There’s a part of me misunderstood.

I get it, yup, I know that’s good.

For all who seek an understanding,

First, cry out, an ode demanding,

What is yours?

What story tell?

I sympathise,

Empathise as well.

This heart that seeks an understanding

Is, therefore, one who’s undemanding.

And so, I cry alone tonight,

And bid my children, spouse, ‘Goodnight’.

I’m sure they wonder, as do I,

What is the fascination?

I’ve thought. I’ve searched. I’ve wondered too.

This is God’s just creation,

For all Whom I encounter here,

Raise voice and shout,

And sometimes fear

Repercusssions, Honesty,

Absolved from all hypocrisy

In quiet voice and humble note,

I notice all whom I have spoken to

With. ‘ Shout. Proclaim.

And justify.’

You’re here for solace.

So am I.


Music to Mate to

There is some that sets my feet to tap;

A beating bass or drum.

Very little kind of rap –

That really turns my tum.

Some send shivers down my spine,

My loins become a-quiver,

Those melodies that flow in time

Submerge me in their river

Of sensuous mood and poetry,

In sexual voice so clear,

Move heart and mind and soul in me

When loving one is near.

Caressing words stroke down my back,

Their meaning true and fluid,

No fantasies are found to lack,

Imaginations are imbued.

Floating in a sea of love

And lust, for some good measure,

Fingers light as any dove

Seeking others’ pleasure.

Melted in the moment of

Melifluous fantasy,

Music with the one I love

Does wondrous things for me.



Or is that too much information?

An Illicit Pleasure

Back and forth,

Up in the air,

Stomach somersaulting.

Stolen treats

On children’s swing,

Heart to mouth pole-vaulting.


Someone comes.

It’s not a kid.

The parkie’s on his way.

Jump off fast before you’re caught.

That really made my day.


Gasping air,

Knees to chin.

No wonder kiddies love it.

So much better being on board

Than standing by to shove it.

Absolutely Nothing

Movies, literacy and thought.

My 15 year old daughter persuaded me to have some ‘bonding time’ by watching a movie together.

I don’t do TV/movies well. My concentration sucks. Unless I know the story already; a movie I have already seen; or based on a book I’ve already read.

But, sometimes, motherhood requires us to do what we would rather not. And, if watching a movie constitutes bonding then I’ve got off lightly. She could have asked that I go ice-skating with her. Or clothes shopping. Ugghh.

When told that Hugh Jackman starred in X-Men, I gave in quite easily and salivated throughout the film.

From there, it was easy to persuade me to watch ‘The Hunger Games’. I had read the series so was pretty sure I would enjoy the film.

Impressed with Jennifer Lawrence’s acting in the above, it was an undemanding transition to ‘Silver Lining’s Playbook’.

With recommendations now flowing fast and furious, I was persuaded to extend bonding to ‘Iron Man’. My daughter was horrified when I compared Robert Downey Jnr. to my husband.

‘Oh, God, do I fancy my Dad?’

Negative reassurances had to be put in place. The similarities were slight!

Days and weeks have passed and still the bonding takes place with popcorn, sweets and movies I have a slight inclination to watch.

Surprisingly, I have closed the lid of my laptop and entered into this world with my daughter while she ‘cooried up’ beside me and nuzzled her enjoyment.

One of the movies we watched together was based on the book, ‘The Perks of Being a Wallflower’ by Stephen Chbosky.

The most memorable and heartfelt moment is when the principal character reads a poem written by Osoanon Nimuss, entitled, ‘Absolutely Nothing’.

Tears and snotters.

But, what does this have to do with literacy and thought.

Well, when your children see a movie and are moved to read the book and then want to discuss its contents, I call that a score.

Daughter now wants a movie of, ‘The Fault In Our Stars’ by John Green.

So, Hollywood, listen out.

The literary aspirations of our children are in your hands as well as those of parents and teachers.


Is that even a word? Of course it is. I checked it. You don’t seriously think I would use a word that was made up by me?


I paraphrase.

One who finds it difficult to get to the point without describing everything.


I met a woman down the street today who was pushing a pram. It was a lovely pram; full of beautiful colours and challenging activities for her offspring.

OK. Maybe not that, exactly. But you get the idea.

For some reason, my husband is not interested in the particulars of a case but insists on knowing the point immediately. As in, ‘What’s the point to this story?’

It pisses me off big time.

OK. I’ve got a boring story to tell. Please let me embellish it so that it sounds as if I have a life.   

Is this a man thing?

Or, maybe, ‘Oh God, I’m boring the arse off the world,’ kinda thing?’

Most women I know like to embellish the finer points of a story and do so in an entertaining and self-effacing sort of way.

They make the boring sound entertaining because they observe the details.

Unfortunately, a lot of men do not appreciate the finer details.

‘Get to the bloody point, woman,’ is what they’re really thinking.

I am horrified at this idea. The very notion that a story worth telling is stunted in its prime.

Except for one teensy, tinsy observation.

I have listened to and continue to listen to, ‘stories from school’, and, let’s face it, if there was ever anything created that was destined to drive you to distraction and bore you to death is the story of, ‘She said’, ‘I said’, ‘She did’ and ‘I did back’.

That aside, you can usually pass muster with your kids. ‘Oh, did she? That’s awful. What did you say?’

Slightly different story going on here with your nearest and dearest.

So, OK, darling , I’m sorry that the point of all my stories is lost in the minutiae. But, I’ve been here all day wiping the crap off of shitty knickers and trying to come up with a menu that suits everyone, so forgive me if I can’t just ‘get to the friggin’ point’. I’m trying to have a conversation here.  Made up, for your information, of all the drips that go into making the drops of life. I beg your pardon for not holding your attention in some riveting account of the day in the life of….. well, you get the idea.

I know I talk shit a lot of the time.

This, by the way, is a very profound observation.

I repeat, I know I talk shit a lot of the time.

As opposed to?

Sometimes, I don’t know.