Soothing Pain

A tender kiss to temple

Then roving to thine eye,

Blessing hurtful visions

With lips and quiet sigh.

Soothing touch on fevered brow,

Damp sweat wiped clear away,

A world of hurt inside thy mind

Stroking fingers, gently play

A quiet tune hummed softly,

Harmony to pain,

Cool palms on shoulders’ muscles,

Easing aches and strain.

Quietude and haunting mood,

Dimmed lights to quell the heat

Of angst-filled soul and searcher

Of other one to meet.

A world of tumultuous, tossing thoughts,

Lids closed against the image.

Send soul on journey, ether bound

Beseeching, paying homage

To glorious need, a heart so pure,

Seeking understanding love.

My prayers are soaring at your side,

Sent to one above.

Selfie?

So this would be a selfie (just discovered what that is). Except my six year old took it. She knows her way round my phone better than I do.

So why?

I got my hair done yesterday. Grey strands gone! I rather like it!

http://klsullie78.wordpress.com/2013/08/23/onward-and-upward/ I enjoyed every minute.

And, Simon, http://isimonfiction.wordpress.com/about/ no one even questioned my writing in the middle of the hairdressers. 🙂

A lovely relaxing time was had and I managed to do some writing in the hairdressers. No grey and a book review done. I call that a score.

Logging Off. (I need to get a life. And maybe some breakfast)

Sunday has come round again

And whoopee doopee.

It’s all mine.

Church was last night’s vigil mass

So all today is free.

Sorry, God, I know that

Sounds like

A strange philosophy.

Everpresent, this I know

But lazy Sunday morn

Engenders special buzzy fuzz

No pressure just

A big because,

Because, because, because, because,

Because of the wonderful things he does.

OK, I’ve lost it.

I’m logging off before I go mad.

Just for a wee while. 🙂

Blessed Be

So, my wonderful husband

Who looks a little

Like Wolverine’s brother

Minus claws,

(So, that’s why I fancy Hugh Jackman!)

Welcomes my absence

From conjugal bed

With a kiss.

What a man!

I’m sleeping upright

For most of the night,

Or what was left of it,

And he kisses me!

Blessed be hubby

And patience

And unending

Understanding.

Actually, he’s a bit of an amalgam of lots of my favourite Hollywood bits. Lucky me, eh? 🙂

To Bed

OK, now, I’m off to bed.

My clock says 3 and a bit.

I know, by now, that you must think

That, at this time, all I say is shit.

I’m tired, yup, that’s understood

But reason is not lost,

Verity is paramount.

But sometimes at a cost.

So let me here reiterate,

Hear me now and don’t berate

The words of one who seeks to speak

Always truth

Except for when

Your arse is massive in that frock,

And, Jesus wept, you think you rock

At singing,

Well, that’s not for me

To disillusion fantasy.

And though I do not seek to hurt

It does not here extend

To invites to my little clan

Oh, God, for fear offend.

You’re welcome for a cup of tea

A biscuit and a cake,

Of course, I bought them

Do you really think that

I have time to make

Empire biscuits,

Cookie dough?

Absolutely not.

Claiming such accomplishments

A crock, a pile of rot.

So, what is good?

What’s understood?

If name is on my list,

I cordially invite you here,

We’ll natter,

(May get pissed).

One thing’s for sure,

In case you doubt it,

I do not invite lightly,

I am just short of anti-social,

Well, maybe more than slightly.

These virtual parties are some fun

But person hugs are better

My loud and quiet self agree

That we all need a natter,

A smile to see, a hand to hold,

A hug, a pat on back.

Ether world, therefore,

Has something that it lacks.

Well, God almighty,

Why would anyone

Invite unto their table?

Well, here’s a difference.

Let me speak,

While I am still able

(Fuck’s sake it’s 4.05 GMT),

In my life

There’s only few, who me

Have so impressed

Consider them, if you wish,

So blessed?

To catch the eye of

One so cynical,

And at times, depressed.

OK, so, you’re thinking now,

This woman is a nutter,

She speaks and rattles on without

A pause or even stutter.

I know, I know,

It’s always so.

My quiet shouts to loud,

Get to bed,

Stop talking…….

Oh my God!

I slept on couch!

I’ve wakened now at seven,

The dog is barking,

Hubby’s up

And I am upright sleeping.

Oh well, bugger it,

I started so I’ll end,

Welcome to my little world

My blogospheric friend.

And just to prove that

God has hand in what I say and think,

Feckin internet has gone again,

I’ve exhausted to the brink

Its capabilities to transmit

But worry not,

This piece of shit

Of router will be soon replaced.

Monday sees a different face.

A promise from R. Branson’s team

To salvage or perhaps redeem

With shiny, new and dust free router,

Jeez, I hope it’s not my ‘puter

Playing up with such abandon,

So like me, in thoughts quite random

At times.

And sometimes not.

Feckin’ router and feckin’ Virgin media.

I’m fed up talking to them.

Ahh, I think I might go to bed.

At 8.30 in the morning!

Or 10!

The Word. Or just words.

My honesty is selective.

Here, I have a choice.

To speak, to read,

Determine

If I should raise my voice.

I am, tonight, encouraged

By what I see before me;

That honesty

And wisdom

Is in prose

As well as poetry.

My awe at God’s endeavours

To open up my mind,

To clarify

My thoughts and

Heart.

To seek and so to find

Wisdom born of generations,

Truths from far off lands,

I bow and kneel before

God’s wisdom

So informed and so well planned,

In words from others,

I confess,

In great humility,

I am not worthy,

This is clear

By words laid out in honesty.

I beseech

Some leniency

In judgement.

I really don’t belong,

Except, perhaps, that God decrees

That something in my song

May reach and teach as you have done,

Or colour my description

Of all that matters here

On earth,

A lucid, dear depiction

Of love and trust

Well understood,

Of wisdom found in

All that’s good

And wholesome

In some just reward.

Is this why God

Created Word?

I’m still so impressed that I’m spelling this without looking it up. Although, i can’t be sure that this will always be the case. It’s one of those words that leaves me wondering how many r’s and where and is there definitely an ‘o’?

(Yes, my American friends, there is an ‘o’ in there in my neck of the woods!).

I’m even more impressed with the fact that it is not merely an intestinal problem born of a bad curry. But, rather, a state of mind that inflicts Scots that live 5 miles from Glasgow, that work during the week and empty the bowel that is their mind at the weekend.

Clean up on Aisle 5, please.