Fixture

 

THEME THURSDAY
http://www.theme-thursday.com/
chose the theme

FIXTURE
(An Acrostic)

Fixtures are not fixed at all!

I can unscrew one from the wall!

X marks the spot where I've pulled one out......

The one felt I could do without.

Untidy holes don't look too great:

Renovating is my pet hate.

Even so, I think I've proved

There's no fixture that can't be moved!

*

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AN ALPHABET OF BONES!

An Alphabet Book is an infantile thing

We read at our Mother's knee!

So an Alphabet Book that is based on Bones

Seems very odd to me!

*

'Anapsida' is a goodly word

And it certainly starts with 'A'.

'Bone', of course, is an easy one;

With 'B' I'm on my way.

'Cartilage'? Yes, that word will do....

A 'C' word was required.

Then 'Diapsida' (you all know that).

For 'D' I've been inspired!

'Ethmoid', now there's a crafty one;

Yes, 'E' was rather tough.

'Frontal' for 'F' was easy........

But I think I've done enough.

*

So I leave the choice to you, my friends....

Take the book down off the shelf

And read it, or, as an alternative,

Finish this rhyme yourself!

*

On Stage!

The Wordle

'Rags to Riches'

SUNDAY WHIRL

http://sundaywhirl.wordpress.com 

asks us to use all the words in the wordle

ON STAGE!

(All true!)

You must have known I'd respond to this for the greasepaint's in my blood!

I've been addicted to drama since long before The Flood!

And, tomorrow, we are staging two more of my little plays,

In our local 'village' hall, before the public gaze.

You may ask what drives us, since we're all quite long in the tooth,

Quite devoid of the previous charms which sustained us in our youth!

We say we know our limits, but we still go over the top!

We carry on singing regardless, and we don't intend to stop.

You'll see us with the gestures, the wave of a manicured hand,

The accents and the deportment of the grand and not-so-grand.

Our delivery is faultless.....well, ten percent of the time.....

And to make it easy for them I write everything in rhyme.

We don't disclose the sources of the plots that make our plays;

But let's admit we take liberties in many, many ways!

May the generation that follows inherit our childish verve,

Even though there are some who say

'My God! They've got a nerve!'

*

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GHOSTEST WITH THE LEASTEST

I think ghosts are memes!

 That's the way they strike me.

I don't believe in a single one

And there are others like me.

Somebody aeons ago

Thought up all that baloney

And 'believers' down the ages

Have latched-on to the phoney.

Maybe somebody was downcast,

Maybe newly bereaved;

He imagined he 'saw' the departed

And his story was believed.

'I've seen one too!' cried the masses,

'In the middle of the night!

Oooooh! It was terribly creepy!

It gave me such a fright!'

And, bit by bit, the meme caught-on,

Part-serious and part-fun,

And soon the idea of haunting

Was believed by everyone.

I've never seen a poltergeist,

I've never heard chains rattling,

I've never heard a spooky voice

With its other-worldly prattling.

So I'll continue to disbelieve............

*

Oooooh! One might come and get me!

Until it does I wont allow

The idea to upset me!

*

Cogs

 

MAGPIE TALES

http://magpietales.blogspot.com.au 

supplied the illustration

COGS

They were buried by the billions

Deep down underground,

Those un-named cogs of history

That helped the world go round.

Once they laughed and breathed and toiled

As alive as you or I,

But they were just the 'commoners'

Not the mighty or the high.

The Kings were silly mortals too,

No better than the rest;

They resembled 'cogs' themselves,

When they were seen undressed!

But they had crowns and palaces

And each sat on a throne;

That's why they are remembered

And the 'cogs' are just unknown.

When we learn our History,

Which is often quite absurd,

We learn of Algernon the Great

Or Marmaduke the Third.

But Tom, the blacksmith is unknown

And the details of his life,

And even of less interest

Is the tale of Meg, his wife.

We, too, are faceless people,

At least that's the majority;

We're common folk without the bloom

Of money and authority.

But we have our digital cameras,

Our videos and our blogs;

At least we'll leave a smudge behind

Even though we're only 'cogs'.

*

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WANDERING WHEEL

Old greyhounds are adopted and lead a life of ease,

And here's an ancient wagon-wheel pensioned-off beneath the trees.

How many miles has it trundled, on rough and bumpy tracks?

How many horses has it known; poor disregarded hacks?

How many rainstorms have lashed it; how many storms with thunder?

How many boiling, baking suns has it had to suffer under?

Has it known the Australian Outback, or some dingy city street?

Does it find being an ornament a bore or rather sweet?

Does it miss its fellow wheels, now scattered far and wide?

Is Caroline's garden constricting? Does it miss the countryside?

I'm getting rather maudlin! I hope you're shedding a tear!

Dry your eyes and just enjoy this rustic atmosphere!

*

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PS

My American friend, Margaret, may be interested to know that she very nearly shares her birthday with the Sydney Harbour Bridge! It celebrated its 80th birthday yesterday. This is how Google celebrated it!

 

The Prude

 

THE PRUDE

A woman who tended to brood

On anything sexy or nude.

Would slam shut a book

Saying 'I cannot look

At anything crude, rude or lewd!'

*

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BUBBLEGUM

I've never chewed on bubblegum;

I've never had the pleasure

Of blowing a big sticky ball

Almost too large to measure.

I've never tasted the colour pink,

Or learned the art of blowing;

I've never seen the bubble grow

Filled with air to overflowing.

I've never felt the bubble burst

All flatly on my face.

I've never peeled the remnants off,

Every elongated trace.

*

But I have worn a gas-mask;

That was my childhood thrill,

And I remember it clearly; I think I always will.

Childhood is a joyful time

Whatever the circumstance

And my childhood was a wartime one,

By pure historical chance.

And I remember the air-raid shelters,

Where children sat in rows,

Each child with a gas-mask

Covering it's nose.

We made such glorious noises,

Lavatory noises really,

Blowing bubbles at each other.

I still hear us clearly!

Now young people blow their bubbles

Of a peaceful sort of pink;

In my childhood I did the same.

I'm glad there is a link.

*

Too Bad!

 

GRANDMA'S GOULASH
grandmas-goulash.inf
asked for a VERY short story

TOO BAD!

'Pack 'em tightly' the Guv'nor said!

Would I disobey him? Never!

Now the wretched man wants a drink!

And they're packed too tightly! Clever!
(140 characters)

*

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ALCHEMY

Were I an artist, which I'm not,

Snow would be painted white!

Heat would be red and skies sky-blue,

All horribly, boringly trite!

But see how an artist of renown

Takes the rich warm tones of gold

And transforms them with his alchemy

Into sparkling, bitter cold!

We start to warm our hands at this,

A scene with a honey glow,

And then we feel the tingle

Of the un-white, dazzling snow!

*

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PS

The World Premier (and, probably, World Finale) of my new plays took place last evening in the church hall! We had an audience of 72 when we'd expected 60, and it was very well received. Here are a few shots, unlabelled because I'm too tired to do it. Maybe tomorrow.

Tropical Dawn

                                                Brenda Bryant: Cairns

SCENIC SUNDAY
http://scenicsunday.blogspot.com.au 

TROPICAL DAWN

After a night of steamy rain,

The tropical sun is pale

Rising over the mountains

Through a heavy, misty veil.

Soon there will be a burn-off

And an end to grey,

As the sun grows golder, bolder

And brings on a blazing day.

*

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A DIFFERENT SORT OF PASSION.

Passion makes the world go round. Without that primal drive

None of us, not a single one, would be, as we are, alive.

Body seeking body; an animal exercise,

Even though, as humans, we're advanced and pretty wise.

But that's not the only passion that makes the world go round.

Enthusiasm's 'passion', at least so I have found.

In our procreative days, bodily passion rules,

But the other passion takes over as the primitive passion cools.

And it's that very passion that makes living such a joy,

Once we're no longer taking part in that drama 'girl meets boy'.

I have a passion for writing; I'd have scorned that long ago;

'To think she calls that 'passion'! What does the old girl know!'

That passion, in the morning, makes me spring out of bed,

Eager to write or else to read what others may have said.

And that translates to an attitude of enthusiasm for all things;

A deep attachment to living that from a deep well springs.

How fortunate that, in old age, that bubble, bright and round

Is still there in the stratosphere, blowing happily around!

I sincerely hope I'll go on like this, in an youthful, giddy fashion.

*

(As to sex, good gracious me! Did I call that passion!)

*

My First Car

WEEKEND IN BLACK AND WHITE
http://blackandwhiteweekend.blogspot.com.au 


MY FIRST CAR

I don't remember cars;

They don't loom large for me.

I think of them as objects

That get me from A to B.

With the exception of this one!

The first one that was mine!

It was a Beetle, coloured red,

And I thought it very fine.

Here I am in Zimbabwe

Sixty years ago,

Darker hair and smaller waist

And the wrinkles were yet to show!

Poor old bright red Beetle!

Destroyed now, that's quite clear.

As for that female person....

She's battered, but she's still here!

*

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THE CURTAIN PARTED

It was just a glimpse in passing,

Just a glance and nothing more,

Just a quiver of a curtain,

Where no stir had been before.

Just a flash of dark eyes watching,

Just a blur of a frightened face,

Just a sense of desperation

Before the curtain fell in place.

Maybe I had been mistaken;

Maybe there was nothing there;

Maybe my imagination

Had made me hesitate and stare.

Foolish me, to see a drama

In a breeze-blown curtain's fall!

I shrugged my shoulders, almost laughing,

There was nothing there at all!

But still the visionary instant

Lingered with me all the day.

And my eyes sought out the window

As I homeward made my way.

Heavy curtains drawn completely!

Nothing sinister to see.

Fanciful! Thus I described it,

That image that had worried me.

Till, next day, I read headline,

'Murder victim number two!'

Till I saw the young girl's picture

And there was nothing I could do.

*