Monday, 9 April 2018

Rebooting Mondays

Flat-As-A-Pancake Day, bereft
Of froth and babble full of dread Mundane work-a-day
SOMETHING must be done!
Let's do it!
Smile. At everyone, some will stick ... And come flashing back.
Run up the stairs
Make coffee and
Hand round a crisp, white paper bag
Full of very sticky toffees.
Tip a beggar
Listen to a concerto
Or a rock band and
At the beginning of every email
Say something ...
Different. Kind, perhaps.
Remember, when you
Actually finish something,
How it felt when you were in the Juniors and your teacher
Pressed a gold star on your
Careful scrawl.
Good eh?
Pick a moment when everything
Would otherwise be too tedious to bear
Take yourself off to tthe Caribbean
Lie on on a beach with your lover
Let the surf nibble your toes ...
Or, if this is too much,
Be ten again and play
Hide and seek in a bright Spring wood
With your sister ...
See! It's working isn't it?
Already you're looking forward to Monday,
And have change jingling in your pocket
To buy toffees
And tip a beggar

Thursday, 5 April 2018

#Glopowrimo Day Five

A stranger to all Germanic languages, I typed "Bloom" into search, and here we are:

Footpath From Taynton and Beyond

 

 

 

Thursday, 22 March 2018

What The Hell's Going On?

Pope Francis is in hot water again. There is even some suggestion that his alleged comment - that hell doesn't exist, and I use the word 'alleged' very loudly - makes him an heretic.

I am tickled pink by this. An heretical Pope! Probably not even possible, given Papal Infallibility ( Which, yes, I know only applies to matters of faith and morals, but I think 'Hell' is a faith thing, so I'm definitely invoking Infallibility here.)

I used to muse, amused, on the various titles I'd like to have, were such available to me. "Black Rod" "Lady of the Bedchamber" "Grand Duke" "Miss Universe" "Mistress of Ceremonies" ... The list was long, and marked by the fact that I was totally ineligible, on grounds of gender, age and/or suitability, for any of them. I didn't care, I'd let the title roll round my tongue, fantasising on the grand dinners, unlikely costumes, and number of lackeys I might accrue from any fame/status/wealth that attached to the title. It was fun. It made me laugh.

The shortest consideration I gave to any title was, Pope. Now that's a really tough gig. Palaces, castles, adulation, and the rest, offer no compensation for the burden of being Christ's Vicar on Earth. Bearing any kind of responsibility for the foibles of my fellow-men doesn't look like any fun to me, especially if you can't have a coffee and a chat with an old friend without ending up being burned at the stake. (Metaphorically. Allegedly.)

I suspect Pope Francis (See how close I got? I didn't get his title, but he pinched my name!) will brush off the current furore with his usual aplomb, and fairly soon he'll have come up with some new staggering piece of unconventional wisdom, to keep the wolves in sheep's clothing in the Vatican in an even higher state of dudgeon. Keep it up, Francis, those of us who are heartened by a bit of heresy (alleged) are praying for you.

 

PS: 'State of High Dudgeon'! Does it need a Prime Minister, by any chance?

 


 

Monday, 19 March 2018

Just For Fun

Love popped his head round the door.
"Hi!" He said, and,
"May I?" Pointing to the bed.

"YOU!" I laughed, can take a hike - 
I'm not at home to you today."

Love, unabashed, closed the door behind him.

"We need to talk." (Ever the drama queen.)

I touched his cheek, tenderly, as a mother does,
And whispered.

I shall not  tell you what I said, but I WILL reveal:

Love laughed out loud,

And, before leaving via the fire escape, 

Bowed.