Separated by a Common Language

A talented young chef called Jeannie,
Just loves to cook fettuccine,
But she often forgets
To buy the courgettes,
So she replaces them with some zucchini.

(Mike Hatton)

Thanks for breaking the ice, Mike!

Torch by Moira Dunphy

When I was young I loved to dive
Into the world of the Famous Five
“Torch”, I’d whisper
“Lift”, I’d repeat,
Wanting bonnets to wear
And crisps to eat.

My heart would pound!
They were far too brave!
Were they crazy going into that gloomy cave?!

And even though in the illustration
A flashlight was used for illumination,
In my mind I saw crackling flames that scorch
Each time I read that lovely word “Torch”.

I once knew a girl who said colour
is not the same thing as color
What a colourful girl in a colorful world
I'm sure glad it's not spelled cull-her!

-@TomorrowsPoetry(Elliot Goldman)

There was steak-and-kidney pudding; there were crumpets served at tea,
With scones and jam and clotted cream, a real feast for me.
But tea came hot, and served with milk, and often very strong.
And they’ve put corn on the pizza, and I think that that’s just wrong!

We had biscuits, sausage gravy, and our steak was chicken-fried;
And I even tried fried catfish, with a muffin on the side.
But jelly with the salads? Cornbread sweeter than a cake?
Tea served cold and with no milk in, there’s surely some mistake!

We eat courgette or zucchini, and our corn is sweet or not,
Our babies sleep in bassinets, or maybe in a cot.
However we may differ, though, there’s one thing stays the same:
Our love of words and languages – and what is in a name!

She fumbled inside her fanny pack:
A bum bag, while looking for a snack.
She offered me candy: quite a treat.
I reciprocated with a sweet.
'I’m Randy’, she said: voice, loud and slow.
‘George’, I replied: embarrassed, ‘Hello’.
The cabin staff brought round a trolley:
A cart, from which she chose a lolly,
‘Gimme a popsicle and a coke’
The steward, an unassuming bloke,
‘Is it to drink now or take-away’?
She stood there, bemused: what could I say?
So, was she Randy? I’ll never know
As she and her drink were both ‘to-go’.

Christopher, I like that.

I couldn't come up with something that qualifies as a poem, but I wrote some doggerel (I have a T-shirt that reads, "Bad poetry—Oh noetry"). Folks, this is a joke, so please don't post replies telling me that the UK doesn't have a president. I won't listen anyway. ;-)

The English sound sophisticated
Flattered when they're imitated
So I call them bloody wankers fond of buggery
Like us they have a government
(except their queen and president)
So Englishmen are honorary Yanks
(signed) An American

Our language is contaminated
By those Yankee addle-pated
Blighters who can't even brew a decent pot of tea
They think they own their continent
Their movies deserve banishment
Allow their culture on our shores? No thanks!
(signed) A loyal subject

Lingua Franca

Our cousins from over the pond,
Linguistically sharing a bond,
Help make our own lingo
(Near as dammit, by Jingo!)
Be common amongst tout le monde.

In suspenders and pants and a vest,
Looking nerdy - but smart - I impressed.
In the States that was fine
But a Brit friend of mine
Thought me kinky and quite underdressed.

Perplexed in London by a trail of "Thanks"
My cultural signifiers fill in the blanks.

I like Mrs Redboots' contribution, but would award the prize to MJ Simpson (especially as I speak BrE and therefore got the image of the person wandering around in their underwear... I had to do a bit of a search of the archives to confirm my guess that the AmE "vest" is what I would call a waistcoat).

Once said a Brit,
'You silly old twit,
You spelled 'humour' all wrong!'
The Yank said, 'Who, me?
But I spell in AmE.'
And that's the end of this song.

There once was a language called English,
Its differences many found squeamish,
The Americans changed it slightly,
All the British blamed them (politely),
And they never got along again.

The stuck-up British were so confused,
"Vocab! Accents? We're all quite bemused."
Then, they learnt each other's dialect,
And saw just how they would intersect,
They finally turned all happy and zen.


~ Katya
@_secretchord_

I too am a fan of MJ Simpson's entry.

Bristols and Cobblers are rude,
Raspberry and Hampton are crude.
But they’re part of the slang which
Enriches our language,
And others are even more lewd.

I am stunned into silence by M J Simpson's Limerick, and the disturbing image that it conjures up!
Simon X is a worthy runner-up.
Isn't it interesting that they are both a bit risqué?

What happens when our languages collide?
Well, one evening, I was wandering through Penn Station
when some headphone-wearing, Starbucks-swilling lorry
of a man rolled up and barged into my side.
All brimming with Britannic indignation,
I stared him in the eye and snarled, "I'm sorry"-
but he chirruped, "That's OK",
and went blithely on his way.

I thought, "I'm ahead of the curve
In learning to utter 'love', 'lurve'" --
But on aiming the word
At a fanciable bird
I got slapped in the face and called "perv"

While I really do not like to cadge,
(And it's difficult here to imag-
Ine that you'll go so far)
But for je ne sais quoi,
Lynne, can I please have a badge?

Yay! (Now I know how Mcdonalds employees feel when they get a star).