Get To 'F' (19)

This Friday's choice is sticking with the animal world and very much promoting  'You Are What You Eat!'  I'd still love him!  Then again, I'd be a walking chocolate bar..!

Shot To Pieces

 This prompt (taken from a farm)  shot my memory back to our local farmer having to give up his family business over 30 years ago. A popular  walkway passing the farm, it is now sad to see the few remains. His shotgun was heard nearly every day!!  Farmer Brown's  (yes, that WAS his real name!)  wife was the primary school nurse, an old battleaxe in short, but we were sorry to see her go............!  I'm on her side in this one!!

Bated, corrugated, barn barren with no hay
The hen hut shut, farm in a rut, unable to defray

Scattered feathers, no goats to tether, chains attached to walls
Nothing there, no eggs to spare, abandonment befalls

Fields of rye, left to die, from gold to marshy mud
Pestilence, shot eminence, in answer to the crud

The tractor rusted, the truck they trusted, to haul things here and there
Simply stayed, their long pervade, no need now to prepare

Mechanisms, no farming schisms, left to back him up
Slowly dying, forever trying, to pass him the grace cup.

The house is left, a love bereft, more silent than before
Memories, gone yesterdays, so happy theretofore

A lifetimes worth, met dire dearth, worked hard to localize
Help is needed, his cries unheeded, to profits that paralyze

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Get To 'F' (18)

A little late Getting To Friday's pic this week (seeing as it's Saturday) but I decided on this little Bovine beauty. Hasn't she a gorgeous (double) set of knockers.......! Have fun, Daisy.........
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I Interrupt This Magpie To Announce.......

Today, Pretty Boy's last module result arrived. This was the crucial one to secure him his second year at university, sitting this degree with Honours. He passed and starts back in September. I'm so proud. Now he has a degree in Music and Audio Technology to add to his other achievements.

If all goes well for the year ahead, I will potentially have a second kid with letters after their name. For me, this is gobsmacking. Weather permitting (as we're almost into winter here in Scotland) we plan to have another garden celebration soon. And the smile will hopefully be bigger than the one's here, at last year's college graduation diploma celebration......

                           Andrew, Ross and Scott celebrating last year's diplomas

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Who Needs A Mac?

Come out tonight and jump the puddles
Splash some love across the street
Feel the trickles down your collar
With each forecaster's fine deceit

Clouds of anger, keep collecting
Changing white to midnight grey
Lash reserves on cobbles, gratings
So many signs to disobey

Coloured lights pierce through the torrents
Tempting us to go inside
Nab a drink and sit there tingling
Clean the corners of our minds

Clothes cling tight, twist and gather
Shoes they squelch with every stride
Hair is pasted, make up wasted
Worries for a short time slide.

November rain persists to call us
Out into the back street lights
Run with laughter, failed umbrella
Catch the essence of the night

Make wishes as the ripples join up
Waterfalls down window panes
Rain ever cursed from sheltered beings
Whose appeal continues to arcane

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Get To 'F' (17)

I have gotten myself to 'F' a bit earlier this week. My presence over the week-end will be little, if at all, as my darling daughter and her hubby (see sidebars for details) are visiting from London. Time is precious.

In honour of her, I leave a snap of her beloved penguins. Wonder how many cold or icy associated song titles we can come up with to accompanying it. Mull that over with some wine later on methinks............

              Next Friday then.............................
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Riding To Boogie-Woogie

This week's entry was a bit of a struggle for me, I never got that instant direction to where my poems usually take me. However, a few family members seem to think that the anonymous lad in the car resembles my son's friend, Blair. I'm not so sure. What do you think?

Mirror, I like what I see
I'm off to Rigsby Hall
Footloose and excited
Jitterbug's and swinging dolls

Hitch a ride with Faith and Jenny
Like the ruby of their lips
Walk into the venue
With a girl for either hip

Looking round at all the sweethearts
Through the thickening smoke cloud
While the music and the mirror ball
Cast temptation to the crowd

Not war-torn nor depleted
Floor as scuffed as soldiers' hearts
This dance hall's masterful with moves
To ensure fear's kept apart

Dance away, you little devils
Of the brass and of the bone
Deliberate your curfew
We will always hold one's own

Be a sweet little wallflower
Or the jiver of romance
Not even Father's rage will
Kill the music or the dance

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Get To 'F'

On a Friday I enjoy a bit of image fun. Trawling the 'net I look for funny, cute, artsy, clever and the downright bizarre pictures, to share with the blogger community. This week focuses on artsy and fun:

Here's a few remakes of the (al)most famous model in sitting still-land.  Now those, I'd be happy to hang in front of......!

See you next time where we can all meet up and 'Get To F' (Friday)

Colour Me Kindly

Oh, heck, I'm being stripped again
This new lot seem quite deranged!
Why can't they move in quietly
Without the need to change?

They'll size me, analyse me,
Slide a sliver of cement
Pop a lid and grab some brushes
Charge with purposeful intent

What ruddy colour will they choose?
Shall I end a sorry sight ?
Princess pink or football blue?
A silent wall hermaphrodite!

Or will they go the whole hog
And repaper me again?
I'd quite like giant flowers
In that look of misty rain.

Or will they cheapen me with basic?
Anaglypta? Wooden chips?
I demand a roll that bounces back
When you lift your fingertips!!

Yet, for decorative fulfillment
Frames refreshed in all the rooms
I'll inhale, seep up, in every pore
Till I'm high on glossy fumes

Once I'm dry, they'll likely hang me
With the tackiest of stuff
Or trust to me, a huge TV
Till the rawlplugs' have had enough

Gee, I feel so awfully helpless
The 3 piece suite is facing me
I'll be gawped at for the next ,blah, years
So I pray - be kind to me!

Retroland

Bobbie-Jo, run away with me
Take us off into the night
Find a room with Magic Fingers
And a calming amber light

Bobbie-Jo, pack up your swimsuit
And we'll go live by the sea
Ocean sprays against your shoulders
As your shoulders rest on me.

Bobbie-Jo, let's find a preacher
Who'll bless us before shame
Be the husband that your father loathes
When you eradicate his name.

Bobbie-Jo, I'll find a ladder
And within an hour or two
I'll tap your bedroom window
And we'll head for Xanadu.

*****************************
Joseph-Bob, what are you doing?
Squashing my hibiscus bush!
Where did that ladder come from....
I expect to hear the truth....!!

Mrs Jones, I climbed the ladder
To alert my Bobbie-Jo
We were thinking of eloping
Now we'll never, ever know

Mr.Jones came to the window
I'd misjudged the actual room
Shoved me back into the night air
Onto your beloved bloom

Mrs Jones was struck, dumbfounded
Father loved his baby girl
But the story had to be told
How BJ came into the world:

I was slung over his shoulder
Down a ladder, in a car
Drove us off into the night
South to West Virginia

Bobbie-Jo, she was born out there
Reached four before we wed
You'll both be tinged with temple grey
Before HE'LL give the go ahead

Joe, buy a sparkly little gem
To place upon her hand
And if her father starts, I'll take him
Back to Retroland

I Proms-ise To Love You Forever.......

                                 Ashley playing to the masses on holiday......!
                                              

Today my daughter and son-in-law celebrate their 7th wedding anniversary.  It will be a day to remember for always. Lunch at the Ivy in London and off to South Kensington with my twin sis to watch the Proms at the Royal Albert Hall. Something probably done a million times before but there's an added bonus.

My twin's son, Ashley, has been chosen to play in the wind section for tonight's performance, starring Nigel Kennedy. His instruments of interest are the baritone horn and trombone. The timing for the double celebration was magical. I'm thrilled for all four of them.

Ashley's greater talent came shining through after landing a place at Chetham's School of Music in Manchester. Unlike his cousin's (PrettyBoy and NorseGod) for one so young he decided to take the classical route instead of the manic minions of rock and pop. And I couldn't be more proud. I have just watched (again) his soloists' video performance of Sång till Lotta and it gets more hauntingly beautiful with each listen. Sadly, I cannot access a link to share it here meantime as you have to be a Facepuke friend of mine to view it...!

The performance is being recorded and broadcast on telly next Saturday (13th Aug). My eyes will be straining to catch a fleeting glimpse or more of this little genius.  His grampa would've been ever so proud and loud about it, too.  Fill up 'em lungs young man and blow away any doubts you ever had. It's in the blood! For now, here's a sneaky snap that 'escaped' from the performance last night. The young blonde guy sat in the back row, resting his trombone is our little genius!

Old Blades Of Glory

Rotating, gyrating, this denature fan
Drawing in, motioning, as hard as he can
Just a glimmer of yesteryear, a whisper away
Blown gently from dry palms and into the day

Seeds of new promise, landing where 'er
Bursting out blooms near an infinite lair
Close by there's a grinding, where once there was ire
Giving strength to the snowstorm and fumes of the fire

Invisible to the eye, but ever so clear
Presence attending, by touch and by ear
Windmills continue, performing their duty
With the dance in the leaves and trees ravaged from beauty

Elements, Heaven sent, scents in the air
Whip up a wonder with everyone there
Grinding blades, renegades, direction unclear
Disregarded mechanically over the years

Blades robbed of oiling, heart festered away
No regard for the function performed in its day
Rusted, adjusted, replaced and then tossed
Never then realising it's really their loss

NorseGod and the Higher Podium

                                        No Need For Idols

As the title may suggest, one is not trying to rip off (badly) what the recently redundant Ms.Rowling was good at but big up the venue that raises drummers' kit on a raised podium.  Stuck at the back will always be a downside for drummers but seeing my son in full view of everyone, giving it wellie, helped the crowd reach manic proportions earlier than usual. What a gig!! I'm proud of all you guys but don't say it out loud, I'd be mortified if anyone 'clicked' on! And remember to click for that bigger pic........

Fame- Spiked And Biked

It was only ever a notion
To perform in a tea-cup of stars
A balancing act, with a beauty impact
Ogling men smoking Cuban cigars

Nodding the wink to each other
Choosing the maiden with care
Courtesans, sporting fans, come along now
Entrancing each young debonair


Devilish stunts on a cycle
The captor of rubber and steel
Bows flapping, men clapping lightly
No faults and no head over heels.


She may wish for a star to come crashing
To capture this young debutant
Give peace and release from the metal
Till she finds her Guy de Maupassant

But it's round in a circle of tyre tracks
And accurate judgement of scope
Bracing yourself for the day when
An equivalent hands you the rope

Up Your Placentas.......!

Today PrettyBoy flopped on to the settee after work (at the new hospital) and let out a huge sigh.


     "You'll never believe what I had to take to Waste Management today?"

Going over the most obvious of innards, we were still none the wiser, so I asked for a clue.

      "Maternity"
      "A bucket of babies?" I quipped, as I now knew the answer. Placentas.
      "Mum - it was disgusting. I had a peek and the smell was gross. I'll never huff at a mortuary delivery ever again!"

I did try to convince him that there are woman, husbands even, that bring it home with the baby and cook and eat it. A symbol of good health and fortune type thingy. However, this picture and blog I come across had slightly different plans for it. 

They took the placenta home, froze it until the better weather appeared and used it to fertilise the ground for their new frangipani tree. With all the richness and nutrition that accompanies these vital-for-baby organs, I'm quite touched at this picture. This is life being aided for the second time now.

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My Begone(r) Gook

I slapped some clay on a spinner one day
Was supposed to resemble a vase
But it splatted and flatted and ended up bumpy
Not quite the preferred touch of class.

But I shaped it and draped it with stringy-like pieces
Made a V-sign and poked in two eyes
Chucked it into a kiln, went home, watched a film
Returned and there to my surprise

My Gook came out fine, face all  feathery lined
His chin a bit on the long side
The class gave a gasp, I returned a sharp rasp
I was proud and had nothing to hide

I painted, acquainted him, jewelled him all up
A brown face with golden delights
Took him home, found a spot where it wasn't too hot
He'd watch over me during the night.

I gave up the classes, the teacher, the masses
Were glad I was not in attendance
For I had no control, of wheel, pedal or soul
A girl with no hope of transcendence

But Gook won my heart, from his clayey-like start
I kiss him each-every morn
And in certain lights or just during the night
His face can take on a strange scorn

I have noted now, it's just funny somehow
When a date spends the night in low glow
His expression will change, looking sorta deranged
And by morning - I get the heave-ho........
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Don't forget, you can meet me on the other side!

Qauintly Able

 

When did it derive, this muscular mission   
Pure  female-versus competition
In open space or confined tracks
No sweat or blood to hold us back

Hurl a discus, then abuse
As elastic pings the garments loose
With arms as thick as her opponent's thigh
Null mercy deemed in this tiring vie

No making of man, without woman to guide
Predispositions for now, set aside
Pheromones, left alone's, that female fix
Comes charging the veins as the battle conflicts

Still adore sweet aromas, and weep from the heart
Have mood swings, enchantment, down to a fine art
We trust soul survival, and mother-of-pearl
And watch as the coral flag starts to unfurl

More weight on our shoulders yet able to toss
No hesitant thinking, just cutting across.
Take bumpy when smooth roads are closely adjacent
Be half-an-hour late but still feel complacent!

Kids relied on our body clock, and on our breast
These budding athletics all put to the test
Till the world took acceptance and opened it arms
And rebalanced the conquer - less womanly charms

Anything they can do, we can do better....?
Man the supporter and woman the debtor....?
Of course not, we're fish that swim in the same sea.
And tackle the challenge at equal degree.

Goodnight Gentleman George

While in my Adult Basic Education training days, I had a number of one-to-one students that I was paired up with.  My key worker, Mary, gave me 3 totally different characters with equally different backgrounds to work with.  The main objective was to give the students, who were all cared for by the local government and lived in the same building, a bit more freedom and independence.  So learning times, bus routes, monitery values, and how to use sign and symbols were all part of the learning scheme.  More than anything, the classes were a befriending system.  Just being surrounded by people and made to feel valued and similar was probably more helpful than any educating that went on.  And in this world, it is sad to know that adults with learning difficulties, some coming with conditions they were born to, still get a hard time from society. 

The classes ended quite a few years ago to allow the new community and health centres to be built.  They have now reopened but despite getting my Community Education  certificate, it is something I'm not sure if I want to consider working at again.  My own life's circumstances had to be addressed and for now, I guess I'm enjoying what time I have with my older son's while I can .  University and colleges have them full time for now, but even with that and part time jobs, I'm seeing more of them since their school days and want to pack in as much music and laughter as I can with them.  My husband shares no common interests with me now, so I want to feel a bit love-cocooned before empty-nest syndrome takes over completely.  My daughter was only 16 when a London career snatched her away!

Anyhow, rambling on.....today I was returning from a bit local shopping, when I bumped into my old key-worker's daughter, Shirley.  She passed on the news that Gentleman George had died last year.  George had Down's Syndrome, born to fairly old parents to start with, and was the oldest student of the group.  Not a day went by where he never wore a tie, his father dressed accordingly no matter the weather or occasion.  In summer, he would wear a short-sleeved shirt, with shorts, sock, sandals and a tie.  No encouragement to leave the tie off ever worked, and it gained him his gentlemanly title.  He was 68, which is fairly rare for a person with Down's to reach.


George didn't always like new tutors or indeed care assistants, for he did have certain values.  He hated being treated with kid gloves, or overly-fussed about.  Mary just chucked me in at the deep end with George, and whatever it was, we seemed to click.  My methods of common teaching were accepted - not all without little struggles - by George.  I remember at the end of my first class with him, Mary asked what he thought of me and he answered :

        "She'll do.  She's nice. She straightened my tie and said pardon when she burped!"

You'd have thought I'd won a massive victory with the relief and love I felt at that moment.  Thing was, although George was attending these classes, there was no way he'd ever be able to travel or shop on his own.  But the confidence, happiness and politeness that came with George was more a lesson to me than the world will ever know.  Funny how life pans out, sometimes.


Goodnight George. I'll keep using those 'morning and night' mug colours you were so fond of when we were drinking our tea.