Gone On Holiday, Please Miss

OK. So there’s a teacher in me.

And she shouldn’t say, ‘fuck’ or ‘shit’ or ‘wank’ or other words that may offend. Except there’s a teacher in me. And she won’t go away. And, whatever it takes, that’s what I’ll say. Except not in school. Shit, I’m not stupid!

I was the kid that played schools during the summer holidays. Yup, that was me. I was the teacher to your pupil. I was the better teacher. I was the one that modelled myself on the best of teachers I’d ever had. I was the one that absolutely believed, even back then, that every child had a purpose.

I am the teacher that still believes that.

Do you know what? It may be that that’s just me.

I may just have drifted into the job that fulfilled my own beliefs.

But, do you know what? I’m glad. I’m glad that I see people the way I do, that I get how special they are, that it’s my most important job to communicate that to them until they believe it.


Ahh, there’s always a but.

I have completely and utterly neglected reading posts of some of my favourite bloggers. I have become lost in the myriad posts that find their way to my reader because I followed because I liked their stuff. I liked who they appeared to me to be. I liked them. The essence of them that shone forth from their posts. And I do still like them.


I have found myself gravitating towards something that I did not know would occur.

I am utterly entranced with poetry and I did not know this. Completely. I had always liked it. I had written it in my angst-filled, self-absorbed obsession with clearing my mind. I have always enjoyed reading poetry from the classic poets.


I had no idea I would become so absorbed in the truth and essence that can be conveyed in the poetic words of others, so succinctly and, (not in my case), briefly.

I am in love.

And, like those in love, I am predisposed to my lover.

If I have followed you and not visited you it is not because I no longer admire your words or thoughts. I am simply infatuated and feel I am investigating the poesy and talent of so many and trying to learn from them.

The teacher? Well, she’s kind of gone on holiday. Because the whole purpose of me blogging at all was to get my words out there and, by God, there’s no shutting me up.


I am searching and seeking the enlightenment found within the beauty of chosen words carefully place and it has me fixated.

In love, I said. And so it is.

Cubby, Simon, poetic you and others, you fill me. I am in awe as a teacher, as a person, as a me.

Forgive me, please, I am leaving teacher in the staffroom sometimes to explore the treasures that I seek to emulate in my own way.

Here, on WordPress, I am here to learn, not teach. So, if you’re wondering why my eye has not appeared, (and I do still try to read), know that, quite possibly like everyone else here, I seek to learn as well as teach.

Please Miss, excuse me, but I had diahorrea through a hole in my hat that I got soaked in. And other such excuses that children use to explain erroneous behaviour.

I’m in love. What can I say?


Are You Important?

Are you important?

Well, are you?

Can you control a ball like Beckham?

Can you sing like Annie Lennox?

Can you act like Jack Nicholson?

Do you look like Hugh Jackman? 🙂


Do you?

Are you, at all, important?


Well, fuck me, excuse my French!!

You’re here.

You’re alive.

You breathe.

You feel.

You think.

You give.

You take

And so, give others

The opportunity to give.

You are a child

Deserving of cuddles

And love

And you are



Not held

In banks,

Or bonds,

Or offshore,

Or wherever.

I see you.

I know you.

I hear you.

I believe

You are here

For a reason

As am I.

Are you important?

God damn right you are!!!

Go you!


She gasped for breath that day

And I,

I was useless,


Asthma, in a panic

And I panicked too.

What to do?

What to do!

Hands flailing, breath wheezing,

Drowning for want of air.

Eyes wide,


I was there,

With a phone, that’s all.

One call.

Take charge,

Take control,

Take inhaler

And point

And press

And pray

And it worked.



Someone gasp for air,

My mum,

Helpless to help

But still,

It went well

With advice,

Calmly given

And actions taken,




To reports

Of chemical


I cry.

I die a little,


That day.

How dare they?

How dare they!


First on the hierarchy of need.

Not greed, but necessity.


Shoot me,

Stab me,

Bomb me,

Kill me quickly.

Do not take

My air.

Seconds of drowning,

A lifetime of suffering.

Terror in eyes

Not easily forgotten.


A hug to heal,

A kiss to soothe

A wounded knee,

A tiny bruise.

Little hands

And arms so small

Seeking cuddles,

Love’s purest call.

Arms envelop

Showing love

Attention given,

Caress of dove –


And chaste display

Comfort, cherish,

Make my day.

Life’s little hurts

And big ones too

Assuaged by my arms

Holding you

And you hold me

In tender clutch

Young and old

Can give so much

From arms’ encircling,

Blameless revelation,

Hug each other,

Love’s demonstration.


Inspired by http://mysoresoul.co.uk/  from a comment made in a post on https://scottishmomus.wordpress.com/2013/08/23/too-shy/