Fuddy-Duddy

The Wordle

SUNDAY WHIRL

http://sundaywhirl.wordpress.com/

asks us to use all the words in the wordle

FUDDY-DUDDY

Oh how I hate the music of the current generation!

The racket makes my temper rise and causes consternation.

I loved to trace the sweet refrains, the softly throbbing strings,

The blending of the syrupy notes, the sentiment that clings......

Remembered from the heady days when I worshipped Matt Munroe,

And Frank Sinatra and his ilk made me tingle head to toe.

*

How can they latch-on to the din that they call music now?

Anger rises in my chest and sweat be-dews my brow!

I'd like to strike the singers, yes, crack them on the head,

Or draft them into the army! I really do see red.

I cannot spare one moment of my very precious time

Listening to 'music' that the young think so sublime.

*

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THE TRIUMPH

(An Imaginary Situation!)

Ah, but he was a hard man, my father!

When he drank,

Which was often,

We all cowered,

Waiting for his turning of the key.

The candles would gutter

As he threw open the door

And confronted us.

In slurred speech he would berate us,

Mock us,

Belittle us,

Threatening us with worse to come.

But it was my mother who suffered most.

Many times

I saw her beaten,

Heard her cry out,

Saw her sobbing in the aftermath.

I was the eldest boy.

I should have protected her,

Championed her,

Looked my father in the eye

And dared him to continue.

But, no!

I snivelled,

I hid in corners,

Covered my eyes.......

Eyes.

One of his was false,

But it could intimidate,

Wither

And quell

As well as any human eye.

When he died, in a drunken brawl,

He left us penniless,

And on the street.

I asked for his glass eye.

People wondered why I wanted it.

I used it as paper-weight

When I was studying.

Even now that I am a successful man,

It looks at me.

*

But I can look right back

*