December 16, 2013

 

 

So scared was I,

I could not breathe.

I thought my eyes

did me deceive.

 

It hit me like

a thunderbolt.

The realisation

made me jolt.

 

I could not scream.

I was struck dumb.

My hands did shake,

though my fingers numb.

 

I left my body for a time.

Crowds came to ogle,

as though there had

been a crime.

 

It’s human nature,

but I, like them,

could see the blood,

which would not stem.

 

The park swing had hit me

with full pelt,

and around me now

the people knelt.

 

That’s when my soul

returned to me.

My head, it throbbed.

I could not see.

 

Some said ‘she’s dead’.

Some said ‘Not quite’.

‘A faint pulse is there,

she might be alright’.

 

Their voices then,

drifted away.

No further recall

of that day.

 

I awoke in hospital,

my head clean shaven.

The Padre stood there,

saying ‘He’s a brave un’.

 

‘He’ll be up playing

cricket, in a bit’.

My Father weeping,

then had to sit.

 

My Mother, in disgust,

gave the Padre a look from hell.

Saying ‘He, is a she –

can you not damned well tell’?

 

‘He meant well, Dear.’

my pacifying Father said,

with his hands on his head,

and his face now bright red.

 

Even more tension built

when the surgeon appeared,

he saw Mothers face,

and on his back heals reared.

 

Having no alternative,

and feeling trapped.

He said he could operate,

but I might finish up tapped!

 

There was a chance his scalpel

might touch my brain,

and forever in limbo,

I could remain!

 

The operation over,

I was home within a week.

They watched me like a hawk,

in case slurred words, I did speak.

 

The first time we ventured outside,

had Mother out of her wits.

We saw a woman from the next street,

who thought that I had NITS!

 

and suggested to my Mother,

a good lotion at a cheap price,

that was gentle on the scalp,

whilst removing all head lice!

 

My Mother went ballistic,

in her usual protective, volatile way.

I then wore a blue and white footy bob hat,

until my hair grew back one day.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

December 3, 2013

 

 

In all innocence

she suspected nothing,

even when under her nose

the evidence sat.

 

Things like that

never bothered her.

She didn’t listen to

wild chit-chat.

 

When the cold facts

were even shown to her,

she’d still shake

her head, in doubt.

 

She always saw the

nice side of everyone.

We could never quite

work her out!

 

 

 

 

 

You’re off your head

to go out with him.

He needs to see

a trick-cyclist soon.

 

I knew his Father,

he went to our school.

He was expelled

for playing the loon!

 

I went out with his Father,

if truth be known.

My Mother felt the way

I do now.

 

Funny how life

repeats itself,

and twenty years on,

we’re having the same row!

 

 

 

 

She never liked a thing I bought.

we had such a different taste,

in absolutely everything –

so much money, I did waste.

 

She’d plonk a smile upon her face,

I still can see it now.

I knew she hated my gift to her,

I’d think ‘What a rotten cow!’

 

 

 

 

He said he’d fixed it,

but I knew he hadn’t.

When he tells lies,

his nostrils – they flare.

 

Next time I used it,

I got soaked to the skin,

and I’m afraid, that blue,

was the air!

 

 

December 1, 2013

 

 

It’s not all milk and honey.

It’s not all blueberry pie.

But it’s as good as it will get,

and for that, they heave a sigh.

 

It’s not all caviar and lobster,

but there’s bread and butter on the plate,

and there’s blessings to be counted,

and life to appreciate.

 

 

 

 

 

 

October 27, 2013

 

 

Although travellers find a haven

that suits them after a while,

in their head is mother country

tracking every wayward mile.

 

Then, when for family gatherings,

(be it happy times or sad)

they return once more to where,

they played as lass and lad.

 

And passing places of their childhood,

eyes catch many a tempting ‘for sale’ sign,

near to where ancestors lived,

up the rocky road incline.

 

They join friends and extended families

all getting on with their life,

and visit the chapel where Gran attended-

she was a perfect kind of wife.

 

Later, they wonder for a moment,

even hesitate and sigh,

before jumping back onto the highway

after another heartfelt goodbye.

 

Yet, though their heartstrings pull

with such magnetic force,

their heads say ‘keep on going,

and future plans endorse’.

 

They were bombarded with advice,

and certainly all of it, well meant,

but it only added to their confusion-

God bless those with good intent.

 

Many see it as unfaithfulness

to desert original roots,

but an adventurer of life,

will wear many pairs of boots.

 

Those who’d never had the wanderlust

begged of sense and asked why remain

in a place that has few ties – 

and no reason, was there to explain!

 

Others warned ‘You are well rid –

you’d be fools to come back here,

there’s so much violence now’.

As if there’s none, where they are near!

 

So to voluntary exile,

they eventually arrived back,

to a place long since adopted

where the odds just seem to stack.

 

But as the distance became greater

with every travelled mile,

a part of their heart faced homeward,

making them unsettled for a while.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

October 18, 2013

 

 

Fetch me some anemones Nellie,

from the Friday market today.

And if you can spot any gladioli’s,

two bunches of those, would be ok.

Oh, and if you’ve time, you could

stop off at the butchers stall,

and get me a shoulder joint-

We’ve got Fanny coming tomorrow,

with her husband, Ignatius

from St Patricks Point.

 

 

October 15, 2013

 

 

Elements of gentleness,

touches and caresses.

Symbols of togetherness

held firm through all life’s stresses.

 

Years of solid unity,

as onward time progresses.

Wobbles cured and blips erased,

as each, their error, confesses.

 

Memories of bygone days

when she had long tresses,

and she was always ‘up for it’,

never any ‘will she – won’t she’, guesses.

 

Through it all they stood the test,

but now when she undresses,

she makes sure that the light is out,

though true love, still professes.

 

 

 

September 27, 2013

 

 

She’ll give me grief,

and deny me food,

for no reason at all,

if she’s in that mood.

 

She’ll read my mind,

and will not flinch,

unless I take a yard,

when she gives an inch.

 

She’ll go berserk,

and lock me out.

She’ll twist her face,

like a dying trout.

 

She’ll rant and rave,

like a woman possessed,

even though my innocence,

I will protest.

 

She’ll string me up,

and whip me hard,

and from her house,

I will be barred.

 

She’ll raise the roof.

She’ll give me hell.

I’ll need the protection

of a padded cell.

 

She’ll send me packing.

She’ll show me the door,

even though I plead,

and say her, I adore.

 

She’ll sit and stew.

and sulk a while.

She’ll avoid eye contact,

in case we smile.

 

She’ll come around in time,

with the releasing of a weight.

That vixen of a woman

keeps me, on the straight.

 

She’ll soften up and melt,

like butter in the sun,

and it’s well worth the wait,

for a hug, from honey bun.

 

 

 

 

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