and good laugh. I love all of your fragments, because that’s what they are is a piece out of a longer timeline. They stand on their own, but still make you wonder what came before, and what might come after. While they are stories in of themselves with a beginning and end, they also have neither and beginning nor end, which is what I love the most about them!
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I really love the idea of having pieces of writing that can be their own wee works of art without the constrictions of needing to know the outer edges; perhaps it fits in with something you’ll read again, perhaps it never will, but it’s enjoyed and feasted upon as a full meal just as much as any conventional story is. Writing should always evolve, that’s why Joyce and cummings were such groundbreakers, not that everyone appreciates e.e.cummings glares at Hariod. It’s important not to make sure everyone understands the text, trying to do so loses the best edge of creativity, it’s nice if the author knows wtf their on about, but I also don’t think that’s completely necessary either. It’s art darling. It’s supposed to be free, people forget that. I’m really pleased that you get that, thank you Swarn.
Esme Cloud sending sun his way tomorrow (if it doesn’t turn up blame the flying monkeys. Slackers)
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It’s important not to make sure everyone understands the text, trying to do so loses the best edge of creativity,
I completely agree, but this skill in itself is a measure of creativity also. It’s easy to make things not understandable, but this could also just lead to confusion, and bad writing. Knowing when to hold back information to allow the reader to wonder and not be confused. If there is a line between wonder and confusion, talented writers no how to stay on the wonder side of the line. 🙂 That’s what makes you a talented writer. It’s especially gifted skill for short stories and poetry.
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Gives Swarn a big hug (hands slapped in advance) You’ve made an old (sickly) lady very happy without having to call the police. Seriously though, Thank you. ❤
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Sooo small. My screen has a nose print now! Loved it, though.
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Oooh, is that on your computer screen or mobile? I’ll ask the others too, I’ve been dabbling with… some kind of code html malarkey to get the font I want, but I’ve used it for the last two posts as well. Do they look tiny as well? I’m impressed with your dedication to the Cloudy cause John! Loved it = very happy Esme. beams
-Esme knowing some things are worth the effort but not purposely settling up any herculean tasks honest guv
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Desktop, and I have a HUUUGE screen.
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I bet you say that to all the virtual Cloud dancers.
-Esme pegging it laughing
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Oh, nicely played. Didn’t see that coming, and it was gooood.
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Hahahahaha. And if your reply is anything to go by, your Barry White impersonations are coming along a treat too.
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More John Martyn, Sunshines Better
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Treacle, excellent choice.
Solid air is on one of my regular playlists as is May you Never – the latter shows how closely he and Joni Mitchell would fit together. Here it is for those who don’t know him
I enjoyed listening to them again this Sunday morning, thanks for the musical spin John.
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This is terrific.
Your imagination is working overtime.
Neil Scheinin
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It’s got a bit of a life of its own at times. I’m wondering if I could have got away with the uncut version now, laughs but no, it was scratching and needed the many edits. I’m so pleased other people are enjoying it, I honestly had a ball penning it. Many thanks Neil.
-Esme shaking his hand vigorously upon the Cloud
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The 2 of my 40.
The 3 of my 30.
The 4 of my 20.
The 5 of my 10.
——————— (Σ)
The 14 of my 100.
And the square root of 1.41421356237
🙂 Σ (-:
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I have dyscalculia. This is absolutely true, so all I can see is a list of numbers with words in-between them. All is not lost mind you, for I can write BOOBIES in times of great need. In other words dear Bill, you’ll have to explain it to me due to my brain not working properly. Sometimes I’m glad it doesn’t work properly as I fear might have ended up an evil genius who uses maths to smite people. The Numbereator!
The second emoji looks like it represents either someone wearing a bow tie who is happy and has a long nose, or, from the other direction, a tiny person wearing a stetson that covers their face. They have even smaller feet and a really skinny torso.
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I reside on that mirror-image planet, Htrae. Home to the maddest of March hatters, an orb where Mercury is as precisely common as water. 🙂 My confusing parade of integers is actually an homage to your 90 verses of 1825210005. On Htrae, half of a bowtie speaks the Greek tweak sigma (Σ) to sum the 4 expressions that yield 14 and 100. If I may advertise one of earlier posts up on the Cloud:
Homagedly,
Bill
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What a fab post Bill, I hope others pop over to read the word evolving number rhumbas too. I’m no clearer on the number parts but I certainly am on the letter work. I came down with a gruesome sore throat and am confined to bed here on the Cloud, so may well be a delirious Diedre mind you, however with the power of a supported finger and some carefully placed pincey nezzy I have managed some form of reply. Thank you so much for the homage, much better than from age as I know you’ll agree.
-Esme waving weakly from bed upon the Cloud, sucking lots of Mentholyptus sweets
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Thanks for the kind and plucky plug, Esme. That post got more likes on the planet ‘tother side of the looking glass. A planet where English is written right to left, Arabic left to right, shoes are worn on the hands… 🙂
Earth <==> htraE
May your gruesome sore throat heal forthwith and your pincey nezzy not become clouded by Mentholyptus fumes!
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Gurgle gurgle, gah, fzzz-pah. That’s my tonsils waving and singing a song at you Bill, thank you, I’ve been coffin-dodging for years so should be back to cartwheeling soon.
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Oh yes, I meant to add, I think you’d enjoy a new blogger (only new to Esme), Hariod pointed him my way and he’s one of us. If you get me. Hahahahaha. Here he is, named Inchcock, (I must admit aft first I thought it was s filthy prank by H, hahahaha). https://gerrynottingham.blog/
Esme sending them all forth but never fifth
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Fine fun to find a fellow to follow in Nottingham (Fottingham on Planet HtraE).
Kindest thanks to you and Hariod for pointing to Gerry. See you there. 🙂
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I’ve got a dyscalculia, a Casio one.
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Watch it doesn’t bite, they’re battery drainers.
-Esme bowing from her cloudy duvet
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Beautifully and falutlessly written, Esme. Will we get Eddie’s reaction at some point? I must confess to coming over all queer attempting to decipher some of the . . . the cipher of the verse, sort of ending up feeling all Oo, er? at your shampooer. Yes, but perfectly falutless otherwise — you certainly put some umph in your excellent tri, in the quest of this poetic con!
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It’s a relief to know you don’t find it a wallop of cods Hariod. There’s a touch of pocus hocus, and my ant is still Adam that the wee beetle named cockchafer could have slipped in without an uproar falls about for some time
Eddie already has replied, back in 1936 – he was so drunk however, his missive was created solely by means of a complex whistles and farts taught to a ferret.
Marvellous review H, many thanks for that beams happily
Esme Cloud handing over the requested bribe of ten sticky buns then tying a huge napkin round his neck
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Oh, no, certainly not, Esme; no locks of any bol are where to your any in sight.
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Good to hear, the lack of our soles is a comfort too.
-Esme laughing weakly showing her ulcerated throat for ten pence a view
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“Beautifully and falutlessly written…”
The falut is in our sarts. 🙂
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The falut, dear Brutus, is not in our sarts, but in oursleves, that we are undelrings . . .
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What? Naught where a ‘not’ should appear, that’s what. Ought not to misrepresent Cassius’ intent by omitting such whatnot. My falut entirely, but I’ll blame it on our undelring elves. 🙂
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