The tomorrows

Though the tides will ebb and flow and the night will turn to day
The steps that go one, in front of the other
Will always carry you, along the way…..
Hearts filled with love and sorrow
Will carry over, all the tomorrows that you do not have
But live on through those left behind who will tell stories of their encounters, and we will smile, as we recall, with such joy, the love and laughter that we once shared and so, you will live on another day, and more, until we gather together again, and dance and laugh and hold you tight, in our arms…..

Authors own.. Coombe Abbey, tranquil walk

Celebrity… Tosh?

Where do they get off, so called celebrities, with their view of ‘tosh’.

Clarkson, Morgan, love to rant, but feel the Prince shouldn’t, or can’t?

A tell all memoir of his life, of course, there’s lots who’ll blame his wife!

Opinions, opinions, view points and all, but isn’t he the one, that can recall it all?

I’m neither a Royalist nor celebrity struck, but I’m sick and tired of reading such muck.

How can a celebrity think his path is right, and people should support them, in their ‘toshful’ plight?

Horses for courses in the lives that we lead. What right has a celebrity, to preach how to succeed.

Their life is their life, only they can live it. Not perfect, not wholesome, and could change in a minute!

What happened to the message that we all should ‘be kind’. Then what gives you the right, to speak out your mind?

Were you born into royalty and told what to do. A flash in your face, media following you?

From the day you were born, they just won’t relent. You’re expected to conform and you have the intent.

To do as your told, for the sake of the crown, but even the mighty have to fall down.

Break free from the chains and get out of the game, like an animal that’s wild, and doesn’t want to be tamed.

But wants to roam free, walk his own winding path, and show to the world, the life that he had.

So many will tell him what a ‘privilege’ he had, but if he doesn’t want it, does that make him bad.

He’s scorned if he does he’s scorned if he doesn’t, told to do this, told that he mustn’t.

Let the man be to live his own life, a person, a father a husband to his wife.

Who are we all to court contraversy, just let him speak, if it sets him free.

How many celebs have written a book, about their own lives and want us to look?

To see their life, from their own side, some of it shameful but balanced with pride.

We are all just people, walking this planet, born in to circumstance, we none of us planned it.

Stop casting aspirations on what he should do. Keep guarded your counsel on what YOU should do.

Stop with the shouting, the words of disdain, pointing the finger and causing such pain.

Keep your opinions in your own little minds and remember the message to ‘please be kind’

How can we know if people don’t tell, how it was for them, whether heaven or hell.

Perspective and context, only they really know. So big mouthed celebrities just ‘let it go’

You were born a nobody just like me. Be wise be humble, with an ounce of dignity!

Oblivious

Sleep alludes me, though I am so very tired. The sun cracks through the opened window, early in the mornings, and the dawn chorus awakens me. Such a contrast to the labouring snores blasting my ears as he sleeps beside me, deep in his slumber, oblivious to raucous he makes or the sound of the dogs barking from across the garden.

My mind wanders to our new house, wondering how soon before we get the keys. The start to our new life. How shall I dress this one to make it a home? Which colours and fabrics and oddments shall I use.
A blank canvas screaming for life and colour.

As I lay awake, I try to escape the noise and get lost deep in the kaleidoscope of my imagination until finally, sleep will surrender itself to me and I too will be oblivious….

This house…

This House….

When I leave this house I wonder

Will it miss me and the noise within its walls?

Will it wonder

Where did we go and are we coming back?

Will it be silent or will it groan with the emptiness?

When I leave this house I wonder

Will I miss the space and the fit of it?

All my things, in familiar places

Nooks and cranny’s

The creaks of the wood as it gets warmer then colder

Will the sound of it spark fear in the new owners?

When I leave this house will the memory of my ordinary days here

Stay with me

The view from the window as I wash the dishes

The colour of the sun as it rises and sets, front and back of my garden

The light and dark of the shadows it casts

The light and dark of the noise that the house was privy to

Family banter

The hustle and bustle of yesterday

when they were all here

When I leave this house, will it feel betrayed

Will I remember the colour of spring in the garden that I planted?

And the new light of autumn as the leaves fall from the trees

The laughter of the summer days

Children playing

Daisy chains

Will the weeping willow continue to weep?

Or will it wither and die

When I leave this house that I built from scratch

From the foundations to the roof

And filled its cavity with strong walls to bring to life

a home

Will I feel deep sadness too difficult to describe?

Then will I pretend 

that it is OK

it is only a house?

Evidence

When the clutter is not really clutter, can you just let it go?

Photo by Andrea Piacquadio on Pexels.com

Evidence

It’s the final countdown

Countdown to leaving

Leaving this place

Where do I begin

To bring it to an end

How do I decide

Decades of ‘collectables’

The pleasure they derived

Stored, hoarded, and boxed away

Time to decide in the next few days

Boxed away neatly large and small

Could I really get rid of them all?

Time to let go

They are all in the past

Give them a future in

Someone else’s hands

Take the step

Shed that old skin

Wriggle on out

 like a snake, Slithering

hard as it is, it must be done

the countdown is on

you’re on the home run

liberation from ‘things’ that

simply are that

but, they give us our memories

and bring us back

a time to remember

when we did this and did that

it’s not so easy to ‘just let go’

some things must be kept

just because, it is so

the trinket gift, given with love

no price would ever be enough

the child’s little drawing

given with pride

or the pottery they made

with such great strides

it’s hard to abandon or just

throw out

it’s not all ‘clutter’

I have no doubt

So time to discern and

And pick my way through

I can’t turn my back on

Evidence of you

Down through the years

We’ve gathered so much

Does it matter, if it still collects dust

Knowing they’re there

In the dark attic space

Brings comfort to me

And a smile on my face

The clothes, the bags, the furniture too

Can all be discarded

But not evidence of you

You when you were little

And all you achieved

To throw it all out,

I would be aggrieved

One day I would hope

When you go through these things

The memories come back

And your heart, too will sing.

So clutter me this, you are coming with me

To a new home to live

To be stored and to be……

Surplus to Requirements

Photo by jinjireh on Pexels.com

Looking round this house of mine

Every item tells a story

Even down to the rolling pin

It all can be quite boring

The flower pots and picture frames

That hang upon my walls

Each ornament or luxury items

I can recall them all

My comfy couch and super king bed

Well, that was such a blessing

To have all that space, to sleep on the edge

And no I am not messing

The mattress is made of memory foam

And is oh so comfortable

We didn’t bank on it remembering our weight

And in the middle, leaving a massive lump!

It now resembles the Sahara

So barren with a big sand drift

And trying to change the bloody sheets

Is comparable to climbing Everest

The Kitchen scales, pots and pans

The trendy arty vase

Long have served this woman’s needs

Even when I couldn’t be arsed

So many things just gather dust

And others are stuffed in drawers

It’s doesn’t stop me going out

And bringing home some more.

Some would call it clutter, or say that I’m a hoarder

They say its best when the shops are closed

But they forget, I use mail order

I simply cannot help but buy

The things that I like to buy

Some things are very pretty

And some have made me cry

Like the Dyson bloody hoover

It cost a small fortune

I could be sat drinking in Marbella

Listening to lovely some Spanish tunes

The husband, he insisted

On getting that bloody gadget

I was happy with the broom

And spend the money on foreign magnets

It’s only now, we’re selling up

And heading somewhere new

It’s all about downsizing, but

To where, I haven’t got a clue

I want to go somewhere warm

And feel the sun upon my skin

But that would mean leaving behind

My mates and all my kin

They all moved on and are on that Wheel

The treadmill that’s called life

I’ve been there, seen it done it, and now

I want to be a fun filled wife

Pay a little attention to me and my old man

Time to relax a little bit

And do it while we can

So what do we do with all this stuff

Now surplus to requirements

Bin it, bag it, chuck it out

Or take the clutter with us

It doesn’t really matter

It served us for our needs

Just the family photos

Are the things that we should keep

And pack a bag and travel light

And see what we can find

It’ll be a great adventure

A Christopher Columbus kind

Who knows what we’ll find when we get there

Or what we might discover

But what a team we will be

Like Mel Gibson and Danny Glover

I’ll drive him nuts with my crazy ways

And he’ll keep me in check

Steer me clear of the charity shops

And I’ll say ‘what the heck’

We’ll buy us a brand new mattress

No memory foam sight

No humps or bumps between us then

Just a sweet and peaceful night

The Gap

Love, all kinds of love, but the best kind is the kind that nourishes the heart and soul. That is real wondrous love….

Photo by Oscar Due Wang on Pexels.com

It stirred and whirred and wazzled all around

An unknown feeling

Awakened something

beyond comprehension in consciousness

Yet the gap between the unknowing, knew

The expectation

like a baby bird knows

its mother will return when the nest is empty

his nourishment will be dropped in

and he will flourish

as I did

When love fell in

And I flew

Cats

If anything I prefer dogs over cats. Having said that, I wouldn’t be cruel or leave them out. So what do you do with a stray???

feeding time…. author’s own

We always had dogs, growing up, in our our house. Most of them your usual mongrel or mixed breed, whichever you prefer to call them. We loved them and they loved us.

When my eldest girl was 8 years old I promised her I would get her a dog. We were moving to Ireland and I intended to be home more, taking a part time job, instead of working full time. This would be a factor in getting a dog, so it wouldn’t be on its own all day.

We go a lovely mixed breed dog and called her Sally. Half sheep dog half collie and she looked like an old English Sheep dog. She was such a loyal and friendly dog and we had her for 10 years. It was pure heart break when she died. So much so I swore I would never get another.

People often say that after drinking too much and getting so drunk. They swear they will never touch the drink again. Like the drunk, with his self promised promises, I did indeed relent and get another dog a few years after Sally died.

This time it was at the begging of my other children (twins) who at the time were 14. We got a little miniature Yorkshire terrier and called her Indiana. She was cute. Not very smart, but cute and she was loved. Sadly, she came to a very sad end and was hit by a car after getting out of the drive. It was torture and we were all devastated…. again

‘Never again’ I said, and I meant it. It is too heartbreaking.

Again, I relented. A year or so after Indiana died, my eldest asked me if I would take a little west highland terrier, who would face certain death if I didn’t….. Well that isn’t blackmail….. much!

I took the said little Westie, Jack, and he too became part of the family and stole our hearts. He was 6 months old when we got him, but by the time he was 12, he was quite ill and deteriorated very quickly. We prepared ourselves to be heartbroken again. Indeed, we were. That was 15 months ago now, and I can categorically say, I will not have another dog. It is too too sad knowing, that they will pass before you and I don’t want to set myself up again for heartache. However, watch this space!

During the years of the dogs we have also been frequented by stray cats…. It started with the farmer at the bottom of our garden. He had cats, but they would wander down to us and of course, we began to feed them as they always seemed hungry and anyway, they are good to keep the mice and rats away.

After the farmer died the cats were taken by the WSPCA to be re-homed. However the odd stray would still come and hang around our house. As we live in the Country I would feed them as they are a good deterrent for the mice and rats.

Rusty has been coming to us now for a few years. We feed him daily and tend to his medical needs when he has gotten into a scrape, but he is feral and goes away after feeding, grateful for his daily nosh. Sometimes he hangs about in the yard, but he is a bit of a loner.

About 6 months ago or so, a black cat appeared. Quite a friendly cat with a lovely shiny coat. I advertised on all the local platforms trying to find its owner but to no avail. he would come, around the same time as Rusty and then off he would trot, back down the drive and to, well I am guessing, his own home.

Cats are like that aren’t they, they like to wander off.

Anyway, not only was he coming ‘at feeding time’, he would now push rusty out of the way and start eating his food. Well, I couldn’t have that, so reluctantly, I would also put a plate out for him. I couldn’t let him watch on, and not give him anything.

Black cat, affectionately named Blacky, how original, is cheeky though and if we leave open a window, will climb in and lay up on a bed or a sofa like he is King of the hill. What a cheek!

Rusty, wouldn’t have the same amount of cheek or nerve, he is far more ‘reserved’ and not so presumptuous or impertinent as Blacky.

This morning, I went to go out the door to feed them. Both of them on the step, waiting and the black cat, actually had the nerve to slap poor old rusty in the face to get him out of the way, so he could get the lion’s share. I was utterly gobsmacked!

Because of this I wrote a little ditty….. I hope you enjoy it!

Cats

I feed these cats

They are not my cats

But aside from that, which is a fact

I feed these cats

I don’t like cats

But they are good scare the rats

So I feed the cats

So they can do that

1st came the ginger one

Feral, shy, coy

I’m only grateful, that he is a boy

Takes his food then off he goes

To where I wonder,

Nobody knows

Then came blacky

He is black

He is a more forward cat

He is not at all shy, not one little bit

In fact, I would say, he is a cheeky little git

He pushes in first when I open the door

Knocks rusty out the way

Hoping he will get more

He is quite a greedy black cat

I cannot say much more than that

Soon as he’s fed off he goes, strutting

Wagging his tail, and swaging his but

In all the style like a cat walk model

Unlike rusty with his old man waddle

Sits on the bench like he is the boss

Licking his fur and shakes off the dross

Sits all day, til he gets a more peckish

And scratches at the door like it’s some sort of fetish

I looked out once and guess what I saw

Roland rat scurrying on all fours

Blacky the cat, didn’t even blink an eye

Let old Roland just strut on by

Am I too soft or feeding these too much

Cos I’m sure it’s nature they should hunt their lunch

Off he goes not even a hissing sermon

Coming from the cat to this passing vermin

Rusty plods back late in the evening

Head hung low, as if he’s been grieving

Jumps up on the window sill

Patiently waiting for me to give in

Black cat though has no such reserve

Can’t even open a window, cos in he will swerve

He has no shame nor decent good manners

I do protest and I don’t mean with banners

I chase him out like a cat and mouse game

I’m sure he’s laughing cos he has no shame

He’s quite cunning that little black cat

But he won’t best me you can be sure of that

Rusty comes like a big drowned rat

When the heavens open, but I let this cat

Come in side and eat his grub

He seems so grateful and I give him a rub

Mr black cat I swear has a home

He’s Just so greedy he comes here to roam

Costing me a fortune, cos I couldn’t leave him out

When I’m buying all the cat food to share it about.

But when it’s raining I don’t let him in

Now it’s my time with a big Cheshire grin

I watch him dash back out of the drive

Properly sulking and goes home to hide

He’s not one bit feral, shy or coy

He’s just cunning this little boy

Edging his bets to get all he can

That’s when I know, that animal is like man

Blacky with his full tummy, now he is swaggering off….. authors own pic.

ABRACADABRA

when relationships stand the test of time, for better or for worse. when love is tinged with sadness

I want to reminisce

Feel the warmth of his kiss 

His hand so tender

I give in and surrender

So two became one

But the time is long gone

And the hands are now feeble

And not quite so agreeable

Shaking and unstable

Barely engages, he isn’t able

It wasn’t that long ago

And both of us know

That it was only fleeting

Time, since our first meeting

Some 50 years since past

Some said it wouldn’t last

What did they all know

Old together, we did grow

Never much apart

all locked away in our hearts

The memories of our journey

But how, I am still yearning

To feel the warmth of his kiss

Gently on my lips

And snuggle by his side

A new and happy bride

And do it all again

Just take away the pain

A magic wish would be 

That he would recognise me

An abracadabra moment

Find the missing component

One to see him free

To bring warm and tender kisses to me

Randoms

Image and perceptions lead to opinions, judgements, if you will. Expression comes in many forms, but does how we interpret it say more about us ?

image – authors own hand painted mannequin. she feels your eyes on her and is watching you!

Fait Accompli

The Raven sweeps, though soaring high

And the spider creeps to snare the fly

To catch their prey they bide their time

Night or day they do not mind

The heron waits and sits it out

The pig berates and snorts its snout

But what is it that man must do

To catch the girl, he needs a clue

Not just to take for the night

But always and forever, to be his wife

The charm and beauty are only fleeting

Loyalty and duty are more beseeching

No cunning or tricks up his sleeve

Eyes will flicker as she leaves

Kindness, love, an enquiring mind

The girl will be happy with this kind of find

Considerate, funny and willing to work

When things get rough and make her irk

Give and take, stand close, stand back

Soon you’ll see it and get the knack

Up for the challenge, you can but try

Soon she’ll suss if you’re the guy

Do not assume a fait accompli

You must earn her trust or she’ll set you free

imagae authors own hand painted mannequin

First perceptions when you see this image… what comes to mind in the first instance from the outside world. Then in this conflicting world of conflicting views and the conflicting self expressing himself, one will make a judgement.

Photo by Ron Lach on Pexels.com

My Son John

Never mind the Buzzcocks, The Clash or Johnny Rotten

We can’t go there and show up, like someone’s been forgotten

With a head that’s shaved down to the skin

A coat of leather stuck with pins

Doing the pogo to a load of noise

No, not mine, not one of my boys

We are upstanding and tell the truth

You cannot trust those other youths

Stiff little Fingers, Slaughter and the Dogs

Doing drugs and on the rob

I’ve seen them all on the TV

No, not my son, no, not he

He is a good boy, my son John

He just looks different with his fashion on

He wouldn’t do what the bad boys do

I think I know him better than you

I think I know him better than you

We can’t come visit cos he looks a mess

His hair all gone and the state of his ‘dress’

He looks like a thug, but he’s really not

He’s just going through a phase and is quick to trot

He wouldn’t do drugs or jump on cars

My son John is going to go far

It’s not his spliff, it’s not his style

He’s a good boy John with a lovely smile

I saw all the thugs on the six o clock news

But my son John was with his muse

Down at the annexe, just holding hands

Not setting on fire those clapped out vans

I know you think, cos he’s a punk rocker

He really must be that destructive fucker

He’s not an angel, don’t get me wrong

But he is a good boy, my son John….

Photo by Ron Lach on Pexels.com

Subservient girl…

It pleases him to kiss his brow

To wander there, and do it now

Ask no questions, be satisfied

Sugar coat kisses can’t be denied

A gift from him, you should be pleased!

Thankful indeed, down on your knees

Subservient girl, do not ask why

He’s clipped your wings, you cannot fly

Your muted words scream in your head

But in you go, to his bed

It pleases him and you should know

There is no place for you to go

Subservient girl, perform your duty

Be thankful for your obvious beauty

Desiring men gripped by you

No taming here of the shrew

And so it was, she bent on her knees

She’d bide her time, for she had the keys

To break away and betray

All that she had become today

Her muted words spoke loud and clear

To plot and scheme to get out of here

Domineering men underestimate

The mind of the girl was like steel plates

They could not break or kill her spirit

Not for a second, not for a minute

I am strong and worthy too

I am more than subservient for you

She spoke her mantra over and again

Inside her head where she must lay

The key to freedom was deep inside

But her time, she must bide

She must use her whit to outsmart

Devise a plan and free her heart

She’ll dance and sing and smile and bow

Let them think they are winning now

But soon the day will come to rue

When subservient girl will wear a new shoe

One that fits, that’s fair and wise

Where she walks tall with her head held high….