As Lovers Often Do

 
They were bright fields, the ripe fields, where sinning was for fun.
Making love, clouds of dust above, under suburban sun.
As we stood the concrete jungle rose, to greet our tired eyes
And crushed the hope the wheat provided, stripped and fratenised

A shape of every morning captured in the swaying sheaths
Opened the blinds of my mind's new dawning, temporal relief
I try to feel the openess, the hardship of the sow
How a single field can captivate more than they'll ever know.

We make a road each summer, leading to the ordinary
And promise not to burden us with more than we can carry.
Then the harvester, a mean machine, with spikes that rip the heart.
Flattens out the golden hideaway, securing quick depart.

#  You took your life as lovers often do
but I could have told you, Vincent.
This world was never meant for one
as beautiful as you........#

All The Same To Us

Hold out your hand, catch the falling
The same as the woman who tries
There's a world where its loved hues are spoiling
To severed heads and lullabies.


Stick out your tongue and catch colours
Tasting of relish and shame
Where the lonely and lost duly mothers
Black and white souls drawn into the game


Tilt up your chin and catch heat rays
Eyes closing to block out the fear
Colours afraid to take presence
Returning to you every year


Open your arms and catch rainbows
Controlling the elements so
Sparks snagging the clothing of Venus
A paler shade from which you know


Hold out you hand, catch the catcher
For she's fallen from one mighty rush
Slipped through the fingers you held out
In a paintbox so near to that brush

Granny Mackie

(based on a true person, but it actually was her grandkids that left a note with some marbles and a copy of a 1985 magazine!)

I loved my house when I first saw it
The merriest one since my youth
An old council relic with ceilings much too high
And walls that encaptured the truth

An aura of colour zoomed quickly
I remember my son saying so
That he saw yellow ribbons being chased by some blue ones
And land where the lush lawn did grow.

My door never stopped being opened
More children than I'd cared to count
My back garden filled with a choir of young manics
Whose actions were hard to surmount

As we grew,  we all took on new features.
Me with an expanding waist.
My two boys grew stubble, my daughter more beauty
And their father more lines on his face.

But the laughter continued to echo
Through the troubles and turmoils ahead.
More music a blasting and lasting a lifetime
Healing our hearts if they bled.

Over time I heard that Mrs.Mackie
Predecessor to our little place
Was the neighbourhood Florence, a helper relentless
An angel in tartan and lace

So when fixing some floorboards in our room
We were stunned to find what was beneath.
A beautiful face in a picture frame, beaded
To we strangers, a trusted bequeath

A discoloured note, tinged with sepia
From old 'Grannie Mackie' as signed
Asking us to take good care of her old house
For she left love and contentment behind

We've done that, in the simplest of manners
(Though there's some things she 'don't wanna' know!)
In our cluttersome dwelling, with more laughter than teardrops
It's more cherished than she'll ever know.
     ***********************************************
So, what's Here then...?  

Safely Home

To be wrapped in love was all I ever wanted,
a place where I'd fit and belong
Cosied up safe and warm from those that once taunted,
where I'd be the soul of the song

No-one else, yes, just I with echoing vibrance,
within walls that can't penetrate sound
Needn't worry about the first or the last dance,
for only I am all around.

I just enter and exit from the spot where it's creaking,
no finery hung on the walls
An oubliette, (though quite gracious) in a manner of speaking,
straight home with no carpeting halls.

Oh, I'd so love to live in a place or a bubble,
the resident being only I
Where I don't have to simulate happy, contentment,
where I'm able to cry and to cry

All I wanted was some-one confirming that I, 
with no delusions of grandeur intent.....
Was worth the air that I breathe, the space when I sigh,
a chance to make her suppliment

But I'm safe on my own, make no judgements, no mistakes,
while I'm tucked away neat in a shell
At least then I know - when it's time for life's hard aches,
it's just me that the boot of life quells

  ********************************************************************** 
Signature plea below.  Please click the link's 'like' button - there's a kick up the arse for each new ''thumbs up' they receive...........many thanks!

http://www.facebook.com/pages/Casino/124252040948745?sk=app_178091127385

Quick Birthdays and Long Goodbyes.......

My brother Rab's 60th birthday bash arrangements for tomorrow are well under way.  It is to be a themed do covering 60's, 70's, 80's eras but with music from Casino and No Need For Idols  as well. So be there, hippies, punks, metal, new romantics, glitter rock, Beatle fringes, skin 'eads, mohawk, mullet, feather cuts, afro joe types in abundance.  No one has told Rab (nee Robert Snr) what their get-up will be, hence some maniac surprise outfits. My personal favourite is my younger son, Adam, who will be going as a 70's pimp, bringing along some of his ho's - his friends in drag. We intend to start out from the hotel and walk the long stretch main road done up like eedjits, hitting a couple of pubs before the party venue itself.  Pics will ensue!

The party is tinged with sadness for my daughter, however. Her gran, my ex mum-in-law, Irene, has lost her battle with cancer. Her life support  was switched off a week ago and medics thought she would pass fairly quickly, and all said goodbye then but still she's hanging on. A tough old cookie indeed. But the show must go on for Kerri's sake. Her gran would do her nut if she didn't. Kerri was her only granddaughter and needs to keep that party light lit for her.

Album - Just For The Record.

 Casino shot their album cover today.  PrettyBoy's new love, Stacey, and his old band mate Brow (Craig from The Valentines) were the interests of the cover.  It was shot in a park in Johnstone, Glasgow, with a gritty, dilapidated background.  Brow dressed as a French mime artist, sad face with teardrops, black all-in-one, white gloves, and Stacey wore chav/ned gear that she still looked fabulous in!

 

A strange picture to visualise, but there will be a message in there somewhere that their minions will connect with.  They had to throw some toddlers off swings (and onto grass),and ask some older kids who were on school dinner break, if they minded vacating the area for a bit.  The kids were in awe at the whole process and took an interest in who they were.  PrettyBoy also handed a demo to each kid (always keep spare ones in cars!) as a kind of 'thanks for not throwing yer chips with broon sauce at us!' gesture.

 

 As usual  Mumma Mayhem gets to see and hear all the workings before the fans do.  And as much of an old fart as I am, they look after their relative elders!  If I had a pound for every time I've posted or mentioned/labelled them here, I would be a rich bitch! But hey - that's unashamed pride just fighting to get out.

It's strange how motherly one feels when they see young lads up on stage who grew up with your own kids. But sweat, bruises, and near crushed to death I will certainly tolerate. But I'm too old to get all steamed up over the developing music scene. I'll leave all that passion and hormonal adulation to the younger generation. Music is ageless, especially when it's quality gear, but mine's two sugars and a CD thank you very much! I'll leave you with the new 20 Rocks venue's live music promo picture(above) of some of the guys of Casino...and this particularly 'cool' snap of PrettyBoy for the CD booklet!  Whirly gig fans at the ready girls - that boy burns.......!!

The Young And In Lovers......

Yesterday my lads came in - both on different occasions - brandishing guitars and smiling awry smiles, both wanting to run a song that they had written, by me. So I downed tools (magazine and pack of Jelly Babies) and gave them my full attention.  Ballady and in warm tones.   Love songs with strange lyrics but I knew who they were written for. Their girlfriends, Stacey and Tierney. 
 
It's a weird feeling as a parent to accept that little bundle of joy you were not so long ago breastfeeding, is now a bundle of raging hormones himself and has expressed their young love (the same new love you had back then for their father)  into a song.   Big soft shites that they are. Oh, well, it's special and forever and saves on roses, I suppose. 

left: Adam with Tierney.
right: Ross with Stacey. 



ps......the BloggerRipper strikes again. He's changed the font sizes in this post a little but I suppose it's better than some-one else getting all the credit for a poem I penned!  

National KASSIDY Day

No, ladies of over-functioned ovaries, I  have not misspelt and mean David CASSIDY of yore - but Scotland's own, well, latest big sound. Kassidy are amazing and today gave Casino a nice little lift. Telfer (frontman) and Wee Mick (bassist) recorded an acoustic cover of two of their songs on Facebook and within minutes they got a few really spirit-boosting comments back from them.

Yes - they do have this respect for other bands that cover them, but Casino have one little edge over some. They actually gigged together in Stirling in Tolbooth, mingled in the bogs, smoked outdoor ciggies and all that!  A couple of months later - Kassidy got their big break. But despite fame, so far they have kept in touch with each other. I'm so proud of the music that is continually spewing out of Scotland, when you think how totesy we are!

These nice comments were left (not forcing anyone on a Facebook link here, coz most don't like it) so click on the pic to read the messages.   The silly shits haven't left the video in mode for downloading or else I'd have added the covers here. But if you DO want to have a listen, I mean, if you're brave enough....here it is!  You've got to fly the flag when you can.....!!

http://www.facebook.com/video/video.php?v=10150302078009992&oid=94028225352&comments

http://www.facebook.com/video/video.php?v=10150301987879992&oid=94028225352&comments

                                                                             

Song Of The Courtesan

                      (looks like the monocle man has just spotted the flag in my above post!)

What helps wash down a banquet but a host of pretty notes.
Little quavers, there to savour, on a cloud of wine she floats.

Merry as the day is long, darker than the mood
Men that mock, silly talk, drink that loosens, makes them lewd.

A far cry from their daylight stance, letting down their hair.
Coins enough, to see her buff, and grab a room, perhaps, upstairs?


Despite these shameful actions, the lute still sings along
Her lovely strings, with heavenly wings, knows neither right from wrong.


Again they'll grace the table, gather in their chosen seats
Our courtesan, the friend of man, a lullaby elite.

               *                                 *                              *
I know little of Sir Tournier, but to me this piece depicts
The said above, I state thereof, it had me most transfixed.

To view more masterpieces, though I'll find some 'tres' abstruse
I'll take the chance, and visit France. What will I have? Toulouse!

Tick Off!

                             * input from bookworms themselves

Oi! You pesky little mite, how dare you contemplate...!
Chomping through my case and books, as tasty as it maybe looks.
Prepare ye for insecticidey fate!
                                                       * ('you've no chance, mate!')

You see, my vast collection, is treasured by my mob.
Alphabetically tended, leather jackets stitched and mended.
Ready there to do their leafy job.
                                                       * ('our taste buds throb!')
 
Books older than my grampa, smell a little of him, too.
Tobacco prints on certain pages, lingers on war pics for ages.
Knows the glory, story through and through.
                                                       * ('we still must slew..')

Hardbacks full of nonsense, for my mum - the bored housewife.
Jackie Collins, effing , blinding, toyboys, tans and bareback riding.
So Mrs.Mop can lead a double life.
                                                        * ('how ghastly rife..')

My worshiped read - Vlad Nabokov, so intricate, offending.
Turns the subjects of taboo, so you accept, not misconstrue.
And come to yearn his sad, unhappy endings.
                                                         * (' ah, Russian rending..?')
                    
Huge knowledge books on bottom shelves -  for weight, than read at will.
They've never heard of 'world wide web', or know that Princess Di is dead.
But act as a support to keep things still.
                                                         * ('oh, what a thrill..')

Grandma loves her cook books, and reads hymns that turn to song.
Revelations in the Bible, Old Nick 'v' his biggest rival
Though she'll curse him when the dish she made goes wrong!
                                                          *('we'll sing along..')

There's even ones with pictures, bordering on pornographic.
Hoofs and wings on manic creatures, bodies wrangled, viscious features.
Told in words, so rich and calligraphic.
                                                          * ('man - that's tragic!')

One sits so high and mighty, bearer of the golden hue.
There is no match, no competition, for this rare, unique edition.
Welcomes each of us to Xanadu.
                                                         * ('we'll chew and chew..')

Every home should have one, bookcase filled with word cuisine.
Fiction, facts in combination, liter-a-lise the whole damn nation.
While inner monologue's setting the scene.
                                                         * ('we'll wipe it clean..!)
 
So, hop it, death watch beetle, never, ever lose the plot.
Grandeur is a cheap illusion, your own death a forgone conclusion.
The taste of printed paper's for MY lot!!
                                                          * (gulp!...that's what you got.......!)

Get To 'F'

This weeks' F-ing find....Feigning Flowers:

 

Dove Above Assisi

I never prayed, well, not unless
it was a selfish, vain request.
Strayed from God, strayed from hope,
a welcomed ride down that slippery slope.

A shunned self-harmer I've become,
though took no blade to anyone.
Confused and guilty, unrepentant,
no convincing though incessant.

Dreams were never this revealing,
cuts so deep yet with no feeling.
The sweetest smell adorns the room
as I dress my deep, symmetric wounds.

Why me, this messenger of doubt?
Borne from parents so devout.
We parted ways, this party-bride,
no longer needs a parental guide.

I'll still be around, they'll find dove feathers
crying out for our 'togethers'.
So lift a stone, I shall be there,
I'm the breeze you feel in the evening air.

Who'll sit with me on the ragged rock,
as I bathe the blood that values shock?
Sweet St.Francis promise me,
that no more holes will ever be...

Driven hard into my wrists,
by this I know that God exists.
Crucified, stigmatic hands
is not what body weight commands

No prayer, no sunshine, fountain wishes,
makes them accept 'whatever this is'.
St.Francis, hold my hand at night,
once the night nurse switches off the light.

Oh, Yes I Will - Oh, No You'll Not....!!

Tomorrow:

I WILL, make a start to adding my labels.
I WILL look into arranging 'the link within' thingy.
I WILL split my visited webs fairly and respond to 3 blogs/emails from each at a time.
I WILL complete the new header I have designed and put it up!
I WILL leave a link for my Facebook mob to visit here if they fancy.
I WILL award the best Saturday Sidebar from my blogroll with the coveted badge.
I WILL try and find out how to put music (with an optional easy-to-find mute button) to my blog.
I WILL upload new sidebar pictures, other favourite song videos and funny short (some homemade) videos.
I WILL upload the remaining 'new' family pictures to my side bars.
I WILL learn how to make a blog button.
I WILL organise my photo albums.
I WILL damn myself in the morning for having the instiest of a conscience.

Mite To Mound

(I've veered from the sad truth to an unrelated positive of this prompt)

Gathered steps from grand to mite
becomes your future overnight.
Borne to have, to cultivate,
sweet plantations there await.

We wave to father's trail that weaves,
among the pungent, drying leaves
Skin relations, tying links,
respect for what a woman thinks.

A whole with no hypocrisy,
a blip, a blood democracy
As evident as blazing star,
we track our loved ones from afar.

The smokey trails, the hissing streams,
the catcher feathering our dreams
Grandma's trembling hands may stealth,
to sell our goods and keep our health

Wonder Star, Returning Moon,
your day is over, none too soon.
Babes back in arms of their creator,
stars will call a little later.

Gathered round until again,
they venture on their many plains.
Alas we'll waive and watch the skies,
fill from which our lives derive.

To say goodbye in sacred mounds
Sweet Plantations, sacred grounds.

Kal-Eye-Doth-Scope

Many times they told me
you were just a cheap illusion
I, absorbed in full blown colour
Interprismatic seclusion

Just mirrors giving precedence to
sequins, beads and shines 
Amass, a mixture calling,
silent crystalized designs

Such a simple little cannister
bejewelled and constrained.
In just one twist, you'll never see 
such symmetry again

Continually changing
in this world where all  reflects.
Kaleidescope take me away
from all at which I'm vexed

My simple little charmer,
hoarder of hypnotic lure.
Master of the elongated wink,
optic guider of the tour

I've Not 'Pied For Maggie For Migi......

I haven't had much time this past week or so, to deposit an entry in to Magpie Tales. My twin sister, Margaret, (Migi) is visiting with her daughter, Layla, tying up loose ends and securing plans for their permanent move back to Scotland in around 6 weeks. The time in between has been spent on yapping, drinking, tea, takeaway, yapping, drinking tea, and yapping, drinking and a catchup via facebook ect, to see how old work, school and neighbouring friends are faring.

For 26 years she has lived in London but recently divorced. Her older son, Ashley, 18, is touring with his classical music post. Layla wants to finish her schooling in Scotland, as the education system up here caters for her future plans better than her current London ones do. And me....? I'll get my twin (and a whole new wardrobe to borrow from) back. Fair do's........

Get To 'F'

Every Friday I search for a picture subject focusing on the letter 'F'. This week's F-ing find.....Food (literalisms).  Anyone wanting the recipes just give me a shout!











 ........a bit on the nippy side..!

                                       Turban optional...............!    

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

So You Bloody Said

What was the point? Going over old rope, over the same critique's from him and expectations from her? Over a nice bottle of red, he said. When they both knew they were done.

She never liked red, anyhow.  Gave her heartburn and not the crisp, flutter of intoxicating white. Her likeable friend who got her giddy without side effects. Thank goodness she had a friend waiting for her with it's chilled coat on. So there they sat across the table - white versus red. His next move now scuppered. 

A nippy little line cracked the edge of her glass, making her lip bleed. A droplet of blood tainted the white and with narrowed eyes he smirked at her.  Perhaps she'd not made herself clear. His glass of red went over him, in a beauty of a splat as well, and the white followed seconds after. Well, they do say that white wine helps to rid a red wine stain, don't they...?  It did the trick. Nicely. And the troublesome blot cleared off his Mercedes Benz.

Next day,  she ordered a whole rack of the white, amiable stuff and sipped a glass as she surfed.  Dating agencies were so vast these days. But she was picky. Profile's had to meet her distinct approval.  She stopped on Doug. Seemed a nice fellow and he had the perfect likings. A red wine lover most of all. Click!