Wednesday, August 31, 2011

Sign Please

'mumble, penetrate, drag'


Please sir, I'd like to be a ghost.
How long have you been dead?
Only a minute or two milord.
And do you feel full of dread?
On the contrary, I feel wonderful!
Ready to have some fun?
I've always fancied haunting.
No sooner said than done.
Can I choose my own methods, sir?
Well, there are limitations.....
I've got some wonderful ideas!
Not too many complications!
I'd like to drag myself along.
Right! I'll supply the chains.
I'd like to penetrate the woods!
And how about country lanes?
And I'd like to sort of mumble.
You can if you add a groan.
But I want to be original!
I won't let you be a clone!
I thought, maybe, I'd grind my teeth!
A capital idea!
And then I thought I'd whisper threats.....
Ha ha! In each shell-like ear!
So do you think I'll make the grade?
I think that you'll do fine!
What's the next thing I must do?
Just sign on the dotted line.



Has the universe a beginning; has the universe an end?
How many people in the world consider me a friend?
Does garlic taste the same to me as it does to other folk?
Why do I feel uncomfortable when someone tells a joke?
How long am I going to live? (Do I really want to know?)
How tall are Max and Blake and Harry (grandsons) going to grow?
Would boredom be a problem if they shot me into space?
Will atomic warfare bring the end of the human race?
Is it hot inside a burqua and underneath a veil?
Would I enjoy life quite as much if I'd been born a male?
Will there be bush-fires this summer? I'm rather hoping not!
Would it hurt less to be hung or hurt less to be shot?
Was it really so dreadful in the days when kids got the cane?
I'd ask a lot more questions but thirteen have 'crashed' my brain!

Genetic Misfit


Oh woe is me! I am recessive. Soon to disappear from the scene.
For I'm a walking, talking, living, breathing but truly recessive gene.
I look like a human-being, but that is just an act;
Nature hasn't thought me worth preserving. Isn't that a sorry fact.
I am the mother of two children, but they don't resemble me.
I remember giving birth to them, but there's no similarity.
Nature has found me wanting. I'll disappear without a trace.
No-one will ever say, fondly, 'The daughter has her Mother's face.'
They are dark, whereas I was mousy, they are beautiful, where I was plain.
Their faces are completely different; they have a different type of brain.
Both of them are modest people; I'm a show-off, I admit;
They just do not resemble me the tiniest little bit.
To think I waddled round all fatly, and then went through the childbirth stuff,
Then nurtured them both for eighteen years. Wasn't that enough?
No, 'the survival of the fittest' has simply cut me out,
I find I'm having to ask myself 'What's Motherhood all about?'
I suppose it doesn't matter. I suppose I shouldn't care
That descendents, looking at photos, may say 'Who's that woman there?'
Oh woe is me! I am recessive. Soon to disappear from the scene.
For I'm a walking, talking, living, breathing but truly recessive gene.



"Many a true word spoken in jest."
When was Mankind at his best?
Rising to two legs was a gain
But now we're sinking back again!
Did we swing down from the trees
To merely live a life of ease,
Crouching over a little screen,
In a shape reminiscent of the Pleistocene?
That noble creature, centre-stage
Belongs to a much less 'civilised' age,
But did his sons grow extended thumbs,
Stunting the growth of their craniums,
Gazing, with hypnotised satisfaction,
At a little screen, which breeds inaction?
Oh the curve of that human graph!
If it wasn't so sad it would make us laugh.

Tuesday, August 30, 2011

Seeing Red



They gathered in my cosy room,
Escaping from the winter gloom,
Ready to practise for a play;
Another 'gig' was on its way.
I looked at them and 'I saw red'.
I took the photo then I said
'Red is such a cheerful colour;'
It stops the grey from looking duller.
Everyone is cheered and warmed,
Cosied-up and quite transformed
By a ruby's generous glow.'
The others said 'Oh! Are we duller
Because we wear a different colour?'
Compliments sometimes backfire
When it comes to comments on attire!




There's a time when babyhood
Has upped and gone, and gone for good.
Childhood isn't here just yet,
He's half-person and half-pet.
In the dappled shadow see
The person who will, one day, be,
And the baby who's departed
Leaving us a bit downhearted.
How we love to see them grow!
But say goodbye to Baby? No!


I haven't been posting Happy Snaps lately because I had a computer breakdown. Everything was soon repaired and replaced but I'd lost my photo resizer and I couldn't be bothered with uncropped photos. This one of Malcolm with his new baby is actually uncropped to show the MG in all its glory! I know you'll enjoy seeing it, Mike. 
        Incidentally, I looked into my much-neglected Facebook page today and found Emma there!

I'm putting an up-to-date diary-load of photos on Rinkly Report which is a monthly diary page.
if anyone's interested.


supplied the illustration


Your husband and my wife are both at home in bed.
And how we love our early-morning walk!
I saw you on the beach over a year ago
And it wasn't long before we stopped to talk.
At first it was all innocent; we walked briskly, on the beach,
Discussing work and hobbies and the weather.
I was finding Elsie dreary; you were heartily sick of Tom;
It was natural that we both felt drawn together.
But then our friendship changed to a deeper sort of feeling,
And now we've started having an affair!
We've been taking lots of chances, meeting secretly in hotels
And we're certain that it's true love that we share.
So far we've kept our secret; Tom and Elsie still know nothing;
The two of them lie snoring in their beds!
And the thought of illicit passion is something they'd not dream of!
They're so dull it wouldn't enter in their heads!
Watch out! That chap with the camera is pointing in our direction!
He's pretending that he's filming the morning sun.
But I bet he's a detective, employed by Tom and Elsie!
I think that we've been rumbled! Come on! Run!



It was the last thing I saw
As the paddy-wagon drove away,
With me in the back!
The red vase.
The trees were smaller then.
We had picked roses together
Only that morning.
Both of us knew
We were on borrowed time.
She had known of my criminal past
From the start.
But she had loved me in spite of it.
We thought we were safe.
The radio shattered our lives.
'The authorities
Hope to apprehend the criminal
Any day now'.
We knew we were on borrowed time.
So we picked roses.
They looked splendid in the red vase
On the window-sill.
They were the last thing I saw.
Now I have returned.
The stucco has faded to a paler pink.
The trees have grown to surround the house.
The bright red vase
Still stands on the window-sill.
But the roses have gone.
 And so has she.

Monday, August 29, 2011

Having it All



Remember the dream of having it all?
'Equality', as I recall,
Meant being feminine in looks and manner
But still being able to wield a spanner!
This magazine cover from way back then,
Shows women being the equals of men.
Domination, we thought, was ending,
(Though I find this scene rather condescending.)
But modern wives, it seems to me,
Can't really enjoy equality,
Because they're run right off their feet.
No time to look delicate and sweet.
True, many men help in the house;
No-one ever says 'Are you man or mouse?'.
But though 'I help' may be their boast
It's still the woman who does the most.
Women of older generations
Had to cope with their own frustrations...
Tied to the kitchen and not allowed
To have careers to make them proud.
But today's young women, workers plus wives,
Lead such stressful and hurried lives,
Paying the mortgage and cooking meals!
I can imagine how it feels!
It seems 'our' advances have been small.
Will women ever 'have it all'?



Is it my mind or is this rude!
(Sometimes childish thoughts intrude!)
In any case, this little hen
Has strayed into the ways of men.
The 'yellow line' when it is straddled
Looks like egg-yolk that's been addled!
She struck a pose, the camera clicked
And now she finds that she's been tricked!
The chicken crossed to the other side
But she didn't look too dignified!

Take Heed!

File:Klimt - Der Kuss.jpeg

Take heed, all you salacious ones, pornographers take heed!
Here is sex triumphant, without doubt.
Here is represented the essence of 'the act'
But it murmurs; it doesn't need to shout.
This was painted by a man, yet it captures with such ease,
The way the female feels about romance.
No crudity, no over-kill, no 'in-yer-face' approach.
There is no leer; it's tender as a glance.
We know there are raunchy women, who tend to think like men,
Who like to be 'out-there' and having 'fun'.
'Good luck to them', I say, but there are many, many  more
Who prefer the woman to be wooed and won.
This painting's called 'The Kiss'  but it's so much more than that;
It stirs, inside us all, some ancient need.
'Romance' is a flowery flimsy thing that some may disregard.
But, for a joyful love-life,  just take heed!



Glass above and sails below
Shadow and sun combining.
Gentle movement, soft and slow
And a bright sun shining.
We were in Perth away to the west;
This was a bright Casino,
But we were happily having a rest
And drinking a Cappuccino.

Bootleg Hooch

supplied the illustration


Al was desperate for a drink but the rain was pouring down;
The vendor of his bootleg hooch was on  the other side of town.
May, his current floozie, was starting in to whine
'If your lips don't touch liquor they surely wont touch mine!'
'But May' said Al, 'It's raining! I'll be soaked to the skin!'
But he could tell by the look on her face he wasn't going to win.
She said 'Take my red umbrella!' And Al, of course, demurred
Saying 'That will ruin my image! I'll simply look absurd!'
However, May had tempting lips, so he took the red umbrella,
Hoping that people in the street would see he was a fella.
So Al collected his bootleg hooch and stayed as dry as a bone.
(I hope you enjoyed this insight into the life of Al Capone!)



Freddy saw a tasty blonde on his way home one night.
And humanity persuaded him to ascertain her plight!!
She was standing on the pavement watching traffic passing by,
And as he slowed down near her she looked him in the eye.
'Hop in!’ he said; and so she did without a why or wherefore,
And Freddy never thought to ask what she was standing there for!
Although he had a feeling that the evening would be great
He thought it wise to chat a bit and didn't hesitate.
'So what do you do for a living?' he asked her most politely,
He knew it must be something that she had to work at nightly.
'I work as a magician' said the blonde with a little smile.
So Freddy thought he'd take a chance; give her magic tricks a trial.
It was then she proved her ability; she could do magic well.
For, when she touched him on the knee, he turned into a motel!

Sunday, August 28, 2011

The Great Deceiver

asks us to consider our Muse


My Muse does not amuse me!
She chooses to abuse me!
She puts ideas inside my head
When I am lying in my bed,
Forcing me to stir my bones,
Rising with deep and midnight groans,
To hie me to my darkened desk!
In my night attire! Grotesque!
I seat myself, prepared to write,
Though it's the middle of the night!
But she, the miscreant, just hurts me,
For then the thought she gave deserts me.
The seed of greatness she inspired
Fades, and dwindles and grows tired!
Soon it fades away completely!
She doesn't even act discretely!
I hear her laugh as she takes her leave!
For she intended to deceive.
The great thought haunts me, almost there,
And yet quite vanished in thin air.
Nothing more to be done or said.
I go to the toilet and back to bed!


A fellow who liked doing tricks
Would take off his clothes just for kicks.
People said he was rude
When he danced in the nude
And he didn't impress any chicks!


presents us with this wordle.
We are asked to make a poem from it.


What does it matter if the breeze
Sweeps all the dead leaves from the trees?
If all the dry brown residue
Should turn to dust as dead leaves  do?
The trunk remains all sturdy, growing,
A vessel for the life not showing.
I fervently believe this truth.......
Within our skins lies latent youth.
We wear a cloak of wrinkled age
But, through us, youth will take to the stage.



If you scrape the sky in Sydney
You end up with a mass of blue,
With one or two little white bits
Gently passing through.
'Hurry up!' my friends all told me,
'We really cannot wait
For you to take a photograph!
Already we're quite late!
What's so special, anyway?
Just a great glassy sheet!
No need for you to stop and click
In the middle of the street!'
And so the others surged away
In a great big friendly bunch,
Off to a favourite restaurant
To have a bite of lunch.
While I stood taking photographs
With 'reflections' on my mind.
And then I had to rush like mad
For I had been left behind!
If you scrape the sky in Sydney
You end up with a mass of blue,
With one or two little white bits

Gently passing through.


had this idea!


'Surprise! I'm Pregnant!' was the meme. It had a curious ring,
For I'm a lady of eighty and past that sort of thing!
It certainly would be a surprise if I were in that condition
For all my 'working parts' have, since forever, been in remission!
I'm free! I'm free! My body's mine, though crumbling into dust!
I'd rather have a cup of tea than a bit of old-fashioned lust!
But if my daughter or daughter-in-law were to have a slight mishap,
I'd gladly welcome a bundle into my senile lap!


I stand in line at the check-out in the old time-honoured way,
With money at the ready, which I'm prepared to pay.
I'm an upright citizen so I read all the signs,
And I always act accordingly, especially in lines.
I know society depends on customers like me
'Toeing-the-line' in every sense, when on a spending spree.
I know my little trolly is half-empty so I'm sure
I've only a few items, maybe eight or nine, no more.
I idly start to count them as the check-out hoves in sight
And I find out to my horror that my estimate wasn't right!
There are actually twelve items and the sign says 'Only ten!'
Inexorably I move on as the shoppers shift again!
Now I'm faced with a dilemma, should I now quit my spot,
Returning to the shelves the extra items I have got?
No! I'm going to be quite brazen! I'm a pensioner, foresooth!
Old people should have leeway (we can't count as well as youth!)
As I'm emptying my trolly I feel the gimlet eyes
Focussed on my purchases! Have I been unwise?
A gentleman behind me clears his throat as if to say
'Just my luck to meet a crazy woman here today!'
The young person at the check-out, as she fiddles with the till,
Doesn't say a single word but, oh, if looks could kill!
I leave the store with head bowed, a blush upon my cheek.
I suppose I'll be forced to buy my things from another store next week!
Oh, you may laugh, and you may sneer! You may think my tale's a farce!
But after a blameless life I find I'm one of the criminal class!

Taking the Plunge

supplied the illustration


Nellie, that's her on the left, had been looking  for romance
And now she'd met someone on-line! I said 'Nellie! Take a chance!'
She said 'Oh dear! I feel so shy!' But what would be the harm?
So we choofed off to Brighton. I grabbed hold of her arm
And dragged her out along the pier. He was waiting there all right!
I could see from his expression they were in for a passionate night!
She'd bought a winceyette nighty to give her love a thrill!
I think it must have done the trick for she's in Brighton still!



I am living without faith. Does that sound depressing?
I don't believe in anything, that's what I'm confessing.
When, in my teens, I sat, one day, all dutiful, in church,
Faith flew out the window! But I'm not left in the lurch!
My problem with religious faith is that human beings preach it!
If God were utterly obvious no-one would need to teach it!
I made up my mind, in those early days, that I would pay no heed
To what came from a human source, whatever might be the creed.
I would just believe what I can hear and see and smell and touch!
And, honestly, I've got along just fine. Does that shock you too much?
For one thing, take Eternal Life! I think that's horrifying.
I'll have no expectations at the moment of my dying.
I will never be 'rewarded' so I'm not wracked by guilt.
I am very far from perfect but it's only 'milk that's spilt'.
But I worship LIFE for that's all there is! At least, that's my belief.
Religions seem to add to the toll of pain and woe and grief!
Take the state of the world right now! How much better it would be
If the world cut-out religion and just lived faithlessly.

Love at First Sight And......


'Love at first sight' is heady; it's positively magic.
But heed my words for delirium can sometimes become tragic!
Right at the beginning it springs up from the ground,
Tiny, effervescent, bright, with a tinkling, laughing sound.
It springs up from the lover's heart, unspoken and quite shy,
But it grows in strength and certitude as the loving days go by.
It tumbles down the mountain side, young and full of joy;
That first kiss, that promise, so bold, no longer coy.
And now the bliss of waterfalls, deep gorges, bounding waves,
When love engulfs the lovers and is everything one craves.
Now comes the river's fullness, it enters the boundless plain,
Edged with romantic flowers, filled with life-giving rain.
But what is this? The river forks, to the left and to the right!
One way is to gentler waters, flowing bountiful and bright,
The other to a muddy creek, which narrows as it goes,
Carrying pain and angry words, sluggishly it flows.
The creek is just a dead-end; our river has to die,
Leaving bitter memories as the passing years go by.
But, if we should be so fortunate as to win love's lottery,
Our river can flow on its way, peacefully, to the sea.
Oh, there may be no rapids, no towering cliffs to thrill;
But it now flows between verdant banks,  and we know it always will.



A place to park the car when the breeze has got a bite,
And Winter can give way to Spring, at least through the power of sight!
Looking at the ocean which is temptingly in reach,
Looking at the waves that break upon the golden beach,
One could think it that was summer but we would be quite wrong!
Still the warmth will soon be with us; we just hope it wont be long!

Ever Been Had?

gave us the first line


A woman who felt she'd been had,
Flew off on the next plane to Chad.
But no-one would date her
There on the Equator!
She wished she had chosen Baghdad!



I ask myself a question...
What music do they choose?
Surely that must be obvious!
They're going to play The Blues!

Saturday, August 27, 2011


asks us to use the word Easy'
Once again, I cheated a bit!

Six letters, six lines, six words.

(An Acrostic)

Even if the task's not easy
And the way ahead looks rough
Set out strongly on your mission
It may prove not truly tough.
Let your guiding words be these....
'Yes! I can succeed with ease!'



Advertising at it's best!
A petrol station teapot dressed!
Picture cars, vacation-bound;
Inside someone looks around!
Cries out 'Hey! Look over there!
A petrol-station that is rare!
Let's fill-up and look around!
The owner's colourful, I'll be bound!'
And so a customer is born
With slowing wheels and blaring horn.
Cups and saucers there are none,
But still it's just a bit of fun.
Now all we need for decoration
Is a teapot shaped like a petrol-station!

Friday, August 26, 2011


supplied the illustration


The conveyor belt is relentless;
The 'items' come and go;
A tweak, a nip, a turn of screw;
Keep going, don't be slow!
Everyone dressed identically,
Every eye looking down,
Every heart beating wretchedly,
Every brow wearing a frown.
This is Thoreau's 'Quiet Desperation'
In its most painful form,
This is Huxley's 'Brave New World';
And for some it is the norm.
We gobble up what they make for us;
We never consider their plight;
They are locked in far-off factories,
Mercifully out of sight.
When they arise in the morning,
Certainly before the sun,
Do they ever feel a leap of joy
Thinking of work to be done?
Society clearly needs them,
But do we ever take heed
Of the faceless people in overalls
Who feed our endless greed?




All they had was their sexuality,
The ladies of Lily Langtry's day.
Brought up to be breeders
And socialites,
Those with ambition
Must have struggled under the yoke
Of inequality.
She was never spoken of in my husband's family,
Although she was his grandmother's cousin.
After all,
She was a fallen woman.
And she 'fell' several times.
She was 'no better than she ought to be',
In the parlance of another age.
But note her lover!
Not for her the tumble in the hay
With the local Squire.
She was Mistress to the Prince of Wales.
She had beauty and charm;
She could sing and act.
She was probably intelligent.
But she was a woman.
All she had was her sex.

Thinking About Stinking

suggested this topic


I've touched on dogs before.......not literally, of course!
So why do I choose a dog today, rather than a cat or horse?
Because, my friends, I'm urged to write about the world of 'stinky'
And then to add my comment by means of Mr Linky.
How would it be to be a dog and love odours that we hate?
What if I loved the perfume of that by the garden gate?
What if I went into raptures when I smelt some mouldy meat?
What if the smell of the garbage bin was something very sweet?
What if that 'rotten egg' aroma smelt like Paradise
And the nether parts of Fido smelt naughty but so-o-o nice?
What if I went round sniffing and wearing a silly grin?
What if I revelled in the smell of my dearest kith and kin?
Life would be very different, that I know full well,
And I think I'll stick with what I've got....
An inferior sense of smell.



My World. Your World. The whole World over!
Remember how we lived in clover?
Remember how the money flowed?
So much was spent! So much was owed!
Then came the dreadful Credit Crunch,
While all our brains were 'out to lunch'!
Enlarge this sign and you will see
A token of our economy!
This is a School Hall being erected;
Government money being directed
To worthy projects such as this
So we don't fall in the abyss!
Just down the road I saw this sight,
And so it is 'My World' alright.
Australia managed pretty well,
But still we feel we cannot tell
When history will be repeatd
And common-sense again defeated.
My World. Your World. The whole World over!
Remember how we lived in clover?

The Renovators

supplied the illustration

Read this blurb and see if you would read the book!

Cynthia McDougal-Smollet

They both chance upon the self-same derelict house at the same time.
But he is a young student!
And she is a hard-bitten career-woman of a.....mature age.
Zack and Evangeline find love 'among the ruins'.
Will public scorn ruin their lives?
Rumours of bigamy and infanticide lurk.
A tangle of relationships points to forbidden love!
What exactly is Evangeline's dark secret? 
Can Zak trust her birth-certificate?

Interwoven into this delicious tale of 'cougar' love are many hints for the renovator.
During the most intimate exchanges one or other of the lovers will break-off
to discuss a cornice or a lintel.
This makes for exciting reading.

The Real-Estate Quarterly: Turn that hopeless hovel into a love-nest with the help of this 
'How-To Manual' of lust and renovation.



Subtlety marks the colours of the bush,
The Australian bush, where colours are so muted.
Rarely do we see a really vivid sparkling shade;
Vividness is, by the sun, diluted.
At first I missed the glories of the English countryside,
The hundred thousand greens, with red shot through,
And still I sometimes feel a stab of something like regret
That I traded-in old beauty for the new.
But I've grown to love the subtleties of eucalyptus trees,
And the beauty of the bark is plain to see,
And the outline of the branches against constant brilliant blue
Is very nearly good enough for me.
And here, where trees hang low above a little hidden pool,
And the bell-birds fill the air with joyful sound,
I enjoy a different beauty, full of ancient atmosphere,
And I'm thankful for the new joy that I've found.