A Different Table

sitting at the same table

watching while

food disappears from my plate

a recognised

invisible hand

reaching across my shoulder

another from beneath a tablecloth

patterned in red white and blue

feeling the hunger

but waiting for decency and manners

to acknowledge that what is served



by me

I have a right to

realising, eventually, that

the currs will feed first

be favoured

that, in that dining room


kitchen staff


are by the by

ignorance is indifferent

much flaunted manners

a learned behaviour

that breeding will out

the pilfered silverware laughs as it clatters

among the nonsensical chatter

lives brokered and bartered

leaded receptacles fall


and death becomes invited


its toll growing

while the same knowing hand

sprawls messages


and obviously

that counter truth

my table

my plate

my food

stolen from me

while calling me


and thief

the parasite

peddling lies

breeding disharmony

and hate


Waited too long

We leave that table

We leave those plates

We leave the inhospitable

We leave

In our kitchen

We have all the ingredients we need

To make a new meal

A better meal

To season it

According to our tastes

We serve it

Share it

Sit at a different table

A round tablecloth of multi-hued



Consumes fairly

Mutualism moreso

We need

A different table


To continue the analogy, I am currently consumed by politics and news. Scunnered by it, to be honest. Like I’ve eaten too much and want to barf. The taste of what is being served inter/nationally and globally has me retching. And I know I’m not alone in this. Between school work, family, writing and following politics and news like a demented disciple, I’m not on WordPress at all at the moment. I even thought to delete my account, thinking ‘what’s the point?’ but I can’t quite bring myself to do that. There’s too much of myself here.  Forgive me please for not visiting. I’m sure the urge will return. Until it does, may I offer you all my warmest wishes and blessings and hope that everyone is doing what they can to change the menu.x 


The Perfect Storm



Her certainties are vague and always fleeting, dissembled by a will that’s not her own, her thoughts, though rogue, are always so compliant, this the woman cast in role, she must atone, for something that she’s unaware of doing, for being just a woman here on earth, no ladette this, no bloke, no guy, no rugged master, simply born as female, lost, alone.

Watch her work it out that she’s done nothing, nothing more than black or white or gay, observe her as she claims her own potential, watch and wait, she’ll realise and have her say.

Biblically, she’ll clamour for the wild side, back to nature, earth and Gaia birthed, stand at ready, watch the elemental, working in the flesh and soil, rebirth.

See her rooted back to where she came from, note the stature, see the tree within, growing new limbs, sending where they’re willing, this is she, this is not a he or him.

Woman, by her very nature, growth and nourishment she will provide, intrinsic to her sex, and damn proud of it, watch and see her claim her wilder side.

Time was had and time was spent in waiting for hunter to provide the unit’s needs, they left, they fought, became distracted, forgot the reason why, the mouths to feed.

Woman waited, woman worried, wondered, what the fuck and why the hunter late, discovery of distraction, from the purpose, declared the hunter useless as a mate.

Hear the lioness, the mighty mother, hear the elephant, the whale, the mom, want to see a world in all its glory, give woman time, await the perfect storm.


Ringing The Changes

As anyone who reads this blog knows, my natural tendency in poetry is to rhyme. I can’t help it most times. It sort of pours out of me like the rain pours here in Scotland – mostly interminable with occasional bursts of sunshine to ring the changes.

Naturally, I’d love more sunshine but I’ve learned to love the downpours, the drizzle, the being dumped on from above. Hyperbole anyone? But I have learned to love the watery sunshine and the new growth that emerges so furiously after a deluge, the myriad shades of green and the promise of pastel relief.

Mostly I’ve learned to appreciate the sun when it does deign to chase the clouds away and then I’m like every other Scot enjoying the break from the seemingly incessant rain – get your kit off, harvest the rays and let the sun work its magic on pale skin.

We mushrooms might live in too much darkness, way too much moisture but we’re very tasty with a bit of square-sliced sausage and some bacon. Plain bread, brown sauce. Gawd, I’m starving! And we like to turn rotten into meaningful – slight political allusion there. 😉

Anyway, here’s my first Shadorma as far as I remember – mushrooms not being as noted for memory as taste and a slight hint of danger if not picked carefully!

I couldn’t resist a bit of free verse challenge too. Did I mention we Scots like a challenge on our plate?

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA  (  Shadorma Challenge – Passing Time )

In darkness

Or festooned by rain

Moisture mulched

Our springtime

Winters Byzantine’s fall

Mushrooms’ summer stance

Free Verse

Insouciant to Northern needs

Strange seasonal rhythm,

Clear skies belie what always gathers

To favour lush growth

And so the greens are very green

Of every hue

Weathered temples succumb to rot

As nature’s need to rejuvenate

Flushes and fuels, sprouting mushrooms,

Rich in resource, delicacies hardened and hardy,

Even in unnatural darkness

Bringing forth flavours

Building on the old.

Normal rhyming service will no doubt be restored because a new cloud burst always follows here. But, today, the sun is shining. Yay! Strip the veil and cast the spores! 😉

A Pennyworth

A pennyworth of loving for the pauper that you meet,

A word of love for homeless man or woman on the street,

A gesture and a greeting, small love as something else,

A token worth of loving for ourselves.

A pennyworth of loving, from the many, mounts to pounds,

A word or two of love, when spread, might really go the rounds,

A simple love, in simple ways, that amounts to something else,

A touch of loving kindness for ourselves.

A penny and a word or two, a smile, love pebble thrown,

A drop of loving added to the oceans, simply sown,

A little bit of something, love grown to something else,

A world of fuller loving for ourselves.


Lip Service

Mists linger on the corners of the city where he lived,

Rolling in and round and clinging on,

Legacy of fog where Wilde was wont to drift,

Swirling still though lighter in its form.

Name and shame, the fashion, presented on a plate

Indecency, too gross for social graces,

Law, though now repealed, belies the want of hate.

Clear the names, no blame upon their faces.





Curse or Cure

As one who buys into the curse of honest self-reflection,

I ponder ruse that briefs process, selective recollection,

Doughty effort, spirit voice, appraisals for collection,

Doubts regale, does truth prevail in analysed introspection.

And say what should the truth reveal in all the moments pensive,

Would aught be learned or changed withal or rejected, I dismissive

At risen thought and actions wrought, words that I have spoken,

Accepted, viewed, for change previewed, or merely selfish token.

A gesture only, naught confessed to mind and all that matters,

Hidden guilt, a comfort quilt, then tossed in pieces, scattered.

No perfection, no, not here, nor nearly, though aspired,

Appraisals made, some darker shades of earthbound, deep desires.

Very much a worldly way in living here below,

These thoughts that haunt, as spectres gaunt, a valve restrictive flow

To missives from my spirit born, my better half, by far,

Reflections thrust, my heart unjust, life and time to scar.

But still, I ponder, recollect, review and hope rebounds

That thinking ranges, plans the changes, till spirit voice resounds.

Life Rules

Arcane laws and rules,

Quaint decorum’s past regrets

False nonentities.


Change for change’s sake,

No change there in etiquette,

Same-old applies still.


Distorted, broken,

Withered limbs of fallen tree,

New life by its roots.





In, through,

of time, we came,

legates from legions

by and gone,

across realms and empires

marched we, stolidly,

emblems held aloft,

heralding new dawns.

Eyes front, we stared,

saluted all

who primed

our noble task,

conquer, our mission,

advance, attack,


plunder mask’d.

Frail force subservient,


to the proudest

in each land,

patrician rule,

plebeians cast

in roles,

as statues stand.

How the mighty fall,

destitute of grace


from distant shore,

hear our footesteps thump,  

old rules arise anew,

history repeated



to the trumpets’ blast,


worthy of the name,

enlightened hosts

call forth conscious


upend risk game.

May Music, Day 14 – ‘Damn Right I Support It’

Pick a song, says Twindaddy, that reminds you of your boyfriend/girlfriend, for day 14 of his 25 days of music challenge.

It’s been a long time since hubby or I could be described as boyfriend/girlfriend. Or boy and girl, for that matter.

So, I’m going with the prompt as a reminder that love knows no distinctions. In honour of all my children. And everyone else’s. Love is love.





All bases covered here. And it still looks and feels like love to me. It takes love to know love. Same Love, Macklemore.

It’s Not Friday…..

…..but I’ll be busy tomorrow. And I might miss my chance to play along with Steve’s Music Mix. You might not mind. But I do.

So here goes. Thursday’s the new Friday. But just for this week.

Here’s a reminder how it works:

Each week I will post 3 new questions so…

(1) Go to the music player of your choice and put it on shuffle
(2) Say the questions aloud and press play
(3) Use the song title as your answers

Question 1 What I Should do….

Stuck In The Middle With You, Stealers Wheel

‘…clowns to the left of me….jokers to the right….I’m all over the place….please….trying to make sense of it all….don’t think I can take any more….stuck in the middle with you….started off with nothing….slap you on the back…I’ve got a feeling that something ain’t right….’

Well, it’s not as bad as that. But I do get perplexed. From time to time.

Take this week. Well, don’t take this week. It’s pretty much already been taken. And I’ve loved it. Off school. Lots of free time. Weather improved. Kids entertaining themselves. Me reading, writing, blogging. But I’ve taken in so much information one way and another I’m in a kind of spaced out, pass the joint sort of place. Almost euphoric but with a little of the munchies thrown in. Long time ago. But I remember. I also remember wanting to vomit when someone offered me a Mars Bar. Obviously wasn’t going to do the trick. Never mix alcohol with weed. Nor Mars Bars. I, at least, had the sense to decline and thus prevent major embarrassment to myself. Although, I suppose that could be debated. Anyway, back to point. If there was one.

Yes, I do get perplexed. And the more I read and see and observe the worse it gets. Which is why sometimes I hide in the corners of rooms and rock. Nearly. And I was 12 when this came out! Heading to a corner now. 🙂


Question 2 What I Shouldn’t Do….

The Monkees, Daydream Believer

‘…I could hide ‘neath the wings of the bluebird as she sings….cheer up sleepy Jean….what can it mean to a daydream believer….a white knight on his steed…how happy I can be…good times start ….without dollar one to spend…how much do we really need…’

Yeah. A bit of a dreamer here. But I want my own wings to hide under. Then I won’t be dreaming.

Which kind of brings me back to hiding in corners or underneath wings and things. Isn’t escapism a wonderful thing? Now and again. But not too often because then we lose touch with reality. Except what is reality? Other than our own perceptions? See, anyone got some wings till I can grow my own?

Now when I was six I thought I could fly so this is quite apt ‘cos that was my age when this came out. I never wore any of those clothes but I’m pretty sure I recognise a few hair do’s/don’t’s in there. And maybe a dance or two. Btw, did you know Michael Naismith’s mum invented Tippex or Snow-pake or White-out or whatever you want to call it? Google it. I found that out quite by chance some time I can’t remember.

Question 3 What I Will Do….

On A Day Like Today, Keane

‘…I looked at you and I saw something in the way you stared into the sky…..sick and tired…wrong turns….love to tell you….but I ….could never seem to say the things I needed to….on a day like today no other words will do….I saw you…if you only knew….the way I feel….can never find the words….don’t know why…I don’t know why…’

Well, it’s not like me to be short of words. But I suppose there are the odd occasions. Like there’s no way to change someone. People need to change themselves. I know. Sounds obvious doesn’t it? But there’s no changing someone unless they’re at the point where they want to change. I’ve changed. More than once. But I was ready to do so. Fair enough, things had happened, people had said, I had noticed. But in the end, it came from inside me to want to make the change. Good or bad. We’re responsible for ourselves. So yes, sometimes there are times when I’m lost for words because nothing I say may change the heart or mind of someone else. And I think that’s probably true for us all. Gandhi was a smart cookie, wasn’t he?

“If we could change ourselves, the tendencies in the world would also change. As a man changes his own nature, so does the attitude of the world change towards him. … We need not wait to see what others do.” http://www.elephantjournal.com/2011/08/be-the-change-you-wish-to-see-in-the-world-not-gandhi/

“Go confidently in the direction of your dreams! Live the life you’ve imagined.”  Thoreau?

‘…At least it said the words were Thoreau’s. But the attribution seemed a bit suspect. Thoreau, after all, was not known for his liberal use of exclamation points. When I got home, I looked up the passage (it’s from “Walden”): “I learned this, at least, by my experiment: that if one advances confidently in the direction of his dreams, and endeavors to live the life which he has imagined, he will meet with a success unexpected in common hours.” ‘  http://www.nytimes.com/2011/08/30/opinion/falser-words-were-never-spoken.html?_r=0


Funny how we interpret things to suit ourselves. And lose the meaning. Or find it.

Happy weekend when it comes. 🙂

OK. Sheesh. It’s not Friday tomorrow. I was just testing. 😉

No, I’ve lost the plot. But that’s good news for me. I have a whole other day’s holiday. 🙂 See what happens when you’re not reminding kids what day of the week it is. x