Goofy!

ABC WEDNESDAY

GOOFY!

(An Acrostic)

Goofy! Such a harmless fellow; not a lot of brain.

Odd in looks and odd in speech as well.

Only in a cartoon can such characters remain
For there they cast a very special spell.

Yes! Political correctness now denies us such a treasure!

A harmless, tender-hearted fool who brings a lot of pleasure.

*
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THE PRICE THEY PAY

Dogs may have a sense of smell that beggars all belief.

Among the band of Sniffers, the dog is absolute Chief.

To him the world is full of scents, that titillate his nose;

Whereas we have to bend and inhale quite hard to enjoy one little rose.

He is surrounded by perfumes that we would treat with scorn.

He knows when Rover from down the street has passed across the lawn;

He pounces on a smelly sock and straightway knows the owner;

He almost knows if a titbit comes from Greece or Barcelona!

But he pays for this with a dreadful lack; he sees the world in grey....

Well, not entirely grey it seems, but heading along that way.

His world is murky, dull and dun; a vision of sepia scenes.

Not for him our scarlets, mauves, yellows and pinks and greens!

Enjoy the glorious brilliance of the colours seen above;

Think of the favourite colours that human beings love.

Turquoise, carmine, daffodil, heliotrope and tan;

Colours that have enchanted us since recorded time began.

A sense of smell must fascinate our canine friends, it's true,

But it can't make-up for never seeing silver  and midnight blue.

*

Mascara Free

The Mona Lisa; Leonardo da Vinci

THEME THURSDAY

http://www.theme-thursday.com/

'Eyes'

MASCARA FREE

Unadorned, yes, that's the word; these eyes are simply eyes.

They are jut as nature made them, without the least disguise.

No contact lenses colour them a brilliant blue or green;

No false eye-lashes flutter there, no make-up adds a sheen.

Would they have danced so merrily had they been so enhanced?

Would the artist have managed to capture the merriment as they danced?

Cover the lips, so sweetly curved, and you will clearly see

That the expression is in the eyes, mascara-less and free.

It's not as though the eyes are huge, they're really rather small,

Then there's the colour....it's simply brown, a humdrum brown, that's all.

As for the 'whites' they are not white, they're a sort of honey-gold,

And lashes hardly exist at all! There's nothing to behold!

And yet they are magnificent, these eyes from long ago;

They make us feel that here's a girl we'd dearly like to know.

Compare the two, and make a choice. I know which choice is mine.

Give me the Mona Lisa! Her eyes are quite divine.

*

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                                                     Gerald Gee

LEAVING A LAUGH BEHIND

Gerald Gee? I never knew him,

Yet I pay a tribute to him.

He was just a chap on line

Whose sense of humour was akin to mine.

When I heard that he had died

I didn't sob, I merely sighed.

After all, he was no friend.

And, after all, life has to end.

Yet Blogging lost some of its zing;

Just like a step that's lost its spring.

Here is one of his little jokes;

He was one of those jokey blokes.

Yet his 'real art' was lovely, too,

Gerald, I publish this for you.

*

The Icon and The Colon

The most common uses of the colon.

RUBY TUESDAY

http://rubytuesday2.blogspot.com.au/

THE ICON AND THE COLON

A colon is an oddsome thing, God wot.

It's just a spot upon another spot.

An icon is a holy thing, they say,

A picture that helps worshippers to pray.

A colon has few uses (see above).

It's not a thing that writers tend to love.

An icon is a Russian sort of thing,

A picture of an angel or a King.

They haven't much in common, that's for sure

And either one could tend to be a bore.

But put them in double-harness and you'll find

That they express the odd quirks of our kind.

We make them smile, we often make them scowl,

We make them laugh, we even make them howl,

Add 8 and sunglasses appear;

They add concern, they add good cheer.

A Smiley Icon gives a little hint

As to how we view the words we print.

We find it can, in endless ways,

Add to the enjoyment to our days.

:-)

*

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THE WATER LILY

So when the Great Change comes,

And the world around us alters,

And the seas rise up and warm

And everything living falters,

Will we adapt like the water-lily

Floating on a pond,

Managing survival

To forever and beyond?

The water lily seeks for soil

Yet it has learned to float,

It lies upon the water

Like a fragile petalled boat.

Dragonflies glide above it;

The little fish swim below;

It does not live in a garden

Yet it has learned to grow.

Our altered situation

Need not mean that we are trapped;

Over evolution's aeons

Mankind may adapt.

*

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PS

I spouted poetry at the Country Women's Association meeting last night. What a very nice crowd of ladies! (It always surprises me that, although we hear about horrid people in the news all the time, daily life seems to abound in really lovely people!) Anyway, here they are en mass. And they make delicious marmalade too. Malcolm will benefit from a pot.

Magical Dusk

The Wordle

      

SUNDAY WHIRL
http://sundaywhirl.wordpress.com/
we are asked to use all the words in the Wordle

MAGICAL DUSK

I write from a land where the sun collapses, suddenly, into night;

One moment day, then a speedy fade to darkness from the bright.

But in another, far-off land, dusk lingered on for hours,

As the sun, majestically, slowly, divested itself of its powers.

One could sit in a summer garden where roses climbed the fence

And trace the sun descending in a sky pale and immense.

One of life's essentials was, of course, a glass of wine,

That and a good companion, a recipe for the divine.

One could be forgiven for sensing a link in the chain

Of all the magic of nature, wind and sun and rain.

And one could imagine an operator working the scenery

On a great blue empty stage where the bright sun used to be.

But, at last, after hours of sinking, the sun dips on its way

And the cold night makes an entry, etched in a pencil-grey.

I have seen the sun set many, many, many times,

But I still miss the magic of dusk in those far-off northern climes.

*

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GROWING OLD
(An Acrostic)

'Geriatric'! What a word!
Really! It is quite absurd!
Old externally I may be
While inside I am just a baby!
Isn't it a crazy thing!
Nature has a definite Spring!
Gardens don't mix-up each season!
*
Only humans commit this treason!
Letting Spring bloom in the heart
Defying each other Wintry part!
*

Patterns on the Ceiling

                                      The Big Room;Andrew Wyeth

THE MAG

http://magpietales.blogspot.com.au/

supplied the illustration

PATTERNS ON THE CEILING

A very different picture and yet it brought back memories

Of a very different childhood long ago,

When I lived in a colder climate where winters lasted long,

And the air was often full of sleet and snow.......

*

I'd never heard of Andrew Wyeth and his 'Big Room' work of art,

So I looked them up on Google (as you do),

And I read that he was sickly as a child and spent his time

In his bedroom, with the four walls as a view.

He didn't go to school and so he had a narrow life,

With a member of his family as teacher.

Later, when he was painting, he recalled his childhood days

And the fire in the fireplace was a feature.

*

My own bedroom wasn't this grand.

And, suddenly all in a rush, I remembered my own youth,

Spent in another time, another place,

And I recalled a bedroom and a lovely cosy bed

With a fire crackling in the fire-place.

It must have been a novelty; I recall it as a treat;

I think I was unwell, confined to bed.

Did I have the measles? Or did I have the mumps?

Or was it, maybe, the chicken-pox instead?

All I know is I lay in bed, cosy as I could be,

All through the day and on into the night,

And the fire in the fireplace crackled and then flared

And, as daylight went, the fire grew more bright.

My light turned off, I lay in bed gazing up at the ceiling,

Where firelight patterns flickered, dancing gold,

And I found it quite entrancing, it was 'just like fairyland',

Reminding me of stories I'd been told.

I don't remember sickness, only comfort and delight,

With the blankets pulled right up to reach my nose,

And my eyes upon the dancing shapes performing just for me,

And warmth that reached right down into my toes.

*

Thank you Mr Wyeth, and thank you Google too!

That memory was buried very deep.

Such memories sustain us and it's good when they're recalled.

Flames and crackling and patterns...........and then sleep.

*

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PLEASURE!

(Written a couple of years ago!)

It gave them so much pleasure

Discovering Sub-Prime!

The Bankers bloomed and blossomed

With ecstasy at the time.

They borrowed, lent and borrowed,

And the web spread far and wide.

Everyone could own a home!

Nobody was denied!

Oh the pleasure of the dealings!

The rubbing of the hands!

The syphoning of money

From other distant lands!

Then, one borrower defaulted!

The scheme had a nasty smell!

Then another and another!

Like dominoes they fell!

Does it give the bankers pleasure now,

To see their land laid low;

To see the assets dwindling

Where once they used to grow!

'Pride comes before a fall' they say.

And 'Look before you leap!'

Too late for little sayings!

The whole thing's gone too deep.

And all of us were guilty

Very guilty indeed;

What we mistook for pleasure

Was simply boundless greed.

*

Poles Apart

BLUE MONDAY

http://smilingsally.blogspot.com.au/

POLES APART

I wonder just how true this is!

Just look at all those thoughts of his!

*

Sex seems to dominate his brain.

I've heard that time and time again.

'Every two seconds' I have heard

A man thinks of finding himself a bird.

Every two seconds? That can't be true.

Not when there's so much else to do.

Some men write enthralling books;

Some men are bankers, some are cooks;

Those men would be failures! They'd be wrecks!

If all they thought about was sex!

And where are 'Cars' in the illustration?

Many men I know have a car fixation.

*

Then we come to the female version......

Admittedly 'Talk' is a great diversion.

But 'Shoes'? I scarcely give them a thought

Except when they just have to be bought.

However I have friends who find

Shoes are often on the mind.

'Love' and 'Babies' do dominate,

Plus the serious task of finding a mate.

Yes to 'Security' and 'Respect';

They matter a lot so that's correct.

*

This picture's for fun, no doubt about that,

But how much truth are we looking at?

*

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The Nazis burn books in the 1930s

THE PILE

What did we lose, I wonder; what wisdom and what wit,

When Hitler piled the books on high and the eager flames were lit.

Mercifully, many authors had books in print elsewhere

But there were countless manuscripts that vanished in thin air.

Maybe we lost the answers to questions we still ask;

Maybe we lost the instructions to some still-puzzling task.

Maybe some glorious poetry to thrill the human soul

Went up in smoke for ever when Hitler took his toll.

Maybe works of science to improve our human lot,

Flared and died  and disappeared and he didn't care a jot!

We'll never know what we have lost;  but the thought still gives us pain.

Surely the Burning of the Books could never occur again!

*
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PS
Rebecca, my daughter, hates me to take photos of her but she published some shots herself on Facebook yesterday and I've stolen my two favourites.

Blake, my eldest grandson, 13.

And Blake's Mum, Rebecca.
Good genes, but none of them mine!
*

Mid-Life Crisis

CARRY ON TUESDAY

http://carryontuesdayprompt.blogspot.com.au/

asks us to use the translation, in blue, from Dante's Inferno

MID-LIFE CRISIS

Midway in life's journey we get a nasty jolt.

Suddenly it hits us like a thunder bolt.

We' re no longer youthful; we're on the downward slope;

Now's the time for stock-taking, not for living-on hope.

All our youthful dreaming has simply come to nought;

We didn't 'make it by thirty'....that's a solemn thought.

The fifth decade is hard to bear....well, it was hard for me.

Without youth's happy thoughtlessness or age's gravity.

Fifty is a tricky age, we carry society's load,

And we're not yet sweet old ladies folk will help across the road!

I hated being fifty! It was such a sexless age!

Youth is gold, old age is mauve but fifty's sort of beige.

As a young girl I was carefree, and today I feel the same;

Now I'm eighty life, once more, is just a simple game.

No mortgages, no dependants, and no hopeless expectations;

This 'second childhood' is great fun despite its limitations.

Midway in life's journey life can seem rather glum,

But hang on and keep smiling.

Better days are sure to come!

*

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THE DRAGONFLY

If I should be a dragonfly,

Knowing I were going to die,

What would my view of Heaven be

As I existed flutteringly?

Would I think of a cloudless blue

With nothing else for me to do

But skim the flowers and the trees

Floating on a personal breeze?

Would I expect to skim and soar

For evermore, for evermore?

The only certainty would be this......

An eternity of endless bliss

Was waiting for me in the sky!

Oh foolish, foolish dragonfly!

*