The NearlyFortySaurus

There once was a dinosaur called the NearlyFortySaurus.

It was a rather dusty and crusty old thing. Each creak of her ageing joints could be heard throughout the land.

She used to be such an energetic beast, but now every morning the NearlyFortySaurus would glare at the TwentySomethingauruses in disgust, as they pranced about on their freshly trimmed claws with their perky little tails.

All the other dinosaurs were quite mean to the NealyFortySaurus and would laugh at how old she was. Especially the VeloShoaraptor. He would poke fun at her all day long and call her names like Grandmadactyl or Nanceratops.

But the NearlyFortySaurus would react in the only way she knew how: being the most compassionate, affectionate, Frozen-playing, lullaby-singing, multi-tasking mother on planet Earth. A future fossil the likes of which has never been seen before.

© Carl Burkitt 2017

Brief by Shoaban: “I’d like something celebrating the compassionate and affectionate side of the mother of my children, while poking fun at her nearly turning forty!”

This piece was written as a part of a fundraising project for Rethink Mental Illness, where I’m inviting people to set me any writing brief in exchange for donations.

Read all of the details here and if you’d like to get involved, email ca.burkitt@gmail.com or Tweet @CarlBurkitt!

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Fergus

Fergus: deriving from the Gaelic Feargus;
Composed of Fear meaning Man
And Gus meaning Force.

Fergus the Man. Fergus the Force.

Fergus the Man Force.

The man in the force man. The five foot fourman.

The wannabe hobbit listening to the scoreman.

The Tinderman. The bakerman.

The try to get them in to bed with a poorly cooked sauceman.

The one-haired chestman. The dinosaur fanman.

The retired skaterman come expert on Daliman.

The son of an Irishman. With the voice of a Radio 4man.

The when you really think about it he’s really quite peculiarman.

The birthdayman. The lovelyman.

The dearest friend loved a lot by Jocelynman.

© Carl Burkitt 2017

Brief by Jocelyn Cox: “My friend Fergus has just completed a course for the Army. He’s not your stereotypical army guy and is comedy gold. Can I have something for his birthday?”

This piece was written as a part of a fundraising project for Rethink Mental Illness, where I’m inviting people to set me any writing brief in exchange for donations.

Read all of the details here and if you’d like to get involved, email ca.burkitt@gmail.com or Tweet @CarlBurkitt!

Things to write in donation comments

OPTION 1

Fundraising = Thumbraising.

OPTION 2

You dun a fing. A real good fing. So here’s some quids. Sum real good quids.

OPTION 3

Ooh, you’re ‘ard.

OPTION 4

“What have you done today, to make you feeeel proud?”…raised dollar, THAT’S WHAT!

OPTION 5

What has two thumbs and upmost respect for what you’re doing?! Someone. Somewhere. Probably.

OPTION 6

Who are you?

OPTION 7

Will you marry me?

OPTION 8

“You (fund)raise me up, so I can stand on mountains. You (fund)raise me up to walk on stormy seas!”

OPTION 9

You won’t BELIEVE what I Googled to end up on this page. Doesn’t bother me though, it’ll still do the job…

OPTION 10

I’m happy to give you this money, but if you don’t complete your challenge: I will find you, and I will kill you.

OPTION 11

My name’s Chris. My name’s Chris. My name’s Chris. My name’s Chris. My name’s Chris. My name’s Chris. My name’s Chris. My name’s Chris.

OPTION 12

Are you doing this to prove you’re better than me?

OPTION 13

I don’t think I’ve ever told you how proud I am of you. And I plan to keep it that way.

OPTION 14

Show off.

OPTION 15

Fundraise. Fundphrase. Fundplays. Fundgraze. Fundmaze. Fundpraise. Fundhaze. Fundlaze. Fundsleighs. Fundbraise. Fundneighs. Fundpays.

OPTION 16

You don’t want to know how I got this money. But if anyone asks, you don’t know me. GOOD LUCK!

OPTION 17

Remind me, the next time I see you, to give you back that thing you left at my place. You know. THAT thing.

OPTION 18

OMG U R GR8 BBZ I LUV U MEGA LUV N LOLS N LUV N U R GNA SMSH IT M8 XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX
OXOXOXOXXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

OPTION 19

I used to be a DJ.

OPTION 20

Money rhymes with Mummy. I love money. I love my Mummy. (And I love your Mummy)

© Carl Burkitt 2017

Brief by Chris Hough: “I would like 140 characters on what to write in donation page comments. I always end up writing the same thing.”

This piece was written as a part of a fundraising project for Rethink Mental Illness, where I’m inviting people to set me any writing brief in exchange for donations.

Read all of the details here and if you’d like to get involved, email ca.burkitt@gmail.com or Tweet @CarlBurkitt!

5 attempts at writing a happy poem

HUMANS

All of the humans died.
But because all of them died,
there was no one around to be sad.
Which was nice.

LIE IN

Jilly woke up approximately
24 hours late for her Friday morning meeting,
which meant…
It was SATURDAAAAAAAAAAY!

She was, of course,
called up and fired,
which meant…
A lie in on MONDAAAAAAAAY!

COUPLES FURAPY

A kitten was born
that could speak English.
It was amazing!

It went door-to-door reassuring cat owners
that independence is a search
for freedom from control,
not freedom from love.

CADBURY WORLD

Cadbury invented healthy chocolate
that tasted exactly like chocolate and
made you skinnier and prettier.
But people didn’t bow to the pressure
to be “perfect” and bought more
happy fat bars.
YEAH!

HAPPY

After nine hundred and thirty million
Five hundred and thirty four thousand
Five hundred and sixty two listens,
Pharrell Williams was still pretty happy.

© Carl Burkitt 2017

Brief by Tanne Spielman: “Something happy. We could all do with that.”

This piece was written as a part of a fundraising project for Rethink Mental Illness, where I’m inviting people to set me any writing brief in exchange for donations.

Read all of the details here and if you’d like to get involved, email ca.burkitt@gmail.com or Tweet @CarlBurkitt!

Safety net

When Edith’s husband died so too did her safety net. At the ripe old age of 85, she was left alone in Slough staring into the face of her unlived dreams.

After a glass of sherry and an evening of soul-searching Edith, armed only with her favourite book of wildlife photography and a tear in her eye, moved to New Zealand.

The flight was gruelling. The train was a disaster. The taxi was stuffy. But once she reached her fantasy home, nothing mattered.

It was everything she’d ever wanted.

She was blown away by the silence of her surroundings. She couldn’t believe her eyes as the mountains rolled, the trees swayed and the sun grinned like they were showing off for a brochure. And when the wildlife made itself known to her, Edith was positively giddy.

The Long-tailed Bats had her smiling from ear to ear. The Kiwis caught her cooing with delight. The Geckos saw her skipping with glee.

But when she saw the peculiar Kakapo with its owl-like face and podgy parrot body, she was completely taken by it.

I mean literally. She was literally taken by a Kakapo.

Within roughly five minutes of landing in her new life, the local giant Kakapo plodded along and grabbed her. Being the world’s only flightless parrot, the Kakapo was forced to engulf Edith in its massive wings and drag her up the nearest cliff. After 45 minutes of this torture, the bird reached the 100 foot peak and chucked her off the edge.

Splat.

Done.

Dead.

© Carl Burkitt 2017

Brief by Erin Bolens: “Could I have a little New Zealand related something? I’m particularly taken by the Kakapo (owl parrot).”

This piece was written as a part of a fundraising project for Rethink Mental Illness, where I’m inviting people to set me any writing brief in exchange for donations.

Read all of the details here and if you’d like to get involved, email ca.burkitt@gmail.com or Tweet @CarlBurkitt!

Energy

The secret of change is to focus
all of your energy,
not on fighting the old
but on building the new.

Socrates said that.
A philosopher.
Therefore it must be true.
Right?

So I left my baggage at the door
and focused on unpacking our new.
I stripped away my anxieties
and gave up doubting myself.
I gave permission to make decisions
that bettered me and my mental health.

But that’s not always easy.
I was scared to break what we started.
The fear of pausing the vibrations
made me pause with hesitation but

Everything is energy
and that’s all there is to it.
Match the frequency
of the reality
you want
and you cannot help
but get that reality.

Einstein said that.
A scientist.
Therefore it must be true.
Right?

So I set my frequency to you.
Energy attracts similar energy
so I took to smiling like you do.
I flowed like you flowed
and tried to shine bright
as I did so.
I opened my eyes
and was hypnotised
with the energy you brought to my life.

© Carl Burkitt 2017

Brief by Rodean: “A poem about energy for my girlfriend. About how energy draws people together.”

This piece was written as a part of a fundraising project for Rethink Mental Illness, where I’m inviting people to set me any writing brief in exchange for donations.

Read all of the details here and if you’d like to get involved, email ca.burkitt@gmail.com or Tweet @CarlBurkitt!

Silhouette of a Man

Donald Trump was knackered. But he couldn’t fall asleep.

He hadn’t been able to sleep since about late January, to be honest, but this night was a particularly difficult night.

Rather the writhe around in bed, he decided to get up and go for a wander around the White House. He loved the White House. His favourite bit was probably how white it was. Even at night. ‘No matter how much it tries,’ he thought. ‘The black night just can’t take over the beautifully white old White House.’

Donald was always surprised how quiet the White House was at night. He missed all the noise. ‘It’s just not as fun with no one to shout over,’ he thought. But he still managed to find his own fun during his blurry late-night adventures.

More often than not he’d head to the corridor filled with portraits of every former President of the United States of America. He loved sticking two fingers up at Abraham Lincoln and kissing Richard Nixon. Some nights he’d build a little wall of pillows in front of Obama’s painting and giggle as he nibbled on a burrito.

On this night, though, he just stuck to the classic move of poking his penis out of his dressing gown and screamed the Star-Spangled Banner. As he reached the final line, he heard a cough from behind him. Donald turned – his swinging ballbag shrivelling from the movement – and froze as he saw what looked like himself staring back at him.

Donald instinctively spat at the intruder, convinced it was a previously unnoticed mirror. He rubbed his exhausted eyes as the globule of phlegm didn’t hit glass, but instead connected with the forehead of a very real, albeit waxy-looking, Trump.

“Who are you?!” barked Donald.

The waxy-looking Trump nodded in the direction of Donald’s own portrait on the wall, revealing nothing but a silhouette of a man in a glassless frame.

“What the…?” tried Donald, as the painting of himself grabbed his shoulders. “Get off me! You’re not real!”

The painting dragged Donald towards the frame as he continued to scream. “Let go of me, you fraud! You alien! You may look like me, but you’re no President dammit! Get off me!”

Ignoring every word, the painting picked Donald up and slotted him in to the gaping hole of the portrait.

“You can’t do this!” yelled Donald. “The people voted!”

The painting slid the glass back on to the frame, silencing Donald Trump, before turning its back and walking out of the White House.

Donald Trump looked at his new, painted surroundings, rubbed his eyes for a final time and fell asleep.

© Carl Burkitt 2017

Brief by Seb Baird: “I’d like a story about Donald Trump wandering around the White House at night where he encounters a surprising character.”

This piece was written as a part of a fundraising project for Rethink Mental Illness, where I’m inviting people to set me any writing brief in exchange for donations.

Read all of the details here and if you’d like to get involved, email ca.burkitt@gmail.com or Tweet @CarlBurkitt!