Action

SUNDAY SCRIBBLINGS

http://sundayscribblings.blogspot.com
chose the topic

ACTION

As in very many cases seek for moderation.

Action's fine but never when it leads to perturbation.

Inaction's merely laziness, and not to be admired,

So what to do when a worthy cause gets ones spirits fired?

Sitting in an armchair and bemoaning this and that,

Being utterly inactive except for winge and chat,

Does nothing to improve life or help a worthy cause.

Things will always stay the same.....even unjust laws.

But go out and join a rabble, spill blood along the way,

And no-one takes much notice of the things one has to say.

The message is forgotten in the screaming and the din,

And, when there's too much action, no-one's going to win.

It's hard to tread the tightrope between mobs and lazy sloth;

But we have to find a middle course; we've certainly tried both.

Only civilising discourse can improve a situation.

Action's fine but only when it's tinged with moderation.

*

---------------------------------------------------------------

LEGS' LABOURS LOST!

Long lissom legs;

Luscious lips, half parted.

Corrugated hair, blonde, bottle blonde.

The Beauty Spot.

The Widow's Peak.

The Kiss Curl.

The Cupid's Bow.

Gone.

All gone.

Eyes wide! But not with innocence.

Fixed smiles,

With nerves chattering at the corners of the mouths.

Bountiful thighs, no longer fashionable.

Eager faces.

Oh so eager....

For Fame.

'Please let him notice me!'

'I kick higher than she does!'

'Is my lipstick smudged?'

'This is my last chance.'

We see them, time and time again, in the background of old movies.

Fred and Ginger take centre-stage.

And, behind them the girls line-up.

This could be IT!

Kick! Kick! Kick!

Higher! Higher! Higher!

Arms around another's waist,

But not out of affection.

More like hatred.

'Surely Busby Berkely looked my way!'

The Tin Pan Alley music is full of hope.

And so are they.

But we know something they don't know:

That they will never make it.

Time will defeat them.

They will join us at the kitchen sink.

And a new crop of dewy-eyed babes will come along.

These are not great tragedies, as tragedies go.

At least, one day, they will be able to say to their grandchildren

'I was in a film once'

That will be their only reward.

Maybe now they're high-kicking on a cloud!

Maybe now they're looking down at us thinking

'I bet you never danced with Fred Astair.'

*