Woman’s Prerogative

Don’t start! It does so exist. Especially when you can’t make up your mind about favourite songs. And you’ve discovered how to embed!

Try this one for size. Sigh!

And I’m making no apologies for fancying Mark Knopfler. I don’t care if you think he’s bald. Or oldish. Or not gorgeous. Or whatever. There’s more to a man than his looks. As well we know. Such talent. Such skill. And lovely eyes. Ok, I know he’s not Hugh Jackman. But can Hugh play guitar like Mark? No. I didn’t think so. ( Sorry, Hugh. I still love you, but, truth be told, looks fade!) I love Hugh in a sort of ‘I want your body’ sort of way’. Don’t act it! So do you! Even you blokes know he’s got ‘something’.

But it’s mine!

But then Mark is, well, delicious, in a whole other sphere. *sigh*

What do you mean I need to see a psychiatrist?

Have you never heard of libraries and borrowing books as opposed to buying them? Yeah, well.  That! I’ve got a library card. And I’m using it. Raspberries to anyone who thinks I shouldn’t! Pthhhthhhhttthhhh! ( That’s what it sounded like when I did it).

P.S. There might be one more fab song coming up. It’s all I can manage tonight. 😉

 

Mark Knopfler. And Chilling.

So, by way of partial apology for not even looking at, let alone reading, other blogs in the last couple of days, I offer you this.

I’ve had the week from…..well, not hell, but not an easy one. We all get them. Life, I think they call it.

So I’m chilling. And loving it. A little bit of writing. Not fit for posting yet. A few haufs.

Nothing in my stomach all day, by the way, which isn’t good news for my stomach or tomorrow’s hangover. But appetite has gone somewhere. And I can’t find it.

Anyway, this guy I’m posting I’m proud to call Scottish. A guitarist, composer, singer, dreamer. He takes me back to my youth when I adored Dire Straits. ‘Sultans of Swing’ was my anthem for so long.

I find it hard to select which of his songs on this particular cd I favour most. I pretty much love them all.

But, if forced, I select this one.

Sung with James Taylor. Another hero. This song actually made me research the Mason Dixon Line. Because I didn’t know what it was.  I even bought a book on their story.

Anyway, I hope you enjoy. Because the only thing I am doing tonight is listening to music. Having a hauf. And I might try to persuade my stomach to eat something. Anyone got any chocolate?

Btw, this is the B side of what I bought the cd for. And it’s my favourite side. Just goes to show…..we don’t always know our own taste.

My sixteen year old has just taught me how to insert a video. So easy. And I’ve been like a headless chicken about it for so long. Kids, eh? Wee shits. They kid you on they know nothing that matters. And then they come up trumps.

Anyway, I’m garbling. That would be the 3rd whiskey having its effect. Enjoy. I’m not listening to this ‘cos I’m starting the cd from the beginning again. And going with the flow. Happy weekend everyone.

😉

Great One (or two) Liners

Pmsl. 🙂

Mind Chatter

1. Everyone talks about finding the one that makes their heart skip a beat. Personally, I’m not looking to develop a heart problem.

2. A fine is a tax for doing wrong. A tax is a fine for doing well.

3. When people say they can’t cook, all I hear is, “I can’t read or follow directions.”

4. If you were to lose your left arm your right one would be left.

5. No, I’m not a terrible driver, I’m just a really good stunt woman.

6. Employee of the month is a good example of how somebody can be both a winner and a loser at the same time.

7. This “normal” that you speak of…it doesn’t sound fun at all.

8. I don’t know if there is any weirder feeling than getting your socks wet in the toilet.

9. It’s hard to trust humans; even the blind prefer…

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Respect. There’s The Buzz!

I wrote this today when I came home from school. I’ve had a challenging couple of days. One, yesterday, with children who need and who get, from their dedicated workers, the love and care they need to grow and learn. A group of people I now have the utmost respect for; because I understand better. I don’t think I could do it on a daily basis. I was shattered after one day of special ed.

I almost decided not to post this because I felt it sounded a bit big-headed, as if, ‘aren’t I so good at this?’

But then I read this post. I understand where the thoughts are coming from and I agree with some of the matters pertaining to control being ousted from the hands of parents and teachers and children thereby feeling they can get away with just about anything. But then why not all children? Not all children act up or misbehave even though the same legislation governs all.

And I figured I disagreed strongly enough to want to share why I think children often act the way they do and how it can be overcome by very simple measures. I don’t have discipline problems with the many classes I take. These classes may have up to 33 children in them, the legal limit. And I put it down to giving and expecting respect. And walking that walk.

 

And so began another round,

Children lost and children found.

Those who try their best to please,

Those who want you on your knees.

 

And here lies where I do my best,

A daily sort of different test,

Where all who bring their many moods

Can be taught that good is good.

 

A mindful sort of joint respect

Expected, so you always get

A shift, a change in attitude,

A lifting of those many moods.

 

I love it when I have the chance

To encapsulate, in just one glance,

What is needed; I appraise.

Teaching has momentous days.

 

Another job I could not do,

So many different points of view,

But only one that’s worth its weight;

When love is shown they hesitate –

 

To bother with the nasty eyes,

The blaming culture, telling lies,

The arrogance that some may feel.

We get to basics, discover real.

 

And when you see the child within,

The innocence, the carefree grin,

Even those whose moods are black

Succumb to love and give it back.

 

Thirty years of doing this

I rarely shout or want to cuss

For children know, ‘cos they’re not blind,

That some there are who read their minds.

 

No hesitation if you feel

That here’s a job where, for real

You can make a difference if

You’re prepared to love and give

 

And, in return, (the pay’s not much),

The satisfaction’s such a buzz

When children know and find their way.

An enjoyable education day.

A Special Knowing

 

 

Some sounds cannot communicate,

Frustration writ upon her face,

One in class of only eight.

Disability, no disgrace.

 

His features formed in such a way,

Some may shun, avoid,

But hugs and cuddles and to play

Wants this gorgeous little boy.

 

Others too, though less severe,

Outwith my thirty years.

One day spent with angels who

Reduced my heart to tears.

 

They taught me more compassion

In the hours I spent with them.

For me, a timely lesson

In a different sort of pain.

 

A superior sort of knowing

In singular children who

Require some special teaching.

All involved, so extraordinary. And I bow to you.

What If?

What if every place you’d ever lived could tell a story;

A recounting of your life by many walls?

What if every word you’d said and deed you’d done there

Were embedded in the rooms and in the halls?

 

What if one day when you wanted to remember

All the living that you’d done in houses past,

You put glass to wall and stories fairly poured forth?

Would you recognise the days and years all passed?

 

If a record of your days in each was written

And portrayed poetically in film or book

Would you read, survey, enjoy all that you saw there?

Be happy so to have another look?

 

Or would walls be haunted by memories that maimed there

And bleed distempered paint into the rooms?

Would the years and months and days be reflective of your dreams

Or a nightmare lived, encased in fetid tombs?

 

What if those you’d known and loved were all still present

In the fabric of the buildings that you’ve known?

Would their eyes be wide like yours at the secrets all revealed

At the manner of your ways not always shown?

 

What if where you lived right now had all new plaster

And a sheath to shelter brick from broken tithes?

Would you take the chance to start afresh and try there

To edit and improve upon your life?

Perfect Disparity

Where he goes she follows still.

Quo vadis? This her way,

Though guidance lacks illumination,

Direction gone astray.

Dimly lit the forest path,

Crescent slits dark blue,

Myriad beacons lost in night,

Light years unfiltered through.

Stars above cannot conceive

Of empty hollow space.

Should she now lead where he may go?

Alternate human race.

Or side by side,

In step, in tune,

Guided by

Night’s brightest moon

And daylight’s orb;

Disparate norm.

Day and night,

In perfect form.

Darkest Night

When descends the tortuous night

And demons kneel to prey,

No blanketed enclosure

May keep such fiends at bay.

Tormented by the fearsome one,

Urges turn to need,

Horn’d spectres gather round in dark

To suppurate and feed

On souls of those whose black despair

Shrouds burdens into gloom.

Malevolence lurks in corners

Of even brightest room.

Bleak despondence, this the scourge,

That eats at wholesome flesh,

Annihilates hope, once professed,

Spirits to enmesh

With such as those who haunt the night

Or day, if eclipse persists.

Light within reveals the way.

Only this resists.

Prescient Travel

Second bash at a Shakespearean sonnet. I’ve found a new toy!

 

Dreamscapers coat my nightly fantasies,

Intruding into times and space by turns,

Eternal voyager in soul searches.

Where lie all mystic dreams when soul returns?

Fragments left in travel, exploration,

Discovered by another on that path.

Daytime forays minimal; frustration.

Where deposit freedom’s insurgent laugh?

Remembrances recur in new travail,

Exquisite recollections found before,

Excursions, cosmic passage, by and by

Cultivate creativeness sown in lore.

A sweeter buzz in honeyed dreamland’s hives;

Prescient future exposed, guiding lives.

Drenched

Attempt at a Shakespearean sonnet.

 

Would rain cease to fall if our love ended?

Oceans and waterways parched into land?

Clear skies disclosed, cloudy days transcended,

Drought and aridity forced by fate’s hand?

Should sun bursts of loving, scattered and few,

Cast shadows on earth and thirst for all man,

Could we forgive any need to eschew,

Or safeguard future as best as we can?

Drenched in outpouring of heavenly storm

We gaze into blue and plead for release,

Monsoon’s donation absorbed without harm,

Entreaties to god to hear earnest pleas;

Tempests’ cascades to shower forever,

Flooding bank balance of deepest river.