Old Love

I remember

I remember when I thought that love was carrying the bag of a soft spoken Irish girl who smiled and laughed at her mates but said yes. In those few moments of walking a life time rushed by. Now I know that love is forgiving each other when others don’t.

It often takes two

Mahalia

Three little pigs went to seek their fortune; one lost it all in Straw and the other in Wood but the third made it by gobbling up the competition.

Why was Hair-on-my-Chiny-Chin-Chin Inc successful: the wife made bricks.

Never heard of her, then you only read His-story.

Mahalia Jackson knew

The Sound of Laughter - Peter Kay (2007)

 

 

Decent northern British bloke who had a typical 70's working class life( back to back terraces, poor schools, worse diet) but who mined humour rather then bitterness out of it. And yes and some in southern England go, ‘Pardon?’ In a short, very funny if you were there but er…

 

: Decent - share with readerholics but don't promote, and sell or swap when shelves full.

 

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Priorities

Cast-offs, abandoned hair yet 
shiny phone held as 
tenderly as a new born.

The mother I never had

Mum

Who feels my forehead and makes chicken soup?
Who finds my lost anything without blame.
Who knows that I will be famous?
Who hears what I really mean?
Who worries so I don't?
Who says sleep on it?
Who forgives me?
Who listens?
Who loves?
Mum!!!

Is the lunch free?

Papa
Papa bear, Mama bear and Baby bear home from a pre lunch stroll found a blond-haired girl at their table finishing off the plates of food. Outraged they gobbled her up as there is no free lunch.

A view firmly held by the Hunter who shot them at tea-time.

The sins of the father

Bail Out
My dad always bailed out, if it was prize giving, Christmas, birthdays, he was at the office , on business trips , whatever.

How does that make you feel?

Sob...afraid...

Harry, I know this must be painful so take your time.

...that I will do...the same to my...sob...son...sob

An American abroad

The Earl of Tennessee

Two cars crash…the woman in the Bentley bemused peers out. The driver of the Ford rushes over avoiding the two men running from the car, screaming, “who the fuck are you, the Queen of England?”
“No one's mommy is” she replies.

“Screw you; I'm the Earl of Tennessee” he shouts.

What you sow shall you reap

Numbers drop as autumn leaves:

mulch for fallow greed,

watered by homes turned houses.

Family secrets

The family of little feet

The family of little feet smiled more
in times gone past.
If truth be told they now were sore.
The family of little feet smiled more
when mother cried at bolted door.
Private fears, now public tears at last.
The family of little feet smiled more
in times gone past.

Shit Happens

those that don’t

Bremen Bank collapsed at 11.05. At 12.17, May was unemployed. By 12.34 she cleared her desk. It was the end of her dismal career. Lea at 16.54 killed with Bremen Banks assets. It was the start of a meteoric career.

Life is about them that do and those that don’t.

When you don't listen

Bums in the Attic

Yes they are in the garage attic out of my husband’s way.
Heavens! Why?

Well, when ever he sees one he sucks the knobbly bits dry and lick’s the hole clean.

OMG It’s disgusting.

Yes we can't eat the buns afterwards.

Oh no, how embarrassing, I thought you said Bums!


NB in England this pun does not work as Bums is a polite but vulgar word for bottom. But be thankful you were going to get a description of where a mass murderer stored his body parts…and yes rows of bums in the attic!

Serials are bad for you

our good day

We found him, in the ditch, scrunched up like a used paper towel, with flies making the only sounds in the dry, empty scrub land. Like the others he was naked with broken legs; bone gushing out of flesh.

This one had carved “our good day” on his chest.

Love as the seasons

By the song love was fresh
with smile’s perfumed flowers.
Yesterday’s gold.

Now love is tied to gold
and only neglect fresh.
Life is grey flowers.

But Spring dies and yet flowers
as does Mammon’s gold.
Our song will sing fresh.

So love when made fresh
make flowers as gold.

What if you stay behind?

Gladiolus

His memorial was simple.

He built a shaded glass dome on the hill where they had first kissed. Each day the computer would create a new opening through which the last rays of the setting sun would fall on her favourite Gladiolus.

As light and darkness circled he sat remembering.

Jogging can be bad for the Country

Pink Carnation

As requested, I stood under the large oak to the left of the common. Cars swished in the distance as the rain came and went like a sprinkler spraying at random. From the grove of trees, a man jogged past me, whispering “Pink Carnation”.

My deep cover days were over.

A Vision of Truth

Hibiscus

I am the Adi-shakti above and beyond time so naked holding the sword of knowledge. Through me abandon the ego of reason, and energy-less language. Leave a garland of Hibiscus at my feet and hands of blessings will ensure those of a straight heart face life and death without fear.

Will I burn in Hell?

Yellow Rose
Dying, I listen to the tape of her screams. Did I do right? Should I have enjoyed the blood as it splattered in slow motion? Was the thud of flesh ecstasy?
He won't hurt her again.

As the bath warms and drains me, my Yellow Rose awaits innocent, smiling again.

Book clubs and me

1)They read best sellers, I don't.
2) Book clubs are an excuse for middle aged, middle class women to get pissed on red wine and dis men and work( I know as I get pissed with their husbands).
3) I liked seminars at University but like reading clubs only the earnest actually prepare the work
4) I can never commit a day week in and week out as work, life and TV intrude.
5) The monthly Radio 4 book club with audience and the author is far more interesting
6) If I go to one, then I have to go to the Wife's music appreciation(Indian Mediation Chants) evening as part of our doing things together exercise.
7) Meeting strangers on the net much better, you can pretend to be sexy and clever rather then fat and fifty.
8) Would have to accept that Middle Class so lose working class hero image...this is a bad thing
9) The Americans invented it so must be a a religious or capitalist trick
10) No man group one has invited me

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Love across generations

It was the time to say goodbye.
My Grandfather weak and frail
held me tight. “When you survive
tell the truth. Don’t make them villains”.

At night alone, hungry they are villains.
I eye at a child’s fist of bread to survive
and die…later. Longing and fearing goodbye
as welcome cold comes. “Will I be frail”?

Now old and even my children frail.
I want them to know joy at my goodbye
so I burn memories. They have me, not villains
to remember. “Its love that will survive”.

My body did survive but the soul was frail
until villains faded and I could say goodbye

Who is Liz and Sarah?

Liz and Sarah

Fame’s Future

Do you keep in mind Pamelyn Ferdin?
You might if a child of the sixties.
Star Trek…My Three Sons…The Odd Couple.
Find her on null point web sites.
One day Liz and Sarah
will be what went by.
Ask my son whose
path goes on
when mine
ends.

One Route to Love

You Know
He wore my mother’s jewellery at five, danced in his sister’s dresses at ten; my make-up went twice as fast when he was fourteen. The only sport he watches on the TV is men’s swimming and today, he say’s he has a secret to tell.

As a mother, you know.

The Answer

Totally

She wore a storm-black, skin tight dress, high in the leg and low in the chest. Brown eyes matched her back length hair. Melon-red lips pouted as she rhythmed her way to him.

Forgetting to breathe, he gasped and shuddered, as her lips brushed his ear to whisper “totally.”

Sister, Sister

Hey Sis

It was so long ago, that it aches to remember but I do. If I don’t, then she is really gone. Was her hair, long, short, fair, dark or. The only thing I see in the night are her eyes as they close and I call hey sis… hey sis.

A River Broods

The Levee
I was here before they came out of the wilderness. Where once I gave life they imprison my body to carry the carcasses of trees. Try as they will to trap me with their puny levees, my anger is not held but grows to sink them into the silent cold.