The Fruit Loop

 

Forgive my passing footsteps and not stepping in your store
Despite your displayed fruit and veg being a brilliant lure

You see, my hubby grows his own, despite those grubby nails!
His hard work goes to highest lengths and nature then prevails

He grows fantastic produce, due to mighty love and care
Spends more time out in other beds than our one up the stair!

From apples, pears and strawberries, broccoli and beans
He's a man of many textures, sizes, smells and shades of green

So forgive my meantime absence, and now *cough* please beg my pardon
For I have an  effing genius who rules the entire garden

How tropical he makes the taste, a greenhouse full of mixture
Around the world in 90 days, one hot and glassy fixture

Though summer never lasts that long, right to the end he'll toil
To the last exhausted fruit that's saying goodbye to the soil

Until winter takes a hold again, I'll have to pass you by
I'm getting portions of my 5-a-day, from my green-fingered guy!

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Dear Adam

Dear Adam........

Next time you forget your key and need to climb through the bathroom window, could you please close it firmly again instead of wide enough to let the cat in.  It's awful coming home to shredded toilet roll.  Especially if you are a lady......

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Now He Nose!

Earlier on today we needed to clear a space in the attic to access repairs on the roof.   It is a place that we visit rarely, usually only to get the Christmas tree down.  Amidst a huge lot of McScrooge's fishing junk equipment was an old photograph.  This was the first time I had ever saw it but I knew right away it was my grandmother and grandfather.  She looked the spit of my oldest son, Ross/PrettyBoy.   He has the same facial features - especially the button nose.

I knew of the photo's existence but really have no idea how it ended up in my attic but I know my siblings and I usually share out such keepsakes so we all have bits to our past.  Of course, I was bequeathed the painting of my Grandmother as a girl, after my father's death, and it hangs in the middle floor of the house.  She has looked down upon us for 10 years now and will do so until my own grandchildren come along.   It's doubtful any future granddaughters will be named after her - my name was shortened a letter to Helen as it was more in touch with the 60's apparently!  I reverted back to origins of my name once I was interested in blogging. I'm sure she'd be happy about this now! 

There, unfortunately, is a bit of damage to the picture but given the amount of even more junk goods in my attic it escaped total destruction being fragile.  Sadly, I never did inherit her button nose and clear blue eyes but took after my Grandfather more.  Now, at last, PrettyBoy may believe me that  (despite the photograph being black and white)  those baby blue eyes actually came from somewhere down the family line and he wasn't vainly solely blessed with them to complete his 'package'.

 


Memories of my Grandparents are very clouded.  I was five when they died, within months of each other.  But from what I heard they were a very happy couple , musically talented, with some of the best genes a family has ever worn!








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Threadbare Harlot

Covered it in carpet, polished it with paint
leads right to the very door where naughty boys acquaint
Feet of different fittings, climbing up the stairs

And yet… He remains in bed Staring at the ceiling She cries softly on the couch Feeling broken, used Just a receptacle for his need While she remains empty She fingers her phone Thinking of the invitation there Very casual A shared cup of coffee Nothing more, and yet She reads the real invitation In the depth of his eyes When he looks at her She wipes her tears as she thinks of fidelity and promises… He walks into the living room Suddenly shy She tries to cover her body With her red see through lingerie Her black hair covering her mascara streaked eyes He kneels down in front of her Pushing away her hair His eyes searching hers And holding t - See more at: http://www.poetrysoup.com/poems/best/prostitution#sthash.sUgRRSgj.dpuf

a fine day for hypocricy that is or isn't theirs

A steady flow of regulars, some more fresh of face
others terrified to even rid of her her lace
Descending down the carpet, guilt and shame and God forbid -
pray mum, the wife or clergyman won't find out what you did!

Neon lights they sizzle from the sign above her room
her nightly ritual smelling of cigars and French perfume
A quiet word of warning for the older gentlemen - 
to watch the threadbare carpet as they head back down again

A rowdy few, a roughland gang, can terrify and scare -
she'd scream out loudly for the cops, but they're already there!
Ridicule and nastiness, occasional bad blood -
sometimes the carpet caught their toes to land them with a thud!

A handsome little virgin, trying hard to keep his quest
spent the entire twenty minutes simply laying on her breast
Despite his intact youthful bits and less than manly dare
his feet would never touch a step for walking on pure air!


A copy of The Harlots House lay on her bedside table
Grace became her name and friend as far as it was able
Saw her through the game of mostly staring at the ceiling
a story that walked up the stairs and down with it's own meaning

*sigh*

Farewell soon to this, her means, with earnings vast and mighty
a little house all paid for, from this back street Aphrodite
Carpet colours, piles so thick and patterns to boot
a perfect fit throughout the house, for just her  little foot!

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he looks up at the ceiling and wonders How life has changed him - See more at: http://www.poetrysoup.com/poems/best/prostitution#sthash.sUgRRSgj.dpuhard to believe this carpet is just a decade old,  secrets to let free........havana on it's knee

One Girl - Two Cups Of Flour

                  Why it's not a good idea to ask Kerri for a hand in the kitchen!

My darling daughter is always reaching out to those less fortunate.  She's made and donated food and drinks for the homeless and certain other charities - especially at Christmas.  Thankfully, this lot was for a ladies night in at her house!  I'm hiding the scales before her next visit!

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Turkey Necked Tourists

I buy your general run-of-the-mill women's magazines a lot if there is footy on the telly  (and there has been loads of that recently).   I have made a bit of money over the years from having photo's and poems etc, published but I like to do puzzles as the boys roar abuse at the box.  Mind you, the puzzles aren't all that challenging (apart from Sudoku which I am utter shite at!) but it passes the time in a lazy-arsed way. Occasionally, I do online entries but never won yet.

  Often in these magazines they repeat stories of the same nature.  The cases of the Turkish toyboys and the stupid, desparate older women who are drawn in by these greasy slime-balls take the whole biscuit barrel. The story that shocked me more than others was the one of Mary and Vitol.  Vitol was 26 and Mary was 72.  She was targeted and groomed wonderfully by this man.  He was a handsome Turk whose silver-tongue won this silver-haired old numpty over.  In less than two years he managed to marry her.  Naturally, he didn't get granted a British visa - never even set foot on British soil - and instead settled for plan B.  Conning her into selling her house, she posted him the vast majority of the proceeds from it so he could  "make a love-nest''  back home in Turkey for them.  Thinking everything fine, she took a flight to Ankara to surprise him and he flipped out saying he hadn't wanted her to come until 'their' house was ready.  After two years of toing and froing the lira finally dropped.

So here was a case where a 26 year old felt  'love at first sight'  with a crinkly face-and-arsed 72 year old.   All it took was menial gifts, walks in the moonlight, (coz daylight was too embarrassing) texting and waterworks, to suck the life and means out of an old dear.  She didn't listen to the words of warning her offspring gave her when it came to selling the house and valuables.  Of course, being in love meant sex on tap and the young foreign man had to shag this powdery old puddock to seal an aura of truth between them.  Apparently, he loved her saggy bits, rash under her tits , baggy breeks, removable teeth, thinning hair, and failing eye-sight (every 26 year old man's dream girl!)  But just how blind was she?

In the wedding photo she wore her hair in pigtails in a desperate attempt to look younger.  The wedding officials' smirks in the pictures with them read  'yet another mug'.  You hear of older 'cougars' having a bit of fun with a toyboy, if fun is where it starts and ends. But it is also a shame that some grandchild could be missing out on some future education and financial security.  It's just a bigger shame that many stupid old slappers are being taken for a visa. What they really need is a mirror and a reality check!

Cracked

They think of him as a little mad                           
consistency not a thing to be had
Feels not like red blood that flows in his veins
just a liquid concerto to capture his gains

An artful John Doe with eccentric guile
a clouded up basis for that ruthless smile
Moving around without wing, without wheel
some pertaining to him as a quick, gracious steel

Staring across the same crowded-out room
time for his business and bite to resume
Cements himself firm in the dimly lit corner
a bonafide nightly, morality mourner

Kisses the girls, the boys even better
posting himself like a brutal chain letter
Soon to engulf in narcotics and sweat,
a foul morning headache's as good as it gets

Mother and nature in pair didn't care
Father's hand, like his pride, simply never was there
Blessed this only child's rife ballyhoo
atonement for birth, but just who's fooling who?

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Tsss. Thwiff. Kaboom. Sheeeee.......

Just in case any of my American friends and bloglisters pop by, this little gal would like to say:

 

I've some fireworks left over from Hogmanay,  so I'll set them off when it gets dark.  That should annoy the neighbours and confuse the neighbourhood cats.  I guess I could force down a glass or two of wine as well!

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