Eyes In The Shadows

shadows

engage

with corners,

escape,

roam,

trailing insignificance

like a threat,

a warrant

for delusion,

deeming death

a choice.

breaths held

too long

pant,

shadows turn

to leer,

location revealed.

steadfastly forward

they wend 

idle way,

brandishing darkness,

banishing hope,

eyes revealed

a reflection,

one glimmer 

to see

Muscles And Madness

I don’t think of myself as amusing. Or funny. I’m not a joke teller particularly. On the odd occasion, I do nail one. But there are too many moments when I forget the punchline or have to return to a bit I’ve missed. Then if anyone ends up laughing it’s usually at how awful my telling of the joke was.

Having said that I have been known to reduce people to laughter and I’m always highly amused whenever my anecdotes or musings have this effect.

Most of the time this occurs from my embarrassing moments.

Once I get over the embarrassment I usually find myself sharing the tales with others and I suppose laughing at yourself is at least not laughing at someone else. People, for some reason, like it when you take the piss out of yourself.

So for me trying to be funny doesn’t really work. It just sort of happens. Or not.

I don’t go around deliberately sharing embarrassing moments or anything like that but if I find myself in company and the mood is light-hearted I kind of can’t help myself. There’s usually a certain amount of drink involved. Though not always. Like now.

It’s never malicious. Well, how can it be if you’re laughing at yourself? I just think that some things deserve to be shared and then people share all sorts of wonderful things about their embarrassing moments and I get to piss myself laughing at them. At their behest.

I was trying to think back to some recent moments of embarrassment and I suppose the worst would be when I accidentally twooted my leg, in the bath, to WordPress and Twitter. I deleted it, of course, so don’t go looking. But I was mortified. Then I shared it with my sister who has a knack for making me laugh at everything and anything. By the time I had told her and had a marvellous Facebook chat with her I was doubled at my own stupidity and, I admit, I maybe did leak a bit from the nether regions.

The reason for this I think is because genuine laughter makes you lose muscular control. Why else would my face crease into contortions I have no ability to control? Why else would tears run down my cheeks? Why else would I fall from chairs? Or pee my pants? It can’t just be because I’ve had seven kids. That wouldn’t affect my face or my gravity.

No there is definitely a lack of all muscular control when you are genuinely amused to the point of pissdom.

I think back now to my earliest memories of pissing myself with laughter and no children had been birthed. In fact I was pretty much no more than a child myself. Maybe about 12.

The first I recollect was organising a show in my dad’s garden hut with my best friend at the time. We rigged up a curtain, created some seats for our audience and charged some of our friends 10pence for the privilege of listening to us sing. There was diluted juice and homemade fairy cakes too. We knew how to take care of our guests. Unfortunately, my friend was no singer despite believing she was.

When it was her turn to sing she belted out a rendition of some song that was about a being a conductor on a bus. From behind the makeshift curtain I could see our audience raising their eyebrows and nudging one another as if to say, ‘WTF! We paid for this?’

I couldn’t help it. I began to laugh. You know the shoulder-shaking kind that you can’t get under control? And I felt awful for laughing at my best friend’s attempts to wow her audience. X-factor take note. I couldn’t. I tried all the usual things. Biting my lip. Thinking sad thoughts. I just couldn’t. And the more I tried the worse it got. Until. I pissed myself. There behind the curtain. Then I saw a new look dawn on the faces of our audience!

Dis-fucking-belief! They couldn’t believe it. I couldn’t believe it! With a puddle at my feet I had certainly managed to take the bad look off my friend. Without even trying. Not my best debut.

Another occasion I pissed myself was trying on clothes in a local boutique when I was in my early teens. Why does no one tell you that you should always wear sanitary protection regardless of age? How is anyone meant to know when the giggles will erupt?

This little boutique welcomed my sister and I most weekends because my mum had an account there and whenever we ‘needed’ a new item of clothing we could go in and fend for ourselves and try things on to our hearts’ content. No stalking shop assistant checking to see if we were stuffing clothes down our knickers. If I’d known what was to occur I would have stuffed something down my knickers. Anything. Well, anything absorbent.

Sis accompanied me into a tiny cubicle while I tried on a dress. Now I had taken the correct size but for some reason I appeared to have grown two arses and a second set of boobs. So I struggled to get it on. Quite a bit. But I was determined. We giggled at my efforts and once it was on my sister told me, as only sisters can, ‘Nah. It looks shite on you.’ I laughed and agreed. And then it happened. I couldn’t get the fecker back off. V. started making all sorts of comments about having to wear it forever. Or having to go and pay for it while still wearing it. In fact, I think now that I might have tried it on on top of my clothes. That would account for the tight fit, I suppose.

The more comments she whispered the worse I got until I could feel my facial muscles lose all control. I heard a rip. And then those other muscles lost some measure of control. You know the ones. The ones that pelvic floor exercises help keep strong for just such occasions and for other ones that I won’t go into here.

But who the hell needs pelvic floor exercises at 13 or 14? No. Laughter definitely releases more than just pent up emotions.

Now I have many more such anecdotes but I think I’ll save those for individual posts. Except perhaps to say that if you purchase a little accoutrement from an online sex shop that attaches to the top of an electric toothbrush be sure to remove it before charging said toothbrush. And before a child asks what sort of toothbrush is that? And before you can only think to say, ‘It’s a gum massager.’ I didn’t laugh then. I blushed. Hubby, standing behind 12 year old, might just have peed his pants though. At least going by the tears running down his face. True story. And very good value for money btw. Comes highly recommended.

Now the purpose of this post is that Ali has created a new award called The Damp Laundry Award. And she nominated me and two others. The proviso was that I wrote a humorous post and nominated three others to do the same. Now Ali has something of the bawdy in her humour. Which I so get. Not my fault. Three brothers you see. And two sisters who share the same delicious humour.

So. Did you at least dampen the crotch area slightly? Or have my efforts been in vain?

And now to my nominees.

Being The Memoirs Of Helena Hann-Basquiat

Peace, Love and Patchouli

Gingerfightback

And now I get to post this.

damp laundry award Thank you, Ali!

 

Sane With A Touch Of Mad

So here was I earlier congratulating myself on having two ‘sensible’ daughters now in flats. Knowing how to take care of themselves. And budget. Grown up stuff.

The phone call I received last night just after midnight from the sexual health clinic did make me laugh. I thought it must be one of my sixteen year old daughter’s friends who’d been here last night. I must admit, in the earliest seconds of the phone call, I was going, ‘Who? What! When?’ Doubting my own sanity, you know? But I did chuckle. They said they were sorry for phoning me so late at night and would call back the next day!

Turns out several other people were laughing for different reasons.

Someone thought they had won a holiday.

One was obviously slightly concerned that Yahoo had contacted them to report suspicious activity on their account with the threat of a jail term where ‘you know what’ might happen.

Apparently, the one referring to, how shall I say this, love of animals, particularly on a Saturday night, caused some hilarity to the young man in question.

Her future mother-in-law was questioned about being an illegal immigrant with threats that if she didn’t do the conga and post it on Facebook she’d be spending some time in Barlinnie at her majesty’s pleasure.

Now I know that my daughter has a rather weird sense of humour at times but she’s 24 for crying out loud.

I blame it on the stress of being a nurse. They like to let their hair down now and again. Oh, and alcohol too, obviously. 😉

But at least she did apologise.

“ I would like to apologise to anyone who may have been affected by my antics last night. Some individuals may require a more formal apology but due to the nature of the behaviours I’m unsure who these people are.. If you feel you fall into this category please do not hesitate in contacting me directly. Thank you.

Ps dear vodka we are overrrr!”

Her equally ‘aged’ friend has just facebooked me an apology

“Eh yeh I think I did do a shift at the sexual health clinic last night, sorry!”

Young ones, eh?

It’s been ages since I’ve done that. What an old fart I now am. 😦

Echoes Of A Voice

Echoes of a voice

From distant days

Relive the moments

 

Reminders

Of times past

But not forgotten

 

Like a song

Once played

On repeat

 

Again

The tune recalls

With rhythm

 

And melody

But mostly

Words

 

And heartbeat

Quickens

In time

 

A tuneful

And timeless

Love

 

Awakened

By echoes

Of a voice.

Measure Of The Man

Oasis in my desert

Water in my pool

Heat when I am frozen

Calm to keep me cool

Food to all my hunger

Water to my thirst

Supplying all the needs I have

Justice to my just

Wind and waves that crash to shore

Powering my turbine

Giving all you have to me

Guess that makes you mine

Friend in all my wilderness

Calm to windswept wild

Man to all my woman

Parent to my child

Needs all understanding

Friend to all who greet

Measure of the man in you

Strength with love so sweet

Forget Love?

No one forgets; and I don’t forget.

How can we forget when we love?

It buries down deep; infuses our being,

Suffuses our senses; leaves our thoughts reeling.

 

Who can forget when they’ve loved? Even lost?

Why would we want to though love counts a cost?

But the cost that it counts is a price that, once paid,

Cherishes life and feelings we’ve shared.

 

It harbours belief in fortunes they tell

And harkens to kismet and spiritual bell.

It listens to prayers and hears when we call

It values our worth and shares out to all.

 

Hurts they will come from the knife edge of love, but,

Though razored through, we heal and behove

Love to all others, for once we have known

Amity in lives, it must then be shown

 

To all whom we meet, with a zest for our living,

A passion for life, a thought to what’s given

To others who seek a touch and a taste

Of what lies within all but proceeds from all chaste;

 

The fountain of life, with a stream gushing forth,

Channelling energy and life-giving source.

We bless and we keep those moments we feel

The love of another for love feelings are real.

 

Love lasts forever though some may depart

For love is eternal in soul and in heart.

Those gone now, departed, by death or from choice

Loved once, if but briefly, still cause to rejoice.

 

My mind is awash with the feelings I feel

A wondrous reunion with spirits, all real.

Those whom I’ve loved, those loving still.

That’s all. Just a force that works with free will.

 

Love’s never lost. Never I say.

For into the ether love travels and stays.

It lurks in the corners of those ever loved

And grows or diminishes as life takes its course.

 

But once it’s created in hearts and in minds

It flourishes, flies and source it will find

Where all may return to the plain we were born, till

All love shines in splendour, the most glorious dawn.

Astounded

The response to my last post has left me just as my title states – astounded. I have never had so many comments or likes on any one single post. And every comment was so positive.

I have had maybe half a dozen professional massages in my life and, each time, I have been wiped out by them –slept for hours afterwards.

I did this again yesterday. After returning from work I slept. Fully clothed on top of my bed. Woke, changed, crawled under the covers and slept right through until 6a.m. More than 12 hours sleep!

Utterly wiped.

Perhaps there’s a connection between having every muscle of your body eased and having your mind eased. The effect was identical.

If I dreamed at all I can’t remember.

Hopefully, the cathartic effect of ‘coming out’ has left me renewed.

I’m usually fairly quick to answer comments but there have been so many it may take more time. I am on it and will answer every one.

Thank you all from the bottom of my heart for the responses from everyone.

I feel I have been massaged from every corner of the globe!

So much sleeping also means I’m way behind on my post reading. I will catch up there too. This blogging/writing could be a full-time job. I wish!

Many thanks again to all of you who read and/or commented. It truly feels like hands and minds across the world. And that is such a beautiful thing.

More Than Mere Words

Are you ok?

Are you well?

I need to know these things.

When I care, I care.

I can’t make that go away.

Are you thriving?

Are you happy?

Do you need someone?

Is life blessing your days?

Is there a way I can help?

Just say.

Love is what it is.

And spreads.

Be well.

Be blessed by love.

Don’t be afraid.

Or alone.

How are you?

More than mere words.

Me talk? Never!

Anyone who knows me

Knows I like a natter.

I really try to never gossip

But I admit I like to chatter.

 

I also can be very quiet

Then people ask, ‘what’s up?’

As if somehow my silence means

I’m angry or fed up.

 

It usually means I’m thinking

Or daydreaming all the while,

I have to say to them, ‘ I’m fine’

And remember to give a smile.

 

Since blogging here I’ve never stopped

Jawing with new mates.

Some even know it’s caused some grief

With my family who hates

 

The fact that I am gone awol

Several hours a day.

I say to them it’s just a means

Of having time to play,

 

Just like them, though better yet

For, in this lovely place,

Dialogue and writing

Receives awards to place

 

Upon a page where I can look,

Every now and then,

And be thankful that some people read

What pours forth from my pen.

 

A fellow poet, Morgan,

Awarded me another,

Blog Of 2013,

Along with several others.

 

A few days later Kerry gave

Another, just the same,

I get to rise up through the stars

And put them by my name.

 

It’s a privilege when I’m so bestowed,

But it’s really rather humbling

To respond as if I’m such a talent,

When really I’m just mumbling

 

Words with those who peruse a lot

And ‘like’ a daily read

I’m flattered still, delighted, for

They nourish and they feed

 

Enthusiasm for this place

Where everyone’s so kind

To read and comment back to me;

Silence would worry at my mind.

 

I have the honour of selecting then

All those that I enjoy,

My daily reads, my favourites.

A task I try hard to avoid.

 

To pick a few, just some of those

Who fill my daily life,

Who add so much to my portrayal

As mother, sister, wife

 

And all the other roles I play

In living every day.

Writing here and reading

Has enriched so much of my days.

 

And nights as well, if truth be told,

Waking up with thoughts in mind

Jotting them down quickly

But in the morning, often find

 

I cannot read what I have written

Unless I recollect

My dreams of night and images,

I’m beginning to suspect

 

That, if I could, I’d do this job

For nothing. Yes, no pay,

If someone else would pay the bills

Or if they’d simply go away.

 

Alas, alack, I have to work

Just like many here

Irritating, isn’t it, when mind

Exists elsewhere?

 

I’m finding now that, at odd times,

Not always most convenient,

I want to sit and write my thoughts

But my boss would not be lenient

 

If she found that I was shirking,

Though important to my thinking,

Writing when I have to teach,

Everything that people say, I’m linking

 

To blogs or posts I want to write.

I told you I can’t stop.

It’s just like chatting out my thoughts,

I’ll do it till I drop

 

From verbal disease that must occur

If talking does not cease,

If writing everything I think,

Just will not give me peace.

 

I have to go though I’m in flow

With daily idle chatter,

I haven’t had my dinner yet!

And though that does not matter,

 

I have to keep my energy

Levels on the up.

Otherwise I may be forced

To pause or just shut up.

 

If you have read all this way down

Please enter your name here

In the comments section

Worry not, please have no fear

 

I will not phone your mobile

Or plan oral onslaught.

Simply that, next time round,

You deserve award!

 

No hauf in hand, no glass of wine.

This is just the way I am.

Apologies for being verbose,

This might go to your spam!

 

So here we are, I got there

Right to the very end.

Pick some bloggers that I love,

Those that feel like friends.

 

But some don’t do it any more.

I get their point of view.

I honour feelings in this matter,

But what’s a girl to do?

 

I know. I’ll nominate them anyway.

I really can’t do otherwise.

My daily reads are too important,

Please do not despise

 

The sentiment is still heartfelt,

There’s really not much grind.

Mine is long, ‘cos after haikus,

I needed to empty mind!

Blog of the Year Award 1 star jpeg Blog of the Year Award 2 star jpeg

http://booknvolume.com/2013/11/23/off-my-trolley-with-gratitude/

http://kerryswindingroad.com/2013/11/27/spreading-more-good-cheer/

http://isimonfiction.wordpress.com/

http://aopinionatedman.com/

http://treyzguyblog.com/

http://jmc813.wordpress.com/2013/11/27/giving-thanks-remembrance/

http://ladybluerose.wordpress.com/

http://nae50.wordpress.com/

http://neverquitebroken.wordpress.com/2013/11/26/impetuous-discord/

http://ramblingsfromamum.wordpress.com/

http://reallife.co/

http://richardankerswrites.wordpress.com/

http://reowr.wordpress.com/

http://suzie81.wordpress.com/

http://tracesofthesoul.wordpress.com/

http://writermummy.wordpress.com/

http://dermsstuff.wordpress.com/

http://whitecrow12013.wordpress.com/

The instructions for this award are simple:

1 Select the blog(s) you think deserve the ‘Blog of the Year 2013’ Award

2 Write a blog post and tell us about the blog(s) you have chosen – there are no minimum or maximum number of blogs required – and ‘present’ the blog(s) with their award.

3 Let the blog(s) that you have chosen know that you have given them this award and share the instructions with them – (please don’t alter the instructions or the badges!)

4 Come over and say hello to the originator of the ‘Blog of the Year 2013’ Award via this link – http://thethoughtpalette.co.uk/blog-awards-2/blog-of-the-year-2013-award/

5 You can now also join the ‘Blog of the Year’ Award Facebook page – click the link here https://www.facebook.com/groups/BlogoftheYear/ and share your blog posts with an even wider audience.

6 And as a winner of the award – please add a link back to the blog that presented you with the award – and then proudly display the award on your blog … and start collecting stars…