Tuesday, November 30, 2010


Everything is a toy to you when you are not quite four.
This light is meant to show the key the way to unlock the door
When it's dark at night and shadowy, and you're inclined to fumble
And maybe, a coming storm is on its way with a flash and rumble.
But for Max this is a toy, designed to make red noses.
Yes, when you're only not-quite-four everything comes up roses!



When Jake was at the Supermarket looking round the place,
A certain grey-haired lady started gazing at his face.
Along each aisle he met her; he'd look-up, she'd be there.
She was such a dear old lady, with her curly silver hair.
If he paused beside the frozen peas, he'd find her at his side,
And, by the bread, he noticed how she mopped her eyes and cried.
Her gaze seemed fixed upon him in a way that was intense.
And Jake felt quite uncomfortable; it didn't make much sense.
Suddenly, she clutched his arm and began to whisper low,
'I must tell you why I look at you; I feel you ought to know.
You remind me of my son, you see. He died quite recently.
He was the apple of my eye and meant so much to me.'
Jake felt so very sorry that he listened for a while,
Although the other shoppers found them blocking up the aisle.
'I've got to catch my bus now' the little old lady said,
' But you've made me feel much better about my son who's dead.
One more thing, would thrill me, though, if you felt that you could do it;
As I'm heading for the exit, you know, just as I get to it,
Could you call out 'Goodbye, Mum!' just as he used to do?
It would make me feel so happy to hear those words from you.'
Jake said that he would call out in the way that she recalled,
And he watched her reach the exit and 'Goodbye Mum!' he called.
Then he took up his one purchase and joined the line to pay,
Knowing that he'd only spent the minimum that day.
Imagine his surprise when 'Fifty Dollars!' was the bill!
He very quickly questioned the young man behind the till.
' There's only one item here for you' he heard the assistant say;
'All the rest is for your Mother!
She said you'd be glad to pay!'



The apple was rosy and red'
'Drop down for me, apple!' I said
It came down with a bump,
Now I've got a big lump
For it landed on top of my head!
And so we reach the end of our Reverse Alphabet!
To return to the start see my blog for 11/1/10


An old one for good measure.


Cedric was no longer young; he was getting-on in years.
It was quite a while since he'd 'pulled a bird' or swung on the chandaliers.
Quite frequently he'd cast his eye on some delicious bimbo,
Only to find she turned-away, and he ended up in limbo.
However, on one Friday night he knew that he'd struck lucky;
A gorgeous girl came up to him and just said 'Lonely, ducky?'
All evening Cedric plied Cherie with food and drinks galore,
And he really felt that he had found just what he was looking for.
'I'd like to buy you a ring, my dear. I'm a lonely millionaire'
(Which wasn't true, but naughty Cedric never turned a hair!)
'Let's slip out to the jewellers, right now, this very minute.
I think we have a future and I'm eager to begin it.'
When they arrived at the jewellery store, the assistant hovered round
Saying 'These are the thousand dollar rings; they'll suit you, I'll be bound.'
"No, no' said Cedric 'Not at all! Bring the more expensive tray!
This lovely girl is so divine I don't care what I pay!'
Cherie was quivering with desire as she just stood there and listened!
Dollar signs were in her eyes and anticipation glistened.
She chose a ring for fifty thousand dollars right away
And Cedric went up to the desk only too pleased to pay.
Expansively he flashed his wallet. 'Will you take a cheque?'
The assistant answered 'Identity?' Cedric just said 'Oh heck!
I cannot prove my identity! But I have a great idea;
I'll sign the cheque right here and now and simply leave it here.
I'll bring documents in on Monday, if that's all right with you.
We'll collect the ring after the weekend; we may buy some earrings too'.
On Monday morning early Cedric got a call;
'There was nothing in your bank account. Nothing! Nothing at all!'
'That's all right' said Cedric 'Don't worry about it, friend!
I may not have any money,
But I had a great weekend!

Monday, November 29, 2010

Playing Truant!

suggested the illustration.


'While I'm away' said Mother,
'Make sure you practise your scales!
Practice makes perfect, my darling;
An adage that never fails!
Make sure you practise that little waltze
That Father likes so well!
When he comes home from work tonight
He will be able to tell
If you haven't been industrious!
I'll be away an hour!
Now, don't be a baby, Petunia!
No need to look so sour!'
I practised my scales, and the little waltze
For just a moment or two;
Then a smell drifted up from the kitchen,
As smells are inclined to do!
It was Emily making a pudding!
I could sense the aroma of spice!
There were plums, there were dates, there was brandy!
And they tell me brandy is nice!
My fingers fell still on the keyboard,
For a moment I fought temptation!
Well-brought-up little girls like me
Must always remember their station!
Emily was 'below stairs',
Not the rightful place for me.
All I ever saw of Emily
Was when she brought up the tea!
I pushed open the door to the kitchen;
Inside it was warm and cosy
With Emily humming a little tune;
With her cheeks all bright and rosy.
'Come in, love' she said, in a friendly way;
'I'm sure you're lonely upstairs!'
She didn't seem to mind a bit
That I'd caught her unawares!
I put on one of her aprons,
Though it dragged down on the floor,
And I had such fun that afternoon;
I was happy as never before!
I mixed, I stirred, I sifted!
I even licked the spoon!
But, oh dear, the front door opened!
 It was Mother, home too soon!



He stood there in his ragged clothes
Wearing a tangled beard,
Swarthy, unkempt and derelict,
A wild man to be feared.
'Why have you let this wretch inside?'
Mother cried out in dismay.
'He has no right to come in here!
Vagabond! Go away!'
The children watched with staring eyes
As the stranger stood his ground.
With an odd expression he stood and gazed,
Without uttering a sound.
'Begone!' cried Mother, 'You have no right
To force your way in here!
You've frightened the children and scared the maid!
Now! Do I make myself clear?'
The more he stood, the more he gazed,
The more the Mother faltered.
'Who are you?' she said in a softer voice,
The timbre of it altered.
For, suddenly she recalled a boy, 
A brother just sixteen,
Who had left her side many moons ago,
And had nevermore been seen.
They had heard he had died on the battlefield,
In some far-distant place.
They had also heard that he broke the law,
And had ended in disgrace.
They had mourned a while and wept a while
But that was so long ago.
How could this poor wretch standing here
Be someone she used to know?
But then she saw the expression
In his deep and sunken eyes,
And she knew that, indeed, it was Ivan,
And that all they had heard was lies.
'Set another seat at the table'
She said weeping joyful tears,
For brother Ivan is home again,
After many, many years.'

A Lot at Steak!

supplied the picture.


Man in leopard costume warns
 'Take the bull by the horns!
Choose the girl for a bit of action
Or endless steaks for satisfaction!'
Words in blue written when I was eleven.
Once upon a time, my friends,
When all the world was new,
I wrote the little verses
Which I now present to you.
God of all good things look down
On my garden plot so brown.
Though I have but humble flowers,
Feed them with thy cooling showers.
Though I have but lowly blooms,
Such as daisies and gold brooms,
Shepherds' Purses, Ladies' Smocks,
One day I'll have hollyhocks,
Lilies, pansies, pinks and roses,
Not these humble little posies.
But you love them just as well,
Scented-stock like cowslip bell,
And you'll satisfy their needs
Though men call my flowers weeds.




Double serendipity! Christmas on its way
And a call for an 'antidote' item on the blog today!
Rather black, the humour, although it fits the bill!
But I thought it rather funny and I'm hoping that you will!


So our mountains are quite tiny but what a vivid blue!
The eucalyptus oil ensures they retain their lovely hue.
And when we're amid the splendour of the glorious countryside,
We feel so elevated that we're 'on a high' with pride!
Climb up and up to Dorrigo, a charming little town,
Then swoop to the Pacific, down and down and down,
Through peaceful farms and woodland till we find the endless sea.
And then you'll find that you have lived an Australian fantasy!


There once was a little bambino
Who vacationed in old Portofino.
When they said 'Do you choose
The wine or the views?'
She said 'Gimme a big cappuccino!'
See my blog of 11/1/10 to learn more about this alphabetical meme.


An old one for good measure.

                                  Merewether Pool


Oh how glorious to be
Balanced between pool and sea!
Paddling his grateful feet
In water calm and warm and sweet.
While tumbling and foaming to his rear
The wild cold ocean's roaring near.
My friends, I must be smug and say
This view is just a stroll away.
One is safety, one is strife.
What a very balanced life!

Sunday, November 28, 2010

Maritime Mysteries

                                   Local Press Photograph


Night-time tours of the harbour are planned for the coming season.
Newcastle's Maritime History is, of course, the reason.
Tours will have a ghostly flavour recognising all the wrecks;
Ships which found the ocean washing over their decks.
Over two hundred vessels are buried beneath the sea;
Their stories are great drama though there's nothing we can see.
The tours will be made in  little boats, when the moon is shining bright,
And tales of submerged mariners will be told at dead of night.
Little did those sailors think, when they sailed so long ago,
That their terrible personal tragedies would become a tourist show!


I'm sure you can see
The invisible tree!
It's not there at all
If you look at the wall.
And yet, you will find
You can 'see' in your mind
The tree that's close by
Shutting-out summer sky!
A shadow that falls
On the windows and walls
Paints a picture, bright green
Of a tree that's not seen!

Saturday, November 27, 2010



The words in blue are the first words of Tim Rice's lyrics
 for 'The Circle of Life' from 'The Lion King.'


From the day we arrive on the planet
We are reaching for something more;
To lift up our heads from our pillows;
To reach up and open a door;
To learn how to speak, how to argue;
To travel abroad on our own;
To meet the right 'someone' and marry;
To make sure that we're not alone.
We're never content with just 'being';
We never say 'Well, I've arrived'.
We still journey on to perfection
However it may be contrived.
The urge to improvement was with us
Before we came down from the trees.
And the urge that inspired and fulfilled us
May yet bring us down to our knees!
This reaching and searching and longing
Has made human kind what it is.
The danger is we can't help reaching
For frippery, foible and fizz!
'If I buy one more dress I'll be happy!.
'If I get that new car I'll be fine!'
'I haven't yet seen Argentina!'
'I must buy the very best wine!'
We're restless and seeking and searching
And sometimes we're not sure what for;
But we know that 'perfection' is somewhere;
And we're going to find it for sure.
'I must marry someone with money!'
'I'd be happy if I had a cat!'
'If I dye my hair red I'll look better!'
' I'd be right if I wasn't so fat!'
So the instincts that made us keep striving,
To rise up from the primeval slime,
Are turning against us for certain;
It's only a matter of time!
All this wanting and needing and reaching
Is sending us all round the bend!
We'll be buried beneath all the 'must-haves'
And be smothered with 'stuff' in the end!

(Memories of a cruise round New Zealand.)

We sailed around White Island into approaching night
And the sunset wasn't fiery; in sympathy it was white.
And the puff of volcanic smoke was white like the breath of a mighty beast,
And the clouds were echoing sun and smoke as our backs were to the east.
But the island wasn't white at all, regardless of its name!
It was heavy, black and Gothic like the depths from which it came.
But deep inside White Island, as we were sailing by,
We knew that mighty forces were yearning for the sky.
For the centre is made of sun-stuff  and it's longing to return,
And, when it does, the sea and sky will burst into flame and burn!



A centipede polished his shoes
Until they reflected the views,
But he said 'What a pain!
I must start once again!
Any wonder that I've got the blues!'
See my blog of 11/1/10 to learn more about this alphabetical meme.


An old one for good measure.


A charming picture of Mother Love, with the little cub at play,
But Mother's looking wary in an un-maternal way.
She knows her cub has sharp white teeth that are inclined to nip.
She knows her cub has short sharp claws that are inclined to rip.
Should her offspring overstep the mark she'd give a little growl,
Then, no doubt, she'd bite him until he gave a howl.
Not such a pretty picture, but Nature, itself, decrees
That parents teach their children with methods such as these.
There's an awful lot of poppycock talked about 'the smack',
About how it harms young children somewhere down the track;
How they'll grow up brutalised by that little short, sharp shock,
And go round hitting everyone right around the clock!
I think a slap is natural and speedily forgotten.
(Of course, I don't mean beatings; they're absolutely rotten!)
A little slap, but not too soft, can say more than a shout,
And any toddler quickly learns what life is all about.
Before a child can understand a reasoned argument;
Before you can explain to him exactly what is meant,
A short sharp slap brings discipline, which everybody needs;
A child soon learns that 'consequences' follow doubtful deeds.
And, once the howling's over, then love comes into play;
Lots of kiss-and-cuddles, and then it's time to say
'Though sometimes I get angry with some naughty thing you do
Nothing in the world is going to stop me loving YOU!'
I smacked my two, in days gone by, if they were very naughty,
And now they're gorgeous adults, very well-behaved and (whisper) forty!
What's more they can't remember any discipline at all!
So, parents, don't let naughty toddlers drive you up the wall!

Friday, November 26, 2010



My first attempt at one of these puzzles!


When I awake and I've resurfaced
I find that dreams have hung around!
Last night I was in a filthy ash-pit;
The boiler's clunk made a fearsome sound!
I was fork-lifted up to safety!
Thankfully, the dream had passed!
Water, cupped in my hand refreshed me!
My new nib writes 'I'm safe at last!'
After the crush
Life is now lush.


Etienne de Silhouette. Do you know the name?
And do you understand the reason for his rise to fame?
He wasn't any hero, that we must admit,
And the people of his day and age didn't care for him one bit!
He was a Finance Minister in eighteenth century France,
And his penny-pinching ways caused folk to look at him askance.
His hobby was paper-cutting, making portraits, black and white;
Such art-work was quite popular and quite a common sight.
But he cut the Budget to the bone , causing penury for the poor,
And so 'cuts' became his trade-mark as people suffered more.
'We'll only dress in black!' they cried 'To show our discontent!
The black of Monsieur Silhouette we're going to represent!
The rich may have their colours; we poor must do without.
Soon he'll get the message, of that there is no doubt!'
And, sure enough, poor Etienne was turfed out on his ear!
His cuts had been unpopular, people had made that clear.
But his name has lingered on till now, in the art of silhouette.
Even in this day and age the system's with us yet!
This black-and-white form of portraiture still has a certain charm,
And we still view Finance Ministers with something like alarm!

Genetic Sandwich



I'm not a Number Cruncher; numbers don't appeal.
Though some are Number Munchers and enjoy them for a meal!
It's strains my little grey cells just to count above a ten!
And when I do I sigh and say' I won't go there again!'
Which is odd, because my mother loved numbers all her life;
She'd have much preferred accounting to being a stay-home wife.
Never 'allowed' to go out to work, she was tied to the kitchen sink,
Which was a waste of an agile brain that was crying-out to think!
For 'one brief shining moment' during the Second World War
 She told me she was happier than she'd ever been before;
She worked at an aircraft factory, doing accounts, of course,
As men were in the army or some other fighting force.
As soon as the War was over she was popped back in her box!
Women were made for bed and board and, maybe, pretty frocks.
But, unbeknown to her, her genes were lurking out of sight
Inside me, her daughter, so that made things all right.
I couldn't add or multiply; well, maybe just a bit,
But at algebra and geometry I certainly was no hit.
But, years later, I had a daughter; Rebecca is her name.
Just like my mother she finds crunching numbers just a game.
'It's lovely when it all works out!' she once said to me!
And, of course, she does accounting,  so it's turned out beautifully.
 I'm the meat in the sandwich! Numbers are for the birds!
Give me a non-stop diet of words, words, words!



Faded ink and faded paper,
Faded words and faded dreams.
Long-forgotten wishful thinking,
Long-departed idle schemes.
Tied with ribbon they lie waiting
Letters from the days gone by.
Will their youthful words embarrass?
Will their passions make us cry?
Soon old letters will be relics.
Telegrams? Now what were they?
They would now be classed as 'clutter'
By the writers of today.
If you send your love an email
It will vanish in thin air!
When you're old will you remember
So-and-so who used to care?
If you send your love a message
On your mobile, clicked in text,
Very soon they will erase it,
Making room for what comes next.
But a faded, dusty letter,
Touched a-while with tenderness,
Smelling of the days departed,
Bringing back some past caress,
Can't be clicked into oblivion;
It lives on and on it seems.
Faded ink and faded paper,
Faded words and faded dreams.

Red Route




So much to admire in this cover!
For one thing it's sizzling red!
Red is excitingly vivid......
Makes you want to leap straight out of bed
And go on a thrilling adventure,
To places a long way away,
Stopping a while on the journey,
When locations invite you to stay.
The dotted-line road is so wayward;
It even coils right off the map,
While the little red car that you're driving
Is aiming to land in your lap!
We notice the folds in the paper,
Which give it an authentic touch,
Like a map that you keep in your glove-box,
A map that gets folded too much.
The work of a clever designer,
This cover does all that it  should
To entice us inside to discover
If the content is equally good.


Here in Oz a shrimp's a prawn and cilantro's coriander
Keep that in mind when you cook this tasty dish!
The name's don't really matter for it's the taste that counts
And the taste of this is brilliant as you wish!
It's a perfect meal for summer nights (it's summer where I am)
And the prawns look lovely laid out on the plate.
It's a quick and easy recipe that anyone can make
But your guests are sure to label it as 'Great!'
Marinate the prawns in the honey for a while,
Covering with cling-wrap helps a lot.
Then add the garlic, oil and soy and marinate some more,
The lovely flavour's sure to hit the spot.
Skin and chop the mushrooms, cut the onion into chunks,
Also the peppers, one size here 'fits all'.
Thread the lot on skewers, but watch out for the drips!
Some from the marinade are bound to fall!
Your kebabs are set for grilling, with some extra marinade;
Cook them till they curl up at the edges,
Then serve them any way you like, with bread or rice or plain,
With salads or with lots of crispy veggies.
The honey adds a yummy sticky surface to the prawns,
So be sure you have some napkins standing by!
There'll be lots of finger-licking when you serve these lovely treats!
And your reputation's bound to go sky-high!

Marinade:3tbsp honey,2tbsp soy sauce,1tsp of sesame seed oil,1 clove of garlic, crushed
Prawns :175g prawns, cooked and peeled, 125g mushrooms, 1/2 onion,1 red pepper



There was a young lady from Dorking
Whose voice was just like a duck squawking
People covered their ears
Or burst into tears
Saying 'Why don't you talk proper talking?'
See my blog of 11/1/10 to learn more about this alphabetical meme.


An old one for good measure.

                             Lions Head Cape Town

The rock is rooted in the earth;
The mist is from aloft.
One is the ultimate hardness;
One the ultimate soft.
Together they bring us beauty,
As they stand, combine or drift.
Our holday in Cape Town!
It gave our hearts a lift.


Yesterday had its good and bad points.

Here is the Choir posing after a very successful concert. We all enjoy each others' company so much. I've just been re-watching 'Calendar Girls' and it reminded me how fortunate women are in their friendships.

And here's the bad.... This tiny dog is my daughter Rebecca's pride and joy and he's very ill at the moment, with a suspected snake-bite. (I haven't seen one snake in the 36 years I've lived in Australia, but the very wet winter has brought them out and Banjo was unlucky.) He's had blood transfusions and we're hoping he'll survive. We're all so fond of him. 

Thursday, November 25, 2010

Taking Chances

This week's words 'advance, shuffle, pander'

The waves advance upon the shore
With mighty power and deafening roar.
They do not pander to our needs;
We are one of life's lesser breeds.
But, as they recede, with scarce a shuffle,
Nature seems to mute and muffle.
Then we can dip our puny toes
Before another giant grows.
Screams of joy as a wave advances
And mortals laugh at taking chances!


                    Brenda Bryant

Oh well, it's a scenic attraction and a tropical memory too,
Although it's quite clearly unnatural, and, possibly, 'simply wont do'!
But I'm squeezing it in under 'scenic', since it captures the spirit and feel
Of a holiday, spent up in Noosa, where the tropical scene was quite real.
The coastline of Queensland is gorgeous,(apart from a cyclone or two,)
So this, clearly, quite staged presentation gives a hint of reality too.



There once was an elegant eagle
Who fell madly in love with a beagle.
When it came time to kiss
The dog said 'None of this!
I've a feeling this whole thing's illegal!'
See my blog of 11/1/10 to learn more about this alphabetical meme.


And an old one for good measure.

I am very keen on Simplified Spelling! Here I go overboard but I bet you can read it!


Men ov old hav utad 'Zowndz!'
Wen thav ritan wurdz in sowndz,
But mi aproch wurkz lic a drem
Speling lists just mak me screm!
Orl thoz yeaz geting thingz rong!
Owaz and owaz! It tooc so long!
Wen ech child cood hav yoozd its hed
Lurning utha thingz insted!
'Hooray for fonics!' so say I!
Il be a fan until I di!

Wednesday, November 24, 2010

The Education

              Majorie Torrey

suggested the illustration.


Little Princess Pussy-Willow was feeling very sad,
Thinking of the many playmates that she'd never had.
No little sisters, brothers, cousins, nobody to play with,
No-one to even read a book or pass the time of day with.
She sighed as she turned the pages of her favourite picture book.
Hour after hour she sat alone.... with nothing to do but look.
She came upon the picture of her very favourite scene;
Where a little dragon posed and showed his scales of grassy green.
He had such a curly tail and he had such a friendly face!
Not at all like wicked dragons, which are very commonplace.
'I wish that you could talk to me' the little Princess said.
And, to her surprise, right off the page, the dragon raised its head!
'I can' the dragon answered, 'But I simply can't get free!
Get your scissors and cut me out! Then you'll see what you will see!'
Very, very carefully, the Princess, cut him out.
(Sometimes she nicked one of his scales and he gave a squeaky shout!)
But, finally, he stood there, large as life and looking smug,
Her own little playful dragon, standing right there on her rug!
'Let's have fun!' the dragon shouted! ' Let us scribble on the walls!
Let us break up all the windows with these little pingpong balls!
Let us stamp our feet and whistle and make an enormous noise!
Let us tear-up all your comics and break all your silly toys!
Let us go and find your mother and shout out naughty words!
Let us go down to the aviary and let-out all the birds!'
Princess Pussy-Willow was utterly appalled!
She sat down in the playroom and she hung her head and bawled.
' You're a nasty, nasty dragon' she cried 'You're just a pain!
I'm going to get the sticky-tape and stick you back again!
Back you'll go inside the book to stay there for all time!
It seems that all you're suited to is a life of wicked crime!'
As she went to get the sticky-tape she heard the dragon cry
'I know my manners aren't too good but I'm really going to try!
Please, please don't stick me back again! Just teach me to be good!
Teach me to have good manners and to act the way I should'!
The Princess soon relented and right there made up her mind
To teach her friend the dragon to be peacable and kind.
She hid him in her bedroom and every single day
She taught him how he should behave and how two children play.
Finally, he graduated; at last he passed the test.
His manners were quite passable although they weren't the best!
'Today we meet my mother' the Princess said at last;
'If you can be polite to her it means that you have passed!'
She took him to the throne room, which was really rather grand,
And, straight away he bowed down low over the royal hand.
'This is an honour, Majesty' he said with downcast eyes.
'What a charming dragon!' said the Queen 'What a surprise!
You have such lovely manners! I do hope that you'll stay!
Do live with us for ever and never go away!'
So the Princess Pussy-Willow now has a live-in friend!
Which proves that education has its uses in the end!


'It's raining cats and dogs!' we cry! 'It's raining cats and dogs!'
So why not chickens, centipedes and rats and mice and frogs?
Well, all of them are valid, or were once long ago
In the days when life was simpler and the pace of it was slow.
Here I'll explain the reason why we give this exclamation....
It has to do with an ancient and quite awkward tribulation.
The roofs of many houses were made of twigs and reeds
And, on dry days, these were enough to cater to men's needs.
But often livestock, or family pets would make their way and creep
Inside the matted twigs and grass and lie there fast asleep!
Heat from the family fire seeped up and kept them safe and warm,
But it was a different story in a deluge or a storm!
Then the roof grew slippery and soon came gaping holes
Dislodging cats and dogs..... and other creatures, even moles!
Down through the roof they tumbled, on to the cottage floor;
Sometimes there were one or two, sometimes even more!
'Look at it raining cats and dogs!' the children used to cry!
And still you shout the same today!
Now you know the reason why.

Sour Grapes!


I've never won a trophy in my life!
And the time for winning trophies has long gone.
Even though I've been 'The World's First Super-Wife',
There's been no little mug to write it on!
How I've envied all the winners that I've met,
With their shelves packed tight with tokens of success!
It's been my lot to merely gaze and fret
Considering my awful lowliness.
They didn't give out trophies for the girl
Who no-one ever wanted on their team!
Who couldn't leap or dive or toss or hurl,
And who toppled off the lowest balance-beam!
The 'Booby Prize' was only that in name;
There never was a trophy presentation!
I merely hung my head and burned with shame
Brooding about my woeful situation.
But they tell me trophies have to be preserved!
To keep them bright demands some elbow-greasing!
The winners of the past must be un-nerved
When their trophy-care continues on un-ceasing!
I see them now..... all polishing and buffing
To keep their rows of trophies shiny bright!
They're old now, so they're huffing and they're puffing,
With silver-polish, morning, noon and night!
I'd hate to have to get up every day
To continue with the toil of preservation!
I'd rather live my life the Losers' way
Enjoying lots of old-age relaxation!


I knew we were over the hill, but I just didn't know how far
Till, one night, I looked at Eddie and saw he was a star!
We hadn't made love for months and months, I thought we'd forgotten how,
But, suddenly, I got the urge and I knew the time was 'Now!'
He was busy reading the paper, his specs on the end of his nose;
I went and sat on the arm of his chair, in rather a sexy pose.
'Let's go upstairs, darling' I murmured in his ear.
I think I made my message unusually crystal clear!
Eddie looked rather startled at the idea of bedroom fun.
'Walk upstairs? Make love as well?....... I can only manage ONE!'



There once was a pretty flamingo
Who pretended that he was a dingo
He looked the right shape
But one couldn't escape
From the fact that he failed at the lingo!
See my blog 11/1/10 to learn more about this alphabetical meme.


And an old one for good measure


A photograph that's blurred and old, from many years a ago.
My cousin sent it recently and it's new to me, although
I knew about the circumstance that caused this little shot,
And it brought to mind a time long gone that I nearly forgot.
I think the early 'sixties'..... yes, that could be the date;
I have to cast my mind back and try to contemplate.
In letters sent to Africa I heard of such a jaunt;
My parents and relations in a favourite forest haunt.
They all loved the New Forest; a lovely spot, it's true,
And they all enjoyed playing Scrabble, so they combined the two.
They used to set-up wind-breaks and light a picnic fire
And sit, playing Scrabble or reading, as the smoke grew ever higher.
Surrounded by gigantic trees and sheltered from the breeze,
They drank their very British tea and sat back at their ease.
Such a nostalgic photograph! Such happy times to share.
Thanks for sending it, Richard. I wish that I'd been there.

Tuesday, November 23, 2010



Just a faded photograph from many years ago,
Not of close relations, but people I used to know.
I knew them in a way that is, in many ways, quite rare,
And it makes me feel nostalgic, to see them posing there.
I was their 'little evacuee' in nineteen-forty-three.
For several years I lived with them and they looked after me.
They were Mr and Mrs Tucker; no first-names in those days!
And they were very kind to me in many, many ways.
This photograph was on display and it often caught my eye;
I'd study Trevor, the little boy, whenever I passed it by.
When I knew him he was fourteen; gone was his babyhood
But I always liked this photograph; little Trevor looked so 'good'.
Trevor's an old man now, of course, for seventy years have passed!
I'm just a wee bit younger, but I'm catching-up too fast!
Now we correspond by email in a very modern way,
For I am in Australia, and he's in the U.K.
Both of us have descendents, so our genes will carry on
After the inevitable, when both of us have gone.
All this will be ancient history, and will anybody care
That once I lived in Stafford and was kindly treated there?
Thank you Trevor for the photographs and all the memories.
Some of the happiest things in life are echoes such as these.

 Mr and Mrs Tucker about ten years after I lived with them.
Trevor at the time of his marriage to Margaret.

  And an unexpected bonus! A picture of me with the family (second from left) that I had never seen before!

Siren Song!

Letter 'S'

This is a parody from my melodrama 'The Golden Heart'. Seth has 'inherited' a gold-mine, plus the innocent daughter of the previous owner! He cannot, however, find the fabulous Golden Heart nugget, which he has promised to his wife, Queenie. Here, she nags him for it.



Well, have you got it Seth, my dear?
You promised you would bring it here!
No doubt the mine is ours by right,
But the value of the mine is slight.
 The value of the nugget, though,
Is worth more than all the gold below.
Show it! Show it! Right this minute!
You promised me that you would win it!
I can tear your life apart
If I don't get that Golden Heart!

(To the tune of The Dark-town Strutters' Ball')
Gonna get that treasure and you can't deny me!/ I've been dreaming of it oh so long!/ You know I'm right not wrong,/ And I'm aware of all that it can buy me./ I'm so sick of looking poor and shabby./ I am pretty and I must look smart,/ So, honey, please get on your bike!/ Get me what I really like!/ Get with it, baby, and get that Golden Heart!
You're a honey and you love me dearly./ Please donate a lot of currency!/ You know it's meant for me/ And I mean all I'm saying, so sincerely./ All I need is lots of golden bangles!/ With some help I'd be a work of art./  So, sweetie, please don't wait around;/ You've got to cover lots of ground!/ Get with it, baby, and get that Golden Heart!


My photographs are rather bland;
So much I do not understand.
Filters are a mystery
To a person such as me,
Unaccostomed to techniques
Used by you snap-happy freaks.
How I admire the end results;
How this techno-fool exults!
Filters in particular,
Show things not as they really are
But as they would like to be
If freed from drab reality.
Take snow..... it fell as I remember
Any time around December.
But it often lasted just one day
And then it grew a grubby grey!
Finally it turned to slush!
Far removed from a snowfall's hush.
Of course, I speak of English snow,
And I also speak of long ago.
Maybe, now, it's crisp and deep,
Lying whitely in a heap.
But, for me, this pictured scene
Comes from a time of might-have-been.
White, tinged with blue to make it whiter;
Tweaked to make it look much brighter.
Is that dishonesty? No way!
If this photo were coloured grey
Would it have that same appeal
And can reality be too real?
I see a camera filter's task,
Not as as some pretentious mask,
But rather as a painter's brush
Adding a depth or sheen or flush.
While you tweak with your glorious blue,
I just stand admiring you.