Wednesday 25 December 2013

Another Merry Christmas

Another blast from the past... written 12/24/2002 4:58 PM, before I became housebound.


Christmas Eve. Late afternoon. Sheffield.

Today I decided to go and do some shopping. It was either that or go without Christmas Dinner altogether.  I did have a cold sausage left over, but, well, you know.  It's bad enough being alone at Christmas without sitting down to a left over sausage decorated with a sprig of holly.

If I had any holly of course.

Fortunately the shops are open Christmas eve, so no problem there. Unfortunately my legs were on a go slow while debating the advisability of going on an all out strike.

Fortunately I have a wheeled shopping trolley so I walked (walked? Make that staggered) it round to where I garage my car. Unfortunately, the car had decided that this was a good day to die.  So it did.

Fortunately, the shop I wanted is a downhill walk, though of some distance. Unfortunately this means that it's an uphill walk back with a full shopping trolley.

Fortunately it was a nice dry day for a walk, and I managed to get everything I'd written on my list. Unfortunately I'd forgotten to write "Stuffing" on my list.

Fortunately the fish and chip shop was on the way home, and open, so I treated myself to battered cod and chips to eat out of the wrappings on the way home.  Not easy while using both hands to push a loaded trolley uphill, but worth it I thought.

Unfortunately it started to rain at that point, so I stuffed the yummy hot food into the trolley to eat it later. With luck it would still be warm by the time I got it home. 

Fortunately it wasn't too cold, and I enjoyed it. Unfortunately so did my cat.

Fortunately I had some time to spare so I thought it would be nice then to go online and see what delights Christmas would bring to a lonely old woman.  Unfortuately what I received was a rude email from someone I'd thought was a friend. Huh.

Things were getting better by the minute.  I poured myself a drink to calm down or cheer up, or something like that. Fortunately I had bought some in advance of Christmas. Good job too.

Unfortunately alcohol makes me ill, so I just know that I'm going to pay for this.

What more can happen? No, don't tell me. I really don't want to know.

Merry Christmas everybody.

Saturday 21 December 2013

She

It was Henry Rider Haggard who wrote about She who must be obeyed. I think I may have read the book once but don't really remember the details. Maybe I saw a film of it.

However, I was reminded of it last night, whilst thinking about some people in my life; people I would describe as a force of nature. The kind of people who go through life with all the drive of a hurricane or a flood, carrying all before them.  If I mention Hyacinth Bucket, or Keeping Up Appearances, you should get the idea.  She, or he, who must be obeyed.

There is no implied threat of punishment, nothing to give just cause to their demands. It is just expected that you will agree with whatever they want. Saying no simply isn't an option. Unless of course you are as strong willed as they are and can walk away unscathed and guilt free.

Are such people are deliberately or intentionally bullying? I don't believe so, nonetheless that's what it is. They seem to think that if they want to do something it should be done. They make plans which brook no opposition.  It doesn't even occur to such people that others may have plans of their own which they are interfering with, or destroying.

It can be very wearing living with such people. You have to either simply acquiesce, go along with whatever is expected, or become very frustrated.

Is it good for such people to have everyone bow down to their wishes? Hard to say. I have tried standing up to them but often I have felt like the proverbial "idiot child", knowing nothing, having no say in what happens to me.  I have learned in time to not mind that. Being humbled is good for the soul, or so they tell me.  Life is certainly easier if you bend before the wind, go with the flow. 

Monday 16 December 2013

What is It Like to Have M.E. ?

What is it like having M.E. they ask. I used to say, it's like a car without fuel. It won't go. But that's a bad analogy. It's more like a car with a faulty alternator. Not everyone will understand what that means, so let me spell it out.

Cars today are run by electrical circuits, as well as fuel. There is a thing called an alternator which charges up the battery as the car is running, otherwise the battery would be constantly drained. When the battery is flat the car won't run. Not only that, the electrically driven windows don't work, the sun roof likewise, the heater or air conditioning, and just about everything else, stops dead. So if the alternator is faulty, the car is in constant danger of being nothing more than an expensive ornament. Filling the car with fuel simply won't help.

Animals are much more complicated than cars, of course. We have cells called mitochondria which make energy, needed to run every system in the body, from the muscles to the brain. This energy is stored in the fat cells, our batteries. Without energy the brain doesn't function, the muscles don't function, the stomach can't digest, etc etc.  There is a back up system consisting of adrenalin. You may have heard this referred to as the "fight or flight" hormone.  It is produced by the adrenal glands and can be called up in emergencies to give an energy boost. Unfortunately, once used up it takes a long time to replace, so is only for emergencies.

Marathons runner tend to run on adrenalin, and afterwards need some time to recover. The subsequent "crash" is sometimes called payback. For people with M.E. that crash can follow a very small expenditure of energy: talking, thinking, going to the bathroom, eating a meal. Try to imagine how it affects your life, when everything you do leaves you exhausted for days.

If the mitochondria are faulty, we too, just like that car, become pretty useless. Unfortunately being fat doesn't help either because in M.E. the body can't call upon the energy stored in the fat. It doesn't matter how much fuel in the form of food is ingested, it isn't being utilised properly.

Not only that, if the brain isn't working correctly, every system in the body is affected, as the brain controls everything else. The kind of symptoms this leads to are many and varied, some less serious, some very serious indeed. Some people with the illness cope fairly well on a day to day basis, but are seriously short of energy, which is quickly used up and takes a long time to replace. This also leads to fuzzy headedness as the brain is short of oxygen, known as brain-fog, which describes it pretty well. An inability to concentrate, to take in information, or remember things. Rather like early Alzheimer's.

At it's most serious, sufferers are completely bed-bound, have to be tube fed, and in constant pain, unable to bear light or sound, as the nervous system is so severely compromised. Roughly 25% of people with the disease are severely enough affected to be either bed-bound or at least house-bound. It goes largely unrecognised, because they are rarely seen. Not for nothing is it known as the Cinderella disease, with M.E. acting as the wicked stepmother.

So you see, there isn't a simple answer. People with M.E. are more or less disabled by it, but all have this one feature...the lack of normal energy which everything needs for a normal life. The reasons are not totally understood yet, due to a lack of research, but it does appear that the brain and spinal cord are affected.  In post-mortem examinations this has been shown to be the case.   It seems that the mitochondria are not functioning as they should, though could be harder to prove. Dr Sarah Myhill and John Maclaren Howard have an ATP test to measure the mitochondria function, though this may not be something everyone has access to. 

However, even that isn't the whole story. Tests on muscle tissue show that sufferers don't have normal muscle response to exercise. Instead of making them stronger, they become weaker.  This is the reason why exercise is very bad for people with M.E. - it aggravates the problem.

There is so much more I could say about symptoms but it would take far too long and there are good websites which describe it much better than I can. The Hummingbird site is a good place to find out more. 

Doctors, under the direction of various governments, choose to regard the whole thing as psychological. Much easier to blame the patient than try to find a cure or pay for disability pensions. Maybe that sounds cynical but the fact remains that time and again nothing is done to help these people.  They are largely left to suffer, and what is worse, are castigated and made to feel like criminals, being told to snap out of it, exercise more, think themselves better. If the illness isn't "real" or doesn't have a physical cause, they can draw a line under it and forget it. But the approach used, graded exercise and cognitive behavioural therapy, do not and will not cure the problem of genuine M.E.

It will help people with other forms of chronic fatigue, of which there are many. No argument. But it's easy enough to tell the difference. If graded exercise helps, it isn't M.E.  If it makes you worse, it probably is. Lyme disease, which often mimics M.E. having many of the same symptoms, can be treated with antibiotics which often in time effects a cure, though not always.  So far nothing appears to help those with actual M.E. and won't, until more research is done to discover the basic problem and the cause of it.

There was a time when M.S. was regarded as psychological. Eventually doctors realised it was real and physical and though it can't be cured, at least sufferers were no longer regarded as malingerers or insane.  Hopefully the day will come when M.E. sufferers are treated with the same respect.

Wednesday 11 December 2013

A Short Account of My Experience of M.E.

At 41 I was as fit as a flea, with three teenage children (and a grandson), three dogs and two cats, as well as a husband.  I went running every day and had a daily exercise routine too. Nothing was too much trouble. I also helped out at my church and was about to start an exercise class there.

Then came this illness. Suddenly I could do very little. I tried, time and again, but it was no use. Within a year my already failing marriage ended. I got the chance to move out and did, knowing that my illness would not be tolerated at home it was all I could do. I took some part time work as part of an income support scheme, and spent every weekend in bed to recover from 21 hours a week of clerical work.

Then I had an emergency hysterectomy, with no counselling whatsoever, which nearly finished me off both physically and emotionally. After a time, to avoid being forced into work I wouldn’t be able to do, and having no legitimate excuse for not working, as ME was even less recognised back then than it is now, I went back to school. I did some night school, then college, and won a place at University.  It was very hard, even getting there and back was such a struggle. In my first year I dislocated my knee and broke my ankle, which meant more surgery, so took the rest of that year off and started again the following year.

I won’t go into all the nightmare events that happened in my life during the next three years, but I was just about coping by doing nothing more than the set work, and finding it more and more exhausting even though I had moved to live very close, about 500m away, to make it easier. I got my degree but lost my then partner. I was then 51.

Since then I have done virtually nothing, or nothing that most people would recognise as living. I did start a post graduate course but was too ill by then to keep it up. I had further surgery two years ago for a low grade malignant Phyllodes Tumour. Now I am approaching 70 and becoming ever more feeble, exhausted, and in pain. My memory deserts me at times and the coming Christmas celebration is just too much to contemplate. If I don’t pick up a bit I will have to cancel it, again.

I sometimes wonder where it will all end. I have a cat, who is a blessing but costs in terms of energy, eleven grandchildren whom I rarely see, and now 2, going on 4, great grandchildren whom I don’t imagine I will ever see. My children all live too far away and have lives which prevent them visiting. Sometimes the loneliness is hard emotionally, and certainly getting through the days is, physically.

If I was suddenly healed of this tomorrow, at my age there is no way I will ever again be the person I was at 40. I have lost nearly 30 years of any meaningful life, merely existing as I do, virtually housebound, only going out for vital appointments. I try to stay cheerful but it’s not always easy. I get depressed at times, and over emotional at others. I’m sure the short days of winter aren’t helping and the approach of Christmas is always hard, with its focus on family and jollity, neither of which are part of my life, and haven’t been for years.

So this is it. A potted account of my illness. Or at least, the one that has taken away so much.

Friday 6 December 2013

Songs For Second Life

The music for this song is a traditional morris tune going back to the 18th century. It was collected by folk song collector Cecil Sharp, who in turn got it from morris dancer William Kimber. Australian composer Percy Grainger had a hit with a piano arrangement of the tune in 1919. Robert M.Jordan added the lyrics "An English Country Garden" in 1958.  I have added my own words to the tune. I don't expect it to make the charts.

In My Second Life Inventory.

How many items do I really use in my Second Life Inventory?
Most of the stuff has never paid its dues in my Second Life Inventory
Dances and a dancing floor, animations by the score
textures and sounds that called to me;
Years of hunt things I get I've never opened yet
In my Second Life Inventory.

How many objects do I really know in my Second Life Inventory?
I am convinced they multiply and grow in my Second Life Inventory.
Shoes and boots of many hues, outfits that I never use
sit in their folders patiently;
There are freebies galore from lucky chairs and more
In my Second Life Inventory.

How many snapshots never get shown in my Second Life Inventory?
Some in a viewer, others on their own, in my Second Life Inventory.
Photos of my avatar, looking like a movie star,
some with my boyfriend no one will see
There are even a few of of folk I never knew
In my Second Life Inventory.

Then there's the place I haven't yet explored in my Second Life Inventory
Lindens provided yet another hoard in my Second Life Inventory.
Avatars I'll never need, probably they also breed,
raising the total needlessly,
If I don't get it clear I'll simply disappear
in my Second Life Inven-tor-y…

© 2013






This Second Life


It's a curious world we inhabit for nothing is quite as it seems
as we walk amongst others' illusions and play out each other's dreams.
But how strong are the feelings engendered when our fantasy forms intertwine,
and the words so easily uttered seem utterly real and divine.

To become so attached to some pixels would appear to be madness indeed
but many the hearts that are broken as we fail to find all that we need.
Some will retire defeated whilst others return to the fray
to seek once again confirmation or maybe make somebody pay!

Are our lives so incredibly empty that we have to make second lives here?
Or are we just pushing the boundaries, examining that which we fear?
No doubt it's a heady sensation to be given the freedom we lack
with little or no intervention as we practise our moves in the sack!

Of course there's much more to this venture than relationships, long-lived or short;
it's a whole universe of sensations, creations and much food for thought.
For avatars, pixels, we may be but behind every one is a mind,
a person with feelings, emotions,  a soul to be seen and divined.

As you play out your various daydreams in this fabulous fantasy place,
there are those who will try to annoy you with a virtual slap in the face.
If it happens to you just ignore it, for they really aren't worth your distress.
Have fun and enjoy every minute, with each ounce of strength you possess.


© 2013

Wednesday 4 December 2013

This Country Is Not Child Friendly.

Britain is not a child-friendly country in general and never has been. And look where we are now!

In the past we saw children as cheap labour, sent them up chimneys, down mines, into factories, etc. And in the better off homes they were raised by nannies, seen and not heard, and possibly not even seen. That spread out into general society until children were regarded as more of a nuisance than a blessing. Sent to bed early, dumped in front of television sets or games consoles to avoid having to deal with them in a proper affectionate manner.

Traveling abroad one sees a huge difference in some countries where children are welcomed: in restaurants, cafes, pretty much everywhere. Family is important in these countries. Yes, some can go overboard with brothers being over protective of sisters, fathers too protective of daughters, but is that worse than our attitude where in many families no one seems to care at all.

Women having to work away from home started during the two world wars but is now pretty much expected and demanded by successive governments, and a necessity for many families who have to have both parents working just to survive. And then there is the issue of single parent families, trying to cope.  This has added to the neglect of children in some families; it has been passed down through successive generations and is just getting worse.

And now? We have a very high teenage pregnancy rate, we have teenage binge drinking, we have school absenteeism, teenage crime and prison population. And these will be the parents of the next generation of children. How will they be raised?

Are these things unconnected? I don’t think so. This country needs to take a good hard look at how we raise our children if we want things to improve.

Of course, this is a generalisation, not all families are so dysfunctional but many are and we need to look at and tackle the root causes. Punishment is not the answer to it all, more laws concerning youth crime are not the answer, but more love, more respect, more caring are. From an early age.

Educating today's young on the right ways to raise their children is a start, but facilities have to be put in place to then allow parents to be parents, rather than just breadwinners, with time to spend with their children.  Public places need to be encouraged to allow parents to take their children with them instead of having to leave them at home.

Attitudes regarding how we see children in general need to change. 

The new laws regarding parental leave for both parents is a step in the right direction but won't deal with the problem as it now stands. Maybe we should be writing to those in power, who possibly don't see the problem as most of us do, to ask them to act, before another generation of largely neglected children is born.

Saturday 30 November 2013

Merry Christmas to you all.


I wish you all a Christmas jolly,
snow and mistletoe and holly,
good friends there to make it cheery,
lots of rest: don't get too weary.

May your gifts be well received,
your excuses be believed,
pray have enough to eat and drink,
try not to end up in the clink.

I hope that Santa isn't grumpy
and your gravy isn't lumpy
on the turkey plump and tender;
better put it through the blender.

In short, I want to say in rhyme
have a really lovely time
but most of all a Wish that's True:
Love and Joy and Peace to you.

 © CS


 Bah, Humbug!


Christmas comes but once a year
and when it comes it brings good cheer
cheer to all the girls and boys
with their stockings full of toys.

Stockings? Nowadays its sacks!
Christmas Greetings sent by fax
fathers boast of what they've bought
mothers just get very fraught
go on endless shopping trips
fret about expanding hips
shopping trolleys overflowing
where is all the money going?
Have we got enough to drink?
God! the TVs on the blink!
So much food it's going rotten
presents bought so soon forgotten
decorations thrown away
that's it - end of holiday.

When you really work it out
what is Christmas all about?
Buy and sell and wads of cash
generating tons of trash.


10/2001


Another blast from the past...12/24/2002 4:58 PM
(When I was still able to walk more than a few yards. )

Christmas Eve. Late afternoon. Sheffield.

Today I decided to go and do some shopping. It was either that or go without Christmas Dinner altogether.  I did have a cold sausage left over, but, well, you know.  It's bad enough being alone at Christmas without sitting down to a left over sausage decorated with a sprig of holly.

If I had any holly of course.

Fortunately the shops are open Christmas eve, so no problem there. Unfortunately my legs were on a go slow while debating the advisability of going on an all out strike.

Fortunately I have a wheeled shopping trolley so I walked (walked? Make that staggered) it round to where I garage my car. Unfortunately, the car had decided that this was a good day to die.  So it did.

Fortunately, the shop I wanted is a downhill walk, though of some distance. Unfortunately this means that it's an uphill walk back with a full shopping trolley.

Fortunately it was a nice dry day for a walk, and I managed to get everything I'd written on my list. Unfortunately I'd forgotten to write "Stuffing" on my list.

Fortunately the fish and chip shop was on the way home, and open, so I treated myself to battered cod and chips to eat out of the wrappings on the way home.  Not easy while using both hands to push a loaded trolley uphill, but worth it I thought.

Unfortunately it started to rain at that point, so I stuffed the yummy hot food into the trolley to eat it later. With luck it would still be warm by the time I got it home. 

Fortunately it wasn't too cold, and I enjoyed it. Unfortunately so did my cat.

Fortunately I had some time to spare so I thought it would be nice then to go online and see what delights Christmas would bring to a lonely old woman.  Unfortunately what I received was a rude email from someone I'd thought was a friend. Huh.

Things were getting better by the minute.  I poured myself a drink to calm down or cheer up, or something like that. Fortunately I had bought some in advance of Christmas. Good job too.

Unfortunately alcohol makes me ill, so I just know that I'm going to pay for this.

What more can happen? No, don't tell me. I really don't want to know.

Merry Christmas everybody.

Monday 25 November 2013

To be or not to be. Gay, that is.

It's astounding how many people still believe that being homosexual, as opposed to heterosexual, is a "lifestyle choice".  Who in their right minds would actively choose to be mocked, shunned, abused, put in jail in some places, or even killed. And often lose their place in the family. What sense does that make? It's illogical.

And those of you who think that way - would you be able to choose it? And if not, why do you suppose others do? 

We get told that on the one hand gay sex is animalistic, inhuman, and at the same time it is only done by humans. Please, people, make up your minds. Neither is true anyway.

If you are considering that sex was invented purely for procreation, then ask yourself this: how often have you had sex without it being for purposes of procreation? Of course not every act results in a pregnancy, but still, you get the point. Very few people would be happy to have sex maybe three times in a lifetime.

But it's much more than that of course. Sex is also pleasurable. It has to be, or why else would people do it? Even to procreate. Yes, there are some ultra religious groups where that is the norm, where any kind of pleasure is shunned. But it's pretty extreme, you have to agree.

Some say that homosexual behaviour is unnatural. Let's look at that. Take the bonobos. They indulge in sex at all times, in all ways, with all genders, with no embarrassment. It is used for greeting, making up after a conflict, soothing, and just for fun, as well as in the usual way for procreation. Is that unnatural? Maybe someone should tell the bonobos.

And then there's the argument of it being a human perversion. "You don't see animals behave that way!" No? Actually, you do. Ask any sheep farmer,  they know that there are rams who have no interest whatsoever in ewes. Their attention is focused on other rams. They are no use for breeding. Although if they are a good specimen artificial insemination could be used, and perhaps farmers have found other ways round the problem. It is also interesting that the parents of these rams were perfectly normal breeders, so it isn't something inherited.

Attempting to find out what's going on there, biopsies were done on ram's brains, comparing the two kinds of rams.  It was found that a certain area of the brain, which controls sexual attraction, was much smaller in the "gay" rams. This was something they were born with, believed to be as a result of an imbalance of hormones while they were developing in utero.

It is seen in other species too. Males who only want to be with other males.  Possibly harder to spot in females as they tend to stick together more anyway. It happens in birds, and mammals, and the more researchers watch wildlife, the more they see of it.

Now if happens naturally in other species, why not in humans too?  No amount of counselling, or medical treatment, or whatever ill founded attempts to "cure" homosexuality can make any difference to a brain already formed. And why should it?

What is the real problem here? Fear? Is there some sort of irrational idea that maybe it's contagious? Or that we might be preyed upon? Raped? I think it's true to say that rape is a particularly heterosexual act on the whole. And as for paedophilia, another ridiculous accusation leveled at homosexuals, gays have no interest whatsoever in such dreadful behaviour. They are two entirely different things.

And why does it all have to be about sex anyway? Gays are no more obsessed with sex than anyone else. It is simply who they are. The way their brains work. Natural for them. It's not sick, or perverted, nor is it a choice. It's no more a lifestyle choice for them than being straight is for everyone else.

Why should anyone be so concerned? It isn't contagious, or inherited, or dangerous to others. A lot of the objections of course are on religious grounds. The bible says.... Yes it does. It also says a lot of other things which the same people generally ignore completely. Cherry picking is no way to use your holy book. And if people simply say that they can't see the attraction, so what? No one is asking them to. If the thought disgusts you, get over it. It's none of your business!

So lets live and let live. The world is becoming overpopulated anyway, the critics should be thankful that some people won't be adding to the problem! Ok, that was tongue in cheek. Don't get mad. And let's not get obsessed with the lives of people who do no harm. Life is hard enough.





Saturday 23 November 2013

Memories are made of this?

     What price memories? Just how accurate are they? Can we trust our own? The short answer is "no".  We can't.

     Simple experiments show that our memories are very faulty. Maybe you've seen the film of people concentrating on counting balls that they completely miss the man in a gorilla costume walking among them. You may have done the test yourself, online.

     So, for one thing, our brains don't take in everything around us, only those things on which we focus. And they are constantly making new neural pathways, creating our neural net, reworking old memories to take new information into account.

     I actually have very few memories of childhood, one year in particular is an almost total blank. I was told that this is due to trauma of some sort, the brain's way of protecting us from pain. I'm sure it's true, there was a lot going on in my childhood, not all of it good.

     The year I can't bring to mind was when a cousin came to live with us, with her mother, when I was around 10/11. It was my first year in High School. I had no idea this had happened until my cousin mentioned it at my mother's funeral.  It came as a total shock to me. How could that be? That a whole year was wiped out? And I have no memory of people I sat next to in school that year either. They remember me, but it's just a blank to me.

However, there is one memory I was sure of, absolutely, with no doubt whatsoever for many years, only to realise quite recently that it is quite false.

     For most of my adult life I had a clear memory of a pin up I had in my teens.  It was a pull out from a magazine, a swimmer, Mark Spitz, a famous photo of him with his seven Olympic medals arranged on his chest.  You can see it easily using Google.

    Now as I remembered it this pin up was next to my bed, stuck to the side of a cupboard in my bedroom at my family home. I slept alone in the attic of our house at that time, in my early teens. Nothing wrong with that, you may say. And there wouldn't be, except that it wasn't like that at all.

     You see, in recent years I realised that he won those seven medals in 1972, by which time I had been married for 11 years.  I slept with my husband in our marital home and there was no way I would have had a pin up of anyone! Anywhere! My husband was a jealous man.

     My memory was almost entirely false, only the actual picture was real, yet it was as clear as anything for many many years!

     Now if we can create false memories, so clear and convincing, for whatever reason, if our memories are so unreliable, just how far can we trust witness statements in court, however sure they seem of their facts? It makes you think, doesn't it?

     It has certainly made me think.

    

Tuesday 22 October 2013

Feline Friends

Cats


Devious, sinuous, warily walking
creatures of night and alone in their quests
leaping so lightly and silently stalking
mice in their hideouts and birds in their nests;
tail-tips a-twitching in anticipation
eyes all aglow in the moon's eerie light
whiskers a-quiver and ears at attention
waiting to pounce and to seize and to bite.

Soft and adorable, languidly lazing
velvety pawed and appealing of face
pictures of innocence, quietly purring
stretching and yawning with infinite grace;
silkily smooth, or a bundle of fluffiness,
ebony, chocolate, tabby or white;
touching our faces  with exquisite tenderness,
mummy's sweet darling, and daddy's delight.

And always they wear such an air of sweet mystery -
what's going on in the minds of our cats?
Do they remember their family history -
Goddess of Egypt, Destroyer of Rats,
Witches familiar or friend of czarina,
quaintly adorning a family crest?
Is that why they walk with such haughty demeanour -
they know, of all creatures, they're clearly the best?


08/2001


A Tale of Unrequited Love.

He's black as coal; black as night;
she's most definitely white.
He hangs around outside her house
shy and timid as a mouse
hoping that one day she may
cast a loving glance his way.
Like some lost soul he follows her
Nothing, nothing can deter
this his never ending quest:
not wind, not rain, nor need of rest.
But does she care? No, she does not
she really doesn't give a jot.
She glares at him and walks on by
unconcerned, her head held high.
Oliver, for that's his name,
keeps on trying just the same
Though she goes on shunning him
his love-light never seems to dim.
Does his passion sound too sordid?
Will his patience be rewarded?
Why oh why can he not see
that she only cares for me.
Oliver is doomed to pine -
Her faithful, feline heart is mine.

July 01


Unrequited Love II
The Sequel 

Oliver has competition
Willow has another beau
now there’s two of them to deal with
- that will keep her on her toes.

This one is a recent caller
I don’t even know his name
but he looks a lot like Felix
so that’s what I’m calling him.

Both of them now sit there waiting
caterwauling day or night
meanwhile Willow just avoids them
tries to scurry out of sight.

Going out is getting crazy
trying to avoid these guys
Willow walks sedately by me
desperation in her eyes.

How can she perform her duties
with two fellas on her case?
Maybe she should be provided
with her own small can of mace!

Famous people have their stalkers
now it seems we have them, too
what next - feline paparazzi?
Really, what’s a cat to do?


© 2002


Winter Nights

Every year about this time
a change occurs within my bed:
my cat decides the nights are cold
and joins me underneath the covers
snuggles round my legs and ankles
- warmer mights she's round my head.
Even when she's twitching, dreaming
I don't mind her being there
for I love the sweet sensation
of my skin against her fur.
So I try to keep quite still
for every movement makes her murmur
yawn and stretch and change position
moving round my legs so gently
but it's not an imposition
for her nice warm furry body
sensuously soft and silky
feels deliciously delightful
on my legs and on my feet.
I need no hot water bottle
Willow's presence is a treat.


Jan 2002



Willow

I'm having a problem with Willow.
She's a very endearing cat,
but I cant keep her out of the bedroom.
It's an awkward one, is that.

It's bad enough when I go to bed
that I have to fight for space
but now she's fallen in love with my man
and lies on him, face to face.

Three in a bed can be fun I'm told
but not when one of the three
is a feline in love with your lover.
Why can't she leave him to me?

©  June 2003


Laptop Cat

I have a cat; I call her Willow.
Willow thinks of me as Pillow
til she fancies something canned,
then I'm Slave, at her command.

At night she sleeps upon my bed
where I support her paws and head.
By day she commandeers my lap:
a comfy place to take a nap.

It's hard to say just who's in charge.
Although we're partners, by and large,
I know my place; I'm just the mat
beneath my lazy laptop cat.


© 2006


Morning

Drowsily drifting,
slowly gaining consciousness;
gentle pressure on my chest,
swansdown-soft upon my face.

Gathering strength and fortitude
I prise unwilling lids apart,
persuade reluctant eyes to focus.

Blearily I peer at
the face which hovers over me, 
nose to nose, breath on breath,

where eyes of bright pistachio
gaze earnestly, compellingly,
with mystic mesmerising force.

Willow wants her breakfast.


©2006


In My Face

Do you have to be quite so in my face
encroaching upon my personal space?
There's close, my sweet, and closer yet
but this is as close as you can get!
I know it's concern when you smell my breath
to see if I'm on the brink of death,
that you're there to feel the beat of my heart,
to be sure I'm not about to depart.
I appreciate that and I'm not fickle
but, heavens, how your whiskers tickle!


06/2010


The Passing Years

Willow is getting old,
something that comes to all of us.
Sixteen now, yet with all her lives,
slowed down a bit by aching joints
a bit less sprightly - but so am I -
and massage help her spine.

Thyroid trouble means so many pills
which she takes without a fight
and she hardly ever goes out at night
preferring the warmth of me or my bed.

No lovers there now for her to hijack,
those days are long gone now,
it's just her and me for company;
it's enough at our time of life. 

At times I'd swear she's becoming confused,
dementia setting in perhaps,
waking me at unearthly hours with
little idea of what she wants,
standing meowing, meowing, meowing...

She dreams more in her sleep now,
twitching, making all manner of sounds,
waking blearily, making me smile.
More loving, closer, more talkative,
but more demanding too.

A mixed blessing, yes, at times
as I get less able myself
but when she goes, as go she must,
she'll leave a very empty place,
a silence, a coldness,
that nothing else can fill.

2013.

Sunday 15 September 2013

Terse Verse

Terse Verse

This is my name for rhymes which are, like the Japanese haiku, rely on few words which say a lot.

Time

Tick tock
watch clock
age paradigm
tyranny of time


There are a few named varieties of verse  - often comic in nature - which, although being very short,  have set rhythm and rhyming patterns.

The most well known of these is the Limerick. Eg:

There is a young farmer called Brown
who never goes into the town;
such a bumpkin is he,
he makes love to a tree
though the splinters are getting him down.


© 2003

There is also the Little Willie, named after the subject of the first one to become famous. This should be what is sometimes called black or wry humor, or tragi-comedy. Just four lines. Eg:

One fateful day my cousin Mary
lawnmowered her pet canary.
Mary's cat though had a treat;
he loves a bowl of shredded tweet!


©2002

And then there's the Clerihew, named after the author who made them famous. Four short lines, in two rhyming couplets, the name of a famous person as the first line, the other lines being about the person. Eg:

Elvis Presley
did impress me
always rocking
seen as shocking


© 2002

Another is sometimes known as 4x4. It's four lines, one word on each line, as rhyming couplets. Like these:

staid                         whale's   
maid                         tales
misses                      porpoise
kisses                       corpus
 

The epigram is another terse verse. Just two lines this time, the object being to make it witty, pithy:



I wondered where the golf ball went
and then it hit me.

Another fairly terse verse, and probably the hardest of the lot,  is known as double dactyl, which just means that most of the lines are composed of two dactyls. A dactyl is one long syllable followed by two short ones, as in the word "murmering".

The only rhyme is in the last word of the last line of each of the two stanzas, which rhyme with each other. The other stipulation is that the first line must be a nonsense phrase, and the sixth line should be one double dactylic word.

Eg:

Milly geewillikins!
Scientists utilise
artistic properties,
having a go.

Looking like soccer balls,
Buckminsterfullerine's
spherical molecules.
Whaddya know.


© 2003


All of these are much harder to write properly than they may appear, as the rhythm and the rhyme schemes are all important.  Brevity, too, is not always easy to achieve.

CLS
2003

Sunday 8 September 2013

Thoughts Spoken and Unspoken

Thoughts Unspoken


Wow! take a look at that!
Ooh, he's rather nice,
not too thin and not too fat.
She wouldn't look at me twice.

I wonder if I asked her out...
I wonder what he's thinking.
I'd like to know what he's smiling about.
I wonder what she's drinking?

Perhaps if I walk across that way
Oh gosh! he's coming over!
Must stay calm! What will I say?

My brain's gone supernova.

What can I say that might impress?
I've got to play it cool.
I wish I'd worn that other dress.

I'd hate to look a fool.

Maybe if I say hello...
I mustn't look too keen
Gosh, I'm nervous, does it show?

will she know what I mean?

She's looking up. Oh God! those eyes!
Yes!. He's sitting down.
Should I smile or look surprised?

Big and warm and brown.

I can't just sit here staring
What's he looking at?
Is it what I'm wearing?

I don't half feel a prat.

I'll have to think of something fast
Do you know, I think...
Yes! he's going to speak at last!

"Would you like a drink?"


********
First Date



First date,
can't be late,
what will he-?
will he be -?

What to wear?
Do my hair
-new dress-
hair's a mess.

What's that?
wear a hat?
Don't tease,
daddy, please!

Back by when?
only ten?
can't I just...?
don't you trust...?

He's here now?
Oh wow!
"Woohoo
look at you"

Later on,
date's gone,
"How'd it go?"
"Oh, you know."






***

Prevarication

Ah, no, she said, not this time...
You can't, she said, not now...
Stay here, she said, I'll call you
It's too late anyhow.

It's just, she said, you're busy...
I thought, she said, you'd need...
Some time, she said, to study
I want you to succeed.

Oh, right, I said, you're saying...
I see, I said, OK...
Is this, I said, for long then?
And then I thought, no way.

You've got, I said, another?
I've been, I said, replaced?
Would you, I said, have told me?
As she stood ashen-faced.

Ah, well, she said, about that...
I'll make, she said, amends...
I would, she said, have told you
And we can still be friends.

Oh no, I said, not this time.
We can't, I said, nohow.
Go home, I said, don't call me.
It's really too late now.

©2001



He-ing She-ing


Eyeing  sighing
kissing missing

yearning burning
dating waiting

dreaming scheming
wedding bedding

baring pairing
mating sating

lusting trusting
craving saving

boring  warring
paying greying

fighting slighting
ailing failing

working shirking
staying praying

lying crying
cheating beating

crawling sprawling
bleeding pleading

sweeping weeping
aching breaking

leaving grieving

ending

mending.

© 2002



One Way Conversation

"You're doing ok for your age," he said.
As a compliment it stank.
"But you look much better on your back."
There's nothing like being frank!

She raised an eyebrow, gave him a look.
"No, let me finish here..."
She pursed her lips and waited.
"The wrinkles disappear.

Not that you have many anyway."
He backpedalled like a pro.
She looked him squarely in the eye;
laughed as he dodged the blow.


© 2006

Wednesday 7 August 2013

What's Wrong With Me?



When I discovered that my particular problem had a name it didn't alarm me, or make me depressed. Actually I'd suffered bouts of severe depression since childhood, so it would have been difficult to know the difference I suppose. I already knew about the OCD, obsessive compulsive disorder, which had also developed in childhood. Finally, in my sixties, I went searching online for why I felt the way I did, why I get so antsy around other people, why I'm hopeless at relationships, and I came across a site which described various personality disorders.

I read through each and every description, in an attempt to find out whether or not any of them described me, discounting those that had features I don't have. Then I came across one that seemed to be talking about me, so much so that I just sat and cried. A torrent of silent tears poured down my face as I read. Not from sadness, just sheer relief. It was as if someone was saying: "Hey, I know you, it's ok, you're not crazy, just suffering something other people have, it has a name, and we understand."  To feel that someone finally understood me was unbelievably life affirming. It still is.

All through my childhood I'd been virtually speechless. Painfully shy, lacking any sense of self worth or confidence, school had been a nightmare for me. At home I felt isolated, as if I just didn't belong. There were times I felt invisible, sometimes I was convinced I must be a changeling, because I clearly wasn't part of this family I shared a house with. There was no obvious affection, parents who seemed always too busy to talk to me, a big sister who was ten years older and seemed totally out of reach and a little brother born when I was five, just starting school. I felt totally rejected. It didn't help that an older cousin who spent a lot of time in our house bullied me. I learned a few years ago that she regarded my sister as hers and was jealous of me. I got in the way. Of course the adults didn't believe me. I was "lying".

Hugs and cuddles were something other children got.  It was as if we couldn't afford those in our house.  Slaps I got, sure, but not cuddles. I have learned to some degree since why this was but, at the time, I couldn't understand why my mother said and did certain things that seared my soul, why no one wanted me around.

I seemed to be always in trouble.  I hated going to school. My teachers called me a daydreamer, or at worst, stupid. My parents also called me stupid - when I would forget things or get errands muddled up in my head. Or when what I tried didn't stand up to my perfectionist father's standards. It's no surprise that I married very young in an attempt to find some affection but, sadly, my husband also took up the chorus and was always calling me stupid. Or a waste of space. It wasn't until I finally broke free from all that and went to University that I discovered I wasn't stupid after all. However, it only went some way towards giving me confidence and I was fifty by then.

Another taunt I'd heard since childhood was 'crazy' and I came to believe it.  So much so that I took the name Crazylady for some time, online. I also developed tics as a child. My mother was always telling me to stop pulling faces or whatever. It's hard to explain but, like the OCD, it just something I feel I have to do.  It's not a sense of dread, or that something bad will happen if I don't, it's not that clear cut; just a compulsion. I have to do it and feel horribly uncomfortable if I don't. Physically uncomfortable. Doing whatever it is takes away the nasty feeling, brings relief.  I have even, on rare occasions, turned to self hurting, just to feel relief. Nothing too dramatic, nothing that will let others know. My secret shame.

Someone once described having Avoidant Personality Disorder, which is what I have, as "never having had a time in your life when you felt good enough, or worthy enough", and that does sum it up pretty well. It means that even when I get compliments I don't really believe them, the opposite belief is too well fixed in my brain. I "know" that people are just being kind. Fear of rejection is the most overwhelming emotion.

I try and try to get things perfect, knowing I never will, still hearing all those voices telling me why it isn't. In the end it takes enormous amounts of courage to put anything I've done out there for people to see or hear, and the first criticism will make me retract immediately, hurtling back into my shell.  My online name now is "hochiwich", the Romany name for a hedgehog. Prickly, yes, when feeling threatened but soft as butter inside.I've spent a huge amount of my life apologising for, well, for living really.



The experts say that this disorder is almost impossible to cure as the patient just never really accepts, can't believe, that they are worth help and that the kind words of the therapist aren't just that, kind words.  Meaningless. The OCD is largely under control, simply because I hate being not in control. I fought it and now it's a lot less compelling. The tics still appear, more so when I'm feeling stressed or anxious. And as if that wasn't enough I also have a hoarding disorder.  I believe I know where it stems from but that doesn't help. I still panic at the thought of losing things.

I am writing more, allowing others to see what I write, knowing I will never be able to please everyone and trying to accept that that's ok. That I don't have to. That I'm as worth it as anyone else, even though, deep down, I doubt I will ever truly believe it. I have come to understand that all of these things are anxiety based and when I start to feel overwhelmed I take an anxiety relief supplement.  And I do some meditation, chi kung, when I remember to.

Running away was a big thing with me. If something went wrong, a disagreement, a mistake, I would just simply run away and hide. I have a relationship now, one which has allowed me to be me, warts and all, and am learning not to run, but to face up to the anxiety and pain. I can't tell you how much it means to me to have the freedom to be me at last. 

Why am I writing this now, and allowing it to be seen? Simply because there is a movement afoot, called Time To Talk, to make these things public, to put it out there and say "Hey, I'm human too, I have problems but at heart I'm pretty much like you".  Though I'm not sure I am. I truly pity anyone else who lives with the hell of constant self doubt. If writing and publishing this helps anyone else, great. If it helps me too I won't complain.


Saturday 3 August 2013

Virtual Slavery

Virtual Slavery


Slavery used to be rife, common, throughout the world. It was seen as normal, acceptable.  But people began to believe that it wasn't right.  That humans should not be enslaved.  There is a long history of laws that were passed to this end.

1701: In Britain, the Lord Chief Justice rules that a slave became free as soon as he arrived in England.

1780: Pennsylvania passes An Act for the Gradual Abolition of Slavery, freeing future children of slaves. Those born prior to the Act remain enslaved for life. The Act becomes a model for other Northern states. Last slaves freed 1847
1807, 25 March: Abolition of the Slave Trade Act abolished slave trading in British Empire. Captains fined £120 per slave transported.

1811: Slave trading made a felony in the British Empire punishable by transportation for British subjects and foreigners.

1863: In the United States, Abraham Lincoln signs the Emancipation Proclamation which declared slaves in Confederate-controlled areas to be freed. Most slaves in "border states" are freed by state action; separate law freed the slaves in Washington, D.C.

On the 1st of August in 1834, slavery was officially abolished throughout the British Empire. Since 1807 the Slave Trade had been outlawed by Britain, and the Royal Navy was deployed to prevent ships engaging in it, helping to free 10,000s of slaves.

1865: December: U.S. abolishes slavery with the Thirteenth Amendment to the United States Constitution; about 40,000 remaining slaves are affected.

1948: UN Article 4 of the Declaration of Human Rights bans slavery globally.

Details of the rest of the world's actions can be seen at http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Abolition_of_slavery_timeline

In short, slavery has been abolished.

So can anyone explain to me why, in virtual worlds, slavery is so popular?  Slave games are possibly the most popular of the role play games.  So many people are excited by the thought of owning slaves or being slaves.  Why? Why turn the clock back this way?

We fought long and hard to give people dignity and freedom, yet so many people want degradation in their lives. I find it incomprehensible. Sick. Twisted. But that's what these people appear to want. Are their lives so empty, so meaningless, so lacking in excitement, that they have to resort to this kind of thing to feel anything? If so, that's terribly sad.

Yes, it's not real. It's a game. Maybe they feel some titillation at the thought of it but, for me, it's an insult to the thousands of people who suffered and died at the hands of others through slavery.  And an insult to the many who fought to put an end to slavery.

Frankly I am appalled by the whole thing. Yes, it's fantasy. But what a sick fantasy.  And these people fail to take into account that if you think about a thing long enough it becomes second nature.  Isn't here enough misery in the world already without fantasizing about more?

Tuesday 30 July 2013

For Karina Hansen

Karina

Karina Hansen, twenty four, innocent of crime,
suffering an illness, a mysterious disease.
Taken from her home and imprisoned for some time:
almost six months now. Can you tell me please
why this outrage happens, for she is not alone,
others also suffer this inhuman attitude.
For she is not in hospital, that I could condone,
if she was being cared for in a place of quietude.

But no, it's psychiatric, or so her doctors say,
they try to force her into an exercise regime
which will, we know, exacerbate her illness day by day
and leave her even worse; it's enough to make you scream! 
No visits from her family, those are not allowed.
This medieval attitude is so hard to believe.
So if you can please give support, shout it long and loud,
Give Karina what she needs, give her a reprieve!

© 2013

And a song:
http://www.4shared.com/mp3/6tHV--A3/Karina.html

Karina, Karina, how can they sanction this wrong?
Karina, Karina, let's get you home where you belong.

For months she has languished, hurt and abused,
tortured by those in control,
wrongly imprisoned, falsely accused,
held with no hope of parole.

Karina, Karina, how can they sanction this wrong?
Karina, Karina, let's get you home where you belong.

Many are fighting, for justice and truth,
hoping that someone will hear
We want her out while she still has her youth,
Someday we'll win, have no fear.

Karina, Karina, how can they sanction this wrong?
Karina, Karina, let's get you home where you belong.

Monday 22 July 2013

The Natural World

A Minor Miracle

I watched it swell and grow
filled with the promise
of good things to come.

Finally, today,
it burst into bloom.

Beauty on my window sill.
Another minor miracle.

© 2005


Viruses Rule OK

Viruses rule, ok?
When every last creature we've managed to kill,
they'll still be here to make us ill,
we just have to swallow this bitter pill: 
we're outclassed at the end of the day.


© 2003



Along the Seashore

Waves, whispering on the sand
slowly encroaching
falling back
move miniscule grains
losses and gains

bring nourishment
to hungry mouths
of crabby crustaceans
wiggling worms and
a multitude of molluscs

not forgetting the hoards and hoards
of hidden, almost invisible, things
who wait with assorted maws and jaws
for what the sea will bring.

Life along the seashore.

©  2002


A Land of Contrasts

Andes, a sprawling dragon, slumbering as it grows,
the length of South America, land of vast diversity:
from Atacama desert sands to snow fields and steaming jungle.
Jagged peaks tower over salt flats and caustic lakes
where a flock of pink flamingoes - feathered, stilted Riverdancers -
move en masse, their dance of love, and never miss a beat.
Torrent ducklings dance with death, plunging into freezing water,
tumbling, racing over rocks, yet somehow they survive.

Plucky little Humboldt penguins run the gauntlet through a horde
of nursing sealions, penguin eaters; bravely elbowing their way,
trampling the recumbent bodies, rushing past the snarling mouths,
risking all to reach the sea for fish to feed their young;
a sea  wherein another danger, orca - foe of penguins, glide
and leap, their snapping hungry jaws a harbinger of death.
A sheet of ice, the size of Wales, births a glacier, slowly flowing
ruthlessly, inexorably, into the southern ocean.

On rocky heights, viscachas, tiny fur-robed, rodent monks,
warm themselves, greet the sun, and mutter benedictions.
Zorros, abhorring housework, move their pups from den to den,
chased always by the guanaco who hate them with a passion.
Mists arise, revive the lofty cacti which burst into bloom,
a tasty treat for guanaco; somewhere a bromeliad
flowers once in thirty years, in hope of pollination
by humming birds which seem to thrive in disparate locations.

Flocks of jewel-bright macaws, raucous in their conversation,
fly beneath an azure sky, catch the eye and stun the senses,
Elsewhere, spectacled bears, weighing all of forty stones,
eat bromeliads, raise their young, high up in the tree tops,
while kodkod, secretive and shy, birdlike in the canopy,
kudu, tiny foot high deer dwarfed by giant greenery,
puma, sloths - green with algae, armadillos, countless creatures,
touch the heart and fill the mind with wonderment and awe.

© 2004


Benign Indifference

Oft she turns her wrinkled face,
pirouettes through starlit space;
agitated her demeanour,
aging legless barrelina.
Now and then she belches, spews,
shakes and quakes and so renews.
All is cyclical in motion,
life and earth and sky and ocean
living, dying, rising, falling,
though to us it seems appalling
for, short lived, to life we cling
while nature simply does it's thing.


"Gazing up at the stars, for the first time, the first,
I laid my heart open to the benign indifference of the universe."
-Albert Camus (1913-1960)


© 2005


Bug Poo I and II


1
Ants on a fig tree
farming bugs.

Diligent, they watch for
the moment of emergence,

greedily relishing
bug poo, honeydew.


II

Dust mites, invisible,
skin scales their bread;
irritate intensely
pooing in your bed.


© 2007


Fox

The fox is often hunted
which leaves some folk affronted.
The handsome inspiration
for so much altercation,
is either loved or hated,
its nature much debated.
Often it is thought to be
just out on a killing spree,
indiscriminate in its slaughter
slaying far more than it oughta.
No, my friend, not so.

It's rep has been corrupted;
if not interrupted
it buries all it slays,
a store for leaner days.
We fail to understand
it has its future planned;
with little ones to raise and feed
such behaviour isn't greed.
Necessity drives every creature,
avarice is a human feature
as our waistlines show.

© 2003


From My Window


A dark twiggy tracery
stands stark against a sky
of powder blue.

Beyond, the early morning light
illuminates the high rise homes
lending warmth and color to
the erstwhile pallid walls.

On such a day as this our eyes
make nonsense of the temperature
and fool us into wondering
if Spring is here at last.

© 2004


Living Dragons


Dragons are alive and well and living
on the earth.  They walk on water, swim
the seas, fly through jungles, tree to tree.

In every kinds of habitat,
from steamy swamp to desert ground
dragons still are found.

Defences, honed through countless ages,
seem mundane, less dramatic
than myth allows,
yet equally mysterious:

armor, often horned or scaly, sometimes
multi-colored; camouflage perfected
over time. Bitter blood squirted
from the eyes, a challenge giving pause.

With flicking tongues some scent their prey,
retrieving molecules of odor,
tasting in advance.  Hollow teeth spit
venom in the face of opposition.

Long jumpers, sprinters, acrobats,
free diving experts, dressed to kill;
James Bonds of their kingdom,
dragons of today.

© 2005





Luna

O sweet and gentle moon;
Luna, goddess of the night,
imparting fecundity for
all who move within your sway
and dwell beneath your light -
would we be here at all without you?
Life, it seems, is all about you.
Keep us in your sight.

©  2003





Misnomer

I have a Christmas cactus
with flowers big and red.
It rarely flowers at Christmas though;
no matter how it's fed.

It flowers in November
or even early Spring.
Sometimes both; it seems to be
quite keen to do its thing.

It's on my kitchen window ledge,
north facing but quite bright,
and overlooks the traffic -
not the most enchanting sight.

Last December it gave forth,
spectacular and gay,
and then it wowed me once again
on St Georges day. 

© 2006


Mostly Fish

Why are dolphins drawn to us?
Hmm, let me think...

A creature of high intelligence
with mostly fish for company...

Yep. That would do it.

© 2005


Offstage.


August;
summer should be centre stage yet
blustery winds bow flowers down
and dark clouds mask the sun.

Rain;
enough to chill the bones of those
who dare to make appearance in
their fine, fair-weather garb.

Trees
perform their dance, their dalliance,
with veils of varied hues of green
bewitching those who watch.

Birds,
bedraggled on their perches, seem
disheartened and disconsolate,
their songs unsung for now.   

Sol
from time to time looks out from
where he waits impassively until
it's time for him to shine.


© 2006


Perfidy
Daughters plot behind their father's back, sister slays sister and steals her lover, and a family are torn asunder - not Shakespeare but everyday stories from the world's largest wolf pack living in Yellowstone National Park.



The dark queen was beautiful but merciless and violent,
her first love was shot but she soon was re-allied.
Now she is dead and her new lover heartlessly
rules in her stead with her sister by his side.

It's a story of infamy, unscrupulous conspiracy,
of backbiting treachery and family intrigue;
where sister slays sister and takes on her family
and worse yet, the dead sister's lover was in league.

His headship is challenged, he fights off his enemy.
Now, it would seem, his position is secure
but a stranger appears and attracts the leader's daughters;
he's big and he's handsome, his intentions far from pure.

Caught inflagrante, the daughters go back home again
the stranger then vanishes, for a while at least
but always his presence is there in the memory
like a nasty smell, or the spectre at the feast.

One day he's back there, seeking to consolidate.
The daughters are tempted and go with him once more
along with some others, deserters from the family;
they form a rival faction. This could lead to war.

This isn't history, nor is it Shakespearian;
it happens quite frequently, it could be last week.
A family is torn apart, mercilessly severed,
in a Yellowstone wolf pack, up at Druid Peak.


© 2004


Philosophical Ramblings.

Does the butterfly know courage
when first it leaves the cocoon?
Having left it's earthbound pedestrian life
of eating, eating, and yet more eating
to hibernate for many days
on the underside of a leaf
to break down into genetic soup
it now has to start all over again
struggle free, out into the light
stretch its wings and soar on high.
How brave is the butterfly?

Does the lioness know courage
when she faces the male who comes along
and wants to mate and sees her young as
a threat to his own genetic line;
when she drives him away with tooth and claw
to defend her young ones sired elsewhere
does she stop to think "Oh, this is scary"
or just act purely on instinct?
What courage she shows in human terms
but a mother's desire to defend her young
is pretty instinctive under duress.
How brave is the lioness?

A baby bird has to leave the nest
learn to fly and fend for itself
and we put it down to instinct
but is it afraid of the cat and the owl
the predators all around?
Does it have to pluck up courage
to launch itself off that bough?
To struggle at length with its very first worm
which must be a little daunting
and we call it nature, take it for granted
that's just what creatures do.
Is talk of courage absurd?
How brave is the little bird?

I ask because I'm human,
and humans like to know.
We want to know what makes us tick
why we do the things we do
or why we sometimes don't.
Is courage merely an instinct
born of the need to survive?
or is it something we can control
by an act of will, determination?
We like to think we're so brave
ripping our fears assunder
but are we really? I wonder.


© 2002

Seventy Per Cent.


Oh, molecules of H2 0 , by my flesh now employed,
ancient and perpetual, just how far have you been?
Did you hail from outer space as an icy asteroid,
melting in our atmosphere by human eyes unseen

or from the planet's molten core when it was first volcanic?
No doubt you've sailed the heavens to refresh the earth below.
Were you in the iceberg that sank the proud Titanic?
Perhaps you've graced the frozen face of Everest, as snow.

How many living creatures have you helped to keep alive?
How many trees owe part of their existance to your aid?
Where will you be tomorrow? Will you watch as dolphins dive,
or be in someone's whisky, or a cooling lemonade?

I'd like to think you've floated down in petals on the breeze
and fed the mighty whale sharks with plankton in the deeps.
I haven't travelled very far, or seen the seven seas,
but seventy per cent of me remembers them, and weeps.

© 2003

Simply Surviving

What is life to a lichen?
This marriage of algae and fungi lives,
absorbing minerals from the rock,
on which it sits indefinitely,
its growth rate infinitesimal:
perhaps an inch in a century!
I would lose the will to live.
Yet there it sits with no ambition
other than to be.

© 2004


Summer Is Over

Summer is over; a damp
Autumnal chill pervades
the air, creeping unbidden
through every gloomy
room and hall,
to settle round my feet.

Such light as enters,
far from bright, casts
no shadow on the wall
and seems reluctant to be here.
Outside the house now berries hang
where once bright flowers grew,
leaves begin to change their hue;
no more the songbird cries.

Skies are grey and leaden;
gone the sun kissed blue
of recent days. Amazed,
I sit and watch the changes,
in myself and in the world,
as life around me dies.

© 2004


Natural Childbirth

Borneo. A metal cage. Somewhere in the jungle.
I watched a rescued female orang-utan give birth;
watched as she nibbled through the hefty cord that joined them,
saw how she thoroughly yet gently cleaned its fur.
Large limpid eyes regarded those who stood around them
but nobody distracted her from this instinctive task.
I thought of a human birth, contrasted it with this one:
sterile conditions, pain relief and mask.

Nothing came between them, this mother and her baby,
no-one took the infant creature off to be appraised.
For four or maybe six years she'll keep her offspring with her,
teaching it to be an orang learning orang ways:
what to eat or not and how to build a nest for sleeping,
things it's important for the little one to know.
It strikes me that education has its priorities
but how to be human comes spectacularly low.

© 2007


The Colossal Squid

The colossal squid is a fearsome beast
with parrot's beak and enormous eyes.
It has arms so strong it strives with whales
and grows to an unbelievable size.

It's tentacles are armed with hooks,
swivelling claws that are razor sharp.
Once a legend, now a fact;
no more will listeners laugh or carp.

In Antarctic waters it has its home,
eating whatever swims its way;
it takes exceptional strength and size
to avoid becoming this creature's prey.

If you dream of a life on the Southern Seas
midst howling gales and cliffs of ice,
just think about the colossal squid
and stay away, is my advice.

© 2006


The Dragon Flies

The Emperor, a dragon,
emerges from his lair,
undergoes a transformation,
magic without incantation,

Doffs his armour, brown and drab
to go about his task.
Emerging now in dazzling hues
he adds some glamour to the scene.

Weak from lack of food he flies,
devouring what he can,
building strength and stamina.
The days he has are very few
to do what he must do.

In coat of brightest blue he goes
to find a mate before he dies,
with breath-arresting, death-defying,
aerial skills and expertise,
by force he takes his kingdom from
whoever ruled before.

A damsel and her lover lie
embracing, unsuspecting.
Nearby the dragon waits until
her lover leaves her there
then pounces on the hapless creature;
razor sharp, his jaws devour.

The dragon's days are numbered though.
One day a new contender comes
to challenge for dominion.
The Emperor does his best to fight
but battered, tattered wings are weak
and this time he's defeated.

Ten days were all he had to rule,
ten days of mating, fighting, feeding,
meeting every challenge while
the force of life was strong.

A brief life has the dragonfly,
once he leaves the water.

© 2004


The Rat

Of all the things that I could praise
this, this the most heroic:
the noble rat, oft much maligned,
is, of all beasts, most stoic.

Survivor of millenia
despite man's cunning ruses
rats will always be around
and have so many uses!

So many creatures feed on them
the owl and fox and cat
and yet they thrive despite it all
and multiply at that!

Oh noble rat, I sing your praise
Oh oft disparaged rodent
it seems when asked to soldier on
you didn't know what "no" meant.

When tamed and kept within a cage
or used for awful testing
we do not then despise your kind
but find you quite arresting,

a friendly and most loyal pet
intelligent and and clever
you survive where other creatures
cease from their endeavour.

So, noble rat, my work is done.
Although your name is blighted
I for one think well of you
indeed, you should be knighted!

© July 2002


The Rut

Wintry wind-swept mountainsides,
stags  begin to bellow;
autumn in the Highland glens
is very far from mellow.

Driven by an ancient urge,
eyes aflame with rage,
adorned with weeds the antlers crash
as sodden beasts engage

Back and forth with heaving flanks,
musk-laden from the mire.
One will know the spoils of war,
the other will retire;

Not for him the privilege
of passing on his seed.
It's nature's way and merciless;
only big boys breed.

Oct 2006

The Stag

He stands
panting,
his sides
heaving;

malodorous and soaking wet,
drenched with urine and with sweat,
the mighty head now bowed and yet
triumphant.

He may not last much longer;
harsh winters take their toll on those
with little left to give

and he has given everything:
strength, energy, supremacy
and, crucially, his legacy.

He's done all he can do.


© 2007



Watching Wildlife


Landlocked or freer,
animals at play;
aerial or aquatic
acrobatic the display.
Practising their life skills
swooping, diving, slipping, sliding
or simply having fun
running, jumping, floating, gliding
showing sheer irreverence
exhibiting exuberance.

Hunter and hunted
predator and prey
sometimes, this time
dinner gets away.
Who should I feel sorry for?
The hungry or the fleeing?
Impossible to choose
it's naked truth I'm seeing.
Life and death, in the raw;
nature red in tooth and claw.

© Oct 2003





Winter Sun

A weak, watery, winter sun
but strong enough to
give this fall of snow
the old heave-ho

leaving in its wake
small scattered patches
which soon will go
the way of all snow
hereabouts.

© 2004


Legend

What makes a lioness adopt a baby oryx?
That's what exercised my mind
after watching that very thing.
To see her gently lead it about,
watch over it, protect it
this was a true phenomenon
a once in a lifetime event.

People came from miles to see
this mysterious thing, this miracle
a local legend was coming true
right there in the midst of them!
The people, Kenya's Samburu,
named her Kamuniak -
it means The Blessed One,
The Miracle Lioness,
they said it meant that God had come,
as seen in Isaiah, eleven:six
"... a lion shall lie with a calf..."


But nature had not provided for this;
she simply hadn't the wherewithal
to provide for its basic needs.
Unwilling to leave it to go and hunt
she'd nothing to eat herself.
She did her best, as mothers do,
but it simply wasn't enough.
And just as things got really bad
a lion came and snatched the calf
and devoured it before her eyes.
Her distress was all too obvious -
I was witnessing a tragedy
as real as any other.

It seemed now that all was lost, 
but after feeding and gaining strength
the miracle was repeated as
not long after, on Valentine's Day,
she found and adopted another one!
So are legends born.

© 2002




The New Forest.

New Forest : old forest,
William of Normandy
rode here with his courtiers
nine hundred years ago
as wild boar and fallow deer
fled the huntsman's arrows.

Now the deer roam safely
running wild in dappled shade
and shafts of hazy sunlight
which force their way through canopies
of russet, gold and green.

Mossy banks and ferny hollows
lichen speckled ancient trees
signs of squirrels, foxes, badgers
scents of damp earth, dark and rich,
rotting leaves and new young fungus,
birdsong high up overhead
all intoxicate and charm.

Owls call: to wit? to woo!
as woodpeckers drum along,
ponies in the clearings graze
and shake their manes and tails
whinnying their welcome
of a brand new day.

© 2002




Little Fruit

Springtime proudly promised much
but summer brought its shadows;
undeveloped fruit now falls
to lie in winter meadows.

© 2005


Winter's Dreams

Frozen feathers, gently falling,
drifting silent from on high;
decorating trees and roof tops,
'neath a heavy ashen sky.

Magical and mystical,
a scene to conjure fairy tales
of unicorns and fiery dragons,
wicked queens and rugged males.

Winter is my favorite season:
fireside cosiness and dreams,
wrapped up warmly, sipping cocoa;
life's not always as it seems.


© 2005

Friday 19 July 2013

Down Again

 We are being encouraged to talk openly about mental problems to take away the stigma attached to it.
I have a mental health problem. It's called Avoident Personality Disorder. It's an anxiety based disorder.
Someone said that having this disorder means that there has never been a time in your life when you felt good enough or worthy enough.
I guess that sums it up nicely.


Down Again

What do you do
when the urge is strong
you know it's wrong
but the urge is strong
the urge to self harm,
to hurt yourself
to take away pain
which sounds insane
so what can you do
instead.
Suddenly fragile
once again
tears fall
but that's all.
No harming today.
It's not gone away
but buried once more
for now.

2013

Tuesday 16 July 2013

Insanities

 Insanity 1

Perhaps we are but parasites
upon the face of this old earth
who, now and then, reacts
destroying quite a lot of us

It seems insane
that we should want
to aid her in her task.

Sept 2002



Insanity 2

If I like you and you like me
why is it that we can't agree
to differ?

To kill for all the paltry reasons
people trot out plausibly
is such a waste of life.

Insanity indeed.

Sept 2002



 Insanity 3

All of us fear what we don't understand
- just watch a dog or a cat -
but that's no reason to kill the thing.
What kind of madness is that?

Sept 2002


 Insanity 4

We put our cats and dogs to sleep
when they're too sick to survive
so why are we so intent on keeping
suffering folk alive?

We insist the terminally ill should live
while healthy babies are killed;
this is the kind of insanity
that leaves my spirit chilled.

Sept 2002


Insanity 5 

Human life is sacred
or so the laws decree
what makes us so special?

Because we have superior
communication skills
we really reckon ourselves

we lord it over everything
and think we can call the shots.
A kind of megalomania?

Sept 2002

Insanity 6 

Two Men

Two men sit and cry
two men wait to die
one is in prison, one is not
one is cold, the other is hot.

One will be given a lethal injection
releasing him from this life
because it's the humane way to go
even though he killed his wife.

The other lies in a hospital bed
he will not last the night
yet he must die in agony
to kill him wouldn't be right.

Two men sit and cry
two men wait to die
one a murderer given a buffer,
one an innocent left to suffer.


Insanity 7

Under Bridges

Life was cartons
under bridges
begging coins from passers by
newsprint blankets
cardboard mattress
sleeping underneath the sky
just a youngster
not yet twenty
faithful mongrel by his side
eating sometimes
bathing rarely
How he lived, and how he died.


Insanity 8

Human Garbage

I saw a woman lying there,
just lying on the ground,
as if she'd simply gone to sleep
in a comfy place she'd found
except the place was white with snow
her bed was hard and gray
and the blankets that now covered her
bore news of yesterday

And the silent stars looked down on her
to bid a fond goodnight
to this, their child, now fast asleep
so still, and cold, and white
and people were just walking past
as if she wasn't there;
perhaps they they hadn't noticed her
perhaps they didn't care.

I wondered where she came from
and what her name had been
what tales she might have told us
of the many things she'd seen.
Just one more of life's tragedies,
a silent bitter end
for someone who perhaps had been
a mother, or a friend.

Were there none to mourn her?
I wondered as I stood
and offered up a little prayer -
I thought that someone should -
for soon she would be carried off
examined and cremated
like so much that is tossed aside
her value underated.



© 2002

Insanity 9

Canned Hunts

Canned hunts: barbaric,
cowardly, obscene;
hand reared animals
drugged, confined, and shot
by men with guns but no balls,
the young die when the mother falls
and the "hunter" ups and walks.
Animals without a choice
crying without a voice
but oh! how money talks.

©  2003


Insanity 10

Progress

Things have changed.  We've come so far.
We often don't know how lucky we are.
We fly to the moon and study the stars;
we travel in trains and planes and cars.

We can feed the world, well most at least,
yet still some starve while others feast.
We are no more than savage beasts;
our brains grew larger, but we decreased.

We treat each other with such disdain,
ignoring one anothers pain.
We've grown so cold and inhumane
and one man's loss is another man's gain.

Our animals are cruelly used
often neglected and much abused,
some sick folk are even amused.
Can that really be excused?

Is there anything that we need
to justify this kind of deed?
Does self-content, like a noxious weed,
choke us with laziness and greed?

What is humanity's ultimate goal ?
What do we see as our primary role?
Can we get out of this awful hole?
And what do we gain in exchange for our soul?

It's like some terrible pact we've made
a kind of intelligence/feelings trade
and now it seems we're too afraid
to admit the piper must be paid.

Where oh where will this all end?
Will we ever comprehend?
Can we hope we'll all transcend;
wake up one day, and buck the trend?

© 2003


Insanity 11

LMF

They went bravely into battle 
those aeronauts of old
in flimsy looking aeroplanes,
fondly known as kites.

Many barely more than boys
in search of some adventure,
they ranged the wide blue yonder
with scant hope of return.

Dante's Inferno played out nightly
in glorious technicolor
as friends and crewmen did their bit
all for for King and Country

til, traumatized, courage gone,
filled with abject horror, they were
callously, cruelly, stripped of rank
as Lacking Moral Fibre.

© 2003


Insanity 12

Running Out of Time
We have managed to slow the earth's rotation measurably 
in the last fifty years by damming huge quantities of water.
We waste so much, and what we don't waste, we poison.

What sort of people wantonly
wreak havoc on the place they live?
Such feckless, reckless, ill-advised behaviour
has me baffled.

This better life we strive for,
how will it save us from
tornadoes, floods and hurricanes,
the whole environment in turmoil?

The planet warms, the ice sheets melt,
the sea increases giving rise
to stronger winds and heavier rain,
loss of land and life.

Weather systems all awry means death
for many; starving, fighting,
fire and brimstone, hell on earth,
unless we make some changes.

To bring down mother nature's wrath
upon our heads is foolishness,
yet still we close and eyes and smile,
pretend it isn't happening.

When all around is chaos, maybe
then we'll stop and contemplate
then look into the faces of our children
and despair.

© 2005


Insanity 13

Man Shrugs

Ice melts and glaciers tumble,
seas crash and clifftops crumble;
rain forests die of thirst,
dry dusty ground is cursed.

Storms rage and typhoons level,
trees burn as fires revel,
land drowns as rivers rise.
Earth turns, heaves, and sighs.

She is strong and will recover;
not so her sorry lover.
Man shrugs, turns away;
no more he can say.

© 2006

Insanity 14

(A Wing And A Prayer)

When I think of where humanity's bound
I'm tempted to despair.
There's death and destruction all around,
we're polluting the air, the sea, the ground
and still we ignore the death knell sound.
We're on a wing and a prayer.

Why do some people never learn -
is there any hope at all?
Are we determined to crash and burn?
Is our children's future of no concern?
There's time to halt the downward turn
if only we heed the call.

A gung-ho attitude drowns the screams
that issue a warning note.
Not enough people care, it seems;
we merrily cheer our favourite teams,
heading for hell on a sea of dreams,
in a rusty, leaking, boat.

© 2006

Sunday 14 July 2013

So Unfair. - Not for the timid

So Unfair.

Last night I had the hottest dream I think I've ever had.
Beautiful, and young I was, with a young and lovely lad.
It wasn't pornographic. I wouldn't say obscene.
Just lusty satisfying sex, the best it's ever been.
Somewhere deep inside my brain I still have those desires,
the passing years, the aging flesh, have not put out the fires.
Alas, too late, I know it, to ride this surging wave,
No way can I achieve the things my mind appears to crave.
The dream was not a memory, some things I've never done
nor have I seen them anywhere, but I was having fun!
Who would have thought, at such an age, when most have given up,
that I'd still feel as playful as a fit and healthy pup.
It's so unfair, so unfair, arousing such a passion
in one without the energy to act in such a fashion.
But if you see me smiling a knowing, thoughtful smile,
remember that the elderly have dreams that still beguile.

© 2013

Marilyn

At school they called me Marilyn;
it was the way I walked.
An icon of the time,
I took her looks to be natural,
thought her and her films sublime;
was shocked, saddened when she died:
a needless, pointless, suicide.
But now I understand.

I cling to life reluctantly, often ready
to despair, especially of men.
I've known so many; most of them
with one thing on their mind.
Though gays could be quite kind.
A life of giving, getting oh, so
little in return:  a few, brief hours
of counterfeit affection.

I'm no Marilyn.
I haven't had the work, the money
or the fame. Yet in some lame
inconsequential way I too
know physical attraction's due:
the pain of being used, abused;
insufficiency of love,
a lack of recognition of
one's other, hidden, charms.

Yet all I really long for
is safety in another's arms.


© 2007




What to do?


Too old now to strut my stuff in
slinky clothes and fuck-me shoes
or flash come-hither glances from
mascara'd kohl-black eyes;

arthritis and increasing size,
the pitiless effects of time,
are things I can't refute.

What to do, what to do,
when teenage passion
persecutes a body
past its prime?


© 2007


Old Hands

Why do these old hands ache so much
to reach, to stroke, to hold, to touch?
Why must they make my needs so plain?
My hands are driving me insane.

Though now adorned with jeweled rings
they long for old familiar things:
for flesh and muscle, firm and hard,
across which, once, they'd promenade.

I can, of course, caress the cat
although there's not much fun in that.
She isn't keen on being squeezed;
my hands just wind up feeling teased.

They yearn to feel again the thrill
of using, once again, their skill
to make a lover so inflamed
that one might almost feel ashamed.

Such skills I've had and have them yet
though currently they pose no threat;
and so I dream as here I nap,
my hands, frustrated, in my lap.


© 2005


Skin Hunger

Always there's the awful hunger,
longing for another's touch,
lonely hours of desolation,
lonely days of nothing much.

Yearning to be gently fondled,
craving just to be caressed;
someone's arms around her body,
someone's hand upon her breast.

Eager lips to brush against her,
rousing blood and passion's fire,
urgent writhing bodies blending
in concupiscent desire.

Only those who've ever known it
can appreciate the plight
of a woman lying, sighing,
dying each and every night.

© 2005



Wicked To the Bone

Once upon a time
and not so very long ago
women like me were deemed to be
insane and locked away for life.

If you were someone's wife
of course it then became a duty
but sex without a wedding ring -
how vile, depraved, degenerate!

A baby out of wedlock?! Disgraceful!
Deplorable!  Contemptible!  Insane!
What more proof was needed
that a woman was a simpleton
in need of protection?

So many babes adopted,
their mothers in asylums, their only
crime a sexual encounter. Unless...

Ah, unless...

Men still had their mistresses
but how to draw the line between
a paramour and prostitute?
Class and economics.

A healthy appetite today
is still occasionally seen
as sinful and depraved.
The ancient triad still exists:
maiden, mother, crone.
Fall outside the borders
and you're wicked to the bone!


© 2005


Hochiwich 
(the Romany word for Hedgehog)

Damaged goods, emotionally;
don't know how to be.
Think too much, that's half of it.
What is it to be me?

Stunted growth, unable
to live a "normal" life.
Never got the hang of it:
a child, a girl, a wife.

Sheltered by seclusion
I'm protected from pain
but, escaping from reality,
lose more than I gain.

Hedgehog on a busy street,
intimidated, curled,
prickles up, anticipating;
hiding from the world.

Finally I worked it out,
gave the thing a name.
Peace comes with knowing.
Still, it's a shame.


© 2005


Ready, Willing and Able


What makes a woman stop
doing it with her man?
Does she no longer fancy him?
has she given all she can?

Is it negativity?
Does she feel over the hill,
no longer attractive?
Or possibly she's ill.

Does he no longer woo her?
Perhaps he's forgotten how.
Instead of sexy, she sees herself
as a fat old frumpy cow.

Yes, he ogles supermodels
or busty blondes, it's true.
He knows he'll never go there but
he still enjoys the view.

It may be a personal problem she
can't bring herself to explain
so she counters all his questions
with embarrassment and pain.

But maybe it isn't that at all
(and men, this may sound rough)
but maybe he's simply crap at it
and, frankly, she's had enough!

Maybe nobody told him  -
apart from what to put where -
how to please his woman 
(that's those who even care.)

We didn't come with instructions;
he's just been muddling through.
So don't just lie there, lady!
Give the guy a clue!

But if you really can't bring yourself
to enter into the fun
I'm ready, willing, and able.
I'll show him how it's done!


© 2004


Ecstasy

I used to wonder what I had to offer those young men
who wrote to me petitioning the pleasure of my company.
But yesterday I read something that made me think again;
intended to amuse perhaps - unflattering, most certainly.

The author gave his point of view on boys of seventeen
(at that age they are easily excited, apparently)
a tick infested sheep in a rainstorm was the scene
supplying an attractive proposition.  Bestiality!

Now, though I know I'm getting on, I'm wearing pretty well.
I may not be the object of a raging teenage fantasy
but tick infested sheep in a rainstorm sound like hell!
Compared to that I think my ministrations would be ecstasy.

© 2004


No Longer Pretty

I am no longer pretty
the firm young flesh of yesteryear,
the boundless energy of youth
are gone but not forgotten.

Night after night
untouched and unmolested
I lie here in my room
but sometimes, as the night descends,
I yearn to feel another's skin pressed close against my own,

to touch once more with trembling hands a lover's kindly face
and kiss his mouth and breathe his breath,
look deep into his eyes;

to smell and taste the redolence engendered by arousal;
to know again the tingling twitching touch of someone's hands
and have my privacy invaded,

oh! such sweet surrender!
Exquisite expectation!

and go exploring as before
with hands and tongue and eager lips
to satisfy my hunger
and, legs entwined around him,
with quickened breath and racing pulse
share the uproarious ecstasy
when wisdom and propriety
are swallowed up by passion
and lust devours all.

© 2003


Nights In White Satin

I was in the supermarket the other day
when a very old tune began to play.
Nights In White Satin was the name of the song
and I thought "Oh yes! That's where I belong.
Forget polyester, forget about cotton,
it's time for me to get spoiled rotten;
to spend the night between sheets of silk
and bathe each day in asses milk.
To have a flunky right there on his knees
and a hunky, spunky one if you please.
Forget about cooking, forget about pans,
it's time to stop eating out of cans.
I'll dine out nightly, I'll eat the best
take what I want and leave the rest.
No more leftover scraps for me,
I'll start enjoying life, you'll see!
Forget about lonely, forget about tears,
it's time to put an end to fears.
I've just got to find me a millionaire
a man with few thousand bucks to spare.
One who appreciates quality, yes!
with a really prestigious kind of address.
Forget being poor, forget about mean
it's time to pick those rich guys clean.

©  2003


To Know Love

To know real love
is the deepest desire of the heart.
Deprived of love the heart grows cold
and withers like the autumn leaves.
Like winter's trees, so dark and bare
standing stark against the sky;
or some poor solitary swan,
searching sadly through the mist,
so is a heart bereft.

I have known love; 
it was a kind of love such that
none before or since compares.
A love transcending time and space
that was akin to madness.
This was a love that would never be
could never be - and yet - and yet
somehow it survived.

Two souls united -
there was no consummation;
just to look into his eyes
and see my soul reflected back
was all we had for solace.
Yet if by some strange quirk of fate
he and I should meet once more
I know that we would, as before,
experience the heights and depths
of love that goes beyond all reason,
all imagination.


© 2002


What We Want




We want to be wanted
need to be needed
long to be longed for, adored
but so often find that
we're just tolerated
sometimes even ignored.

Living is tough and
we have to be strong,
strength comes from deep inside
where we know we are loved
and we matter to someone
and don't have to run and hide.

Give me some loving
lend me some strength
help me to get through the day
for even this much will be
better than nothing
to send me out into the fray.


© Nov 2002


Culture Clash

Here today it's all
wrinklies this and
crumblies that
no respect at all for what
time has given us.
The years give more than they take
if you let 'em.

My Asian friend calls me madam.
Madam, imagine it!
Had to tell him not to call me that here.
People might get the wrong idea.

It's nice though
a guy says 'I honour you
for your wisdom'.
Wow.  Or
'You have so much to teach me'.

You betcha.


© 2002


Playing Games

Where can I find a man who really wants me?
One who really wants me for myself?
All the ones I've met
though that's not many yet
seem to want to leave me on the shelf.

They talk to me for hours by computer
and offer to oblige me now and then
but when all's said and done
there really isn't one
who'll make it definite and tell me when.

I really don't know what they're all afraid of.
I think it's just a fantasy to them.
But what I really need
is a man who'll do the deed.
Amongst the dross where is there such a gem?

It's not as if I'm ugly or repulsive
at least that's what most people seem to say
and my brain still functions well
as far as I can tell
so why won't someone take me all the way?

I always thought that men were ever ready
they claim they'll go with anything that moves
but that just isn't so
believe me I should know
as all their reticence so clearly proves.

Why can't I find a man who really wants me?
What must I do to find a willing mate?
Yes, they can talk the talk
but few can walk the walk
not even even when it's offered on a plate!

© 2001


What do I want?

What do I want? To

Lay with you, stay with you,
wake up each day with you,

play with you, fight with you,
make up each night with you;

think with you, talk with you,
go for a walk with you,

joke with you, pun with you,
have lots of fun with you;

come with you, go with you,
play in the snow with you,

ride with you, hide with you,
be at your side with you;

sit with you, stand with you,
lie hand in hand with you,

drink with you, eat with you,
generate heat with you;

smile with you, frown with you,
go up and down with you,

laugh with you, cry with you,
grow old and die with you.

That's all.
What do you want?

© 2001