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.

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........#