The Challenge - to write a poem or prose from the  point of view of an inanimate object in the Doreen Evans room in ten minutes!

STRIP LIGHT - Sue S                  THE RADIATOR - Eileen

As days darken in colder months                     The radiator hic-cupped. "It's always the same, come October everyone thumps me
Electricity pulses through me.                      and fiddles with my dials. They have NO idea how painful their impatience is!
Voices busy below me.                         burp and cry in protest but they keep on and on!" 

Cards are played, pens roll ink on lined paper.               "Oh SHUT UP! squeaked the chair. "You're just full of hot air!!"!
People move tables, stack chairs,
Chatter their stories to each other.

On warmer days I know less;
Blind, when windows open,
To activities outside my walled world.


 In these days of astro-travel, hover craft and high-speed train,

Mankind’s begun to think he knows it all,

But there’s one obscure phenomenon he never will explain

Though he bangs his cerebellum on the wall.

Of dishes in the sink, sure everyone has done his share,

A chore I guarantee destroys the soul,

And no matter what your class or creed, you’ll find me lurking there;

I am the teaspoon at the bottom of the bowl.


The teaspoon at the bottom of the bowl cannot be beat,

Cannot be killed, cannot be cured, cannot be found,

I’m an evil sort of rear-guard who will not admit defeat,

And I’ll be there at the bottom I’ll be bound,

You run your fingers round the bowl and when you’re sure it’s cleared,

You tip and pour the water down the hole,

But this master of evasion’s sure to be there, as you feared

I’m the dreaded teaspoon at the bottom of the bowl.


When teaspoons were invented we were meant for stirring tea,

And we came with cups and saucers as a rule,

But we are sinister, aggressive and elusive, you’ll agree,

And we aim to prove the washer-up a fool.

Though Homo Sapiens may have the ultimate in brain,

We teaspoons will assume the villain’s role.

And when you’ve tipped the water very deftly down the drain,

You’ll find me sneering in the bottom of the bowl.


Now my Dad, he’s well adjusted, a model I’d have said,

No more level headed father have I known,

He never ever shirks a task or tries to swing the lead,

He’s respected and he’s seldom heard to moan.

But mention dirty pots to him or sinks or washing up

And he loses every trace of self control,

It’s not the dirty dishes make him whimper like a pup,

It’s the teaspoon at the bottom of the bowl.


They’ve produced some super washers so that women’s work is light,

They’ve eliminated back ache and hard grind.

But machines will not clean meat pots though they wash the whole darned night,

And with frying pans they’re very far behind.

So keep your soggy dish-cloth Mum and keep your wire wool pad,

You’ll need them still to scour the casserole,

And forever you are lumbered with the scourge you’ve always had

That blooming teaspoon at the bottom of the bowl.