S & M Games

I was taking a well-earned rest that extended a bit beyond what I intended. Thoroughly enjoying it too. Been to Spain and back again. Been over the border and back again. Trying desperately not to comment on the farce of British politics…I’ll say this and then I’m going back to R&R. I need it.  Sorry I’ve not been into anyone’s sites – never thought I’d be so long absent from blogland. I daresay once I’ve replenished my oomph I’ll be back. Just had to let you know that we’re not all arses.

Thigh-high boots, leather corset

Whip hand cracks and snaps near ear

Ricochets, reverberations

Dominate, try to measure fear

Public school boys, petted puppies

Petulance, moral poverty

Bankrupt conscience, fixed agendas

Ambitious failures shed no tears

Tricks and lies that colour pages

Carrots, sticks and donkey rides

Asinine with self-absorption

Peek-a-boo, expose then hide

Decisions based on fear and fortunes

Games they play, monopoly

Snakes with ladders, swings and sliders

Risk and run mid jeers and cheers

Children all, without exception

Raised with silver spoons in arse

Rhetoric undemocratic

Bully boys, elected farce

Run the countries like a brothel

Prostitute the populace

Whip to frenzy, S&M games

Governance of world disgrace

Rules we live by

They dismiss

Changed mid-game

Really take the piss

House of cards

With loaded dice

None virtuous

We’re held by vice

Tokens, tickets

Buy your pass

Swallow mouthfuls

While they laugh

Independence, vows they promised

All exposed as project fear

Truth lay shackled, cuffed, spreadeagled

Cats with nine tails cost us dear

Domination detrimental

Determination, never more

Sneering snobs, robotic gargoyles

Time to even up the score

Keep your mind games, carnival

The whole shebang, corrupt cabal

I’ll take freedom with vanilla

Straight talking Scots with evidence

Let the whorehouse knaves all tumble

While they scrap and flaunt and flounce

In disarray and deep division

Casting lots to ferment hate

Queuing up to take the whip hand

Welcome to Westminstergate

Masochists, sadistic pleasures

Name your game, they’re all for sale

Ignore the world that heaves in turmoil

Pimp your ride while people wail

What we’ve come to, what a mess

But, hey ho, folks, it’s all illusion

Games they play while they undress

 

Pegging Out With Pole Tig – ‘sad’ acts apply within

Glad,

A wee bit sad,

Little things that make this housewife cheer,

Washing on the line

Because the weather’s fine,

Might be sad but grinning ear to ear. 🙂

Knickers in the breeze,

Drying day to please,

Simple pleasures really are my thing,

Another load is on,

Some sunshine, can’t go wrong,

Writing silly ditties in between.

Sun just rocks my socks,

Getting my rocks off,

Washing, scrubbing, sad act that I am,

Fluttering in the air,

Like laundry hung out there,

Playing housewife just because I can.

Very simply true,

‘Tween you ‘n’ me, we two,

Teaching keeps me busy all term time, so

When holidays roll round,

Or on weekends, I’ll be found,

Doing what all other housewives do.

Catching up on chores,

Risking kids be bored

By thankless tasks that make their eyeballs roll,

Think that I’m a fool?

Well, here’s the golden rule,

Bribe them, sugar spoonful, that’s the goal.

They’ll thank me come the day

They learned how to play

Working in the sunshine, way cool gig,

For in between each bout

We’re running all about

Learning garden games; they love ‘Pole Tig’.

So yeah, chores can be some fun

And when the chores are done

Mary Poppins’ bag holds every trick

A charm or two inside,

Stretch it open wide,

Imagination, smiles that make kids tick.

No lament from me,

‘Cause I have got the key,

Brighter days are here along with Spring,

Pegging out the days,

Working while we play,

Mummy’s home from school. I guess part-time. :/

 

Play The Game

Curtsey and debase yourself to master,

Dance and pirouette in shoes too tight,

Play the game and stalk while seeking answers,

Malengine, plum’d spoken has no right.

 

Swear allegiance to the real world that is owing,

Aftermath of balls, no favours granted, fight good fight.

Minus pumps, at court, they trip self-interest,

Return’d shape-shifters, pumpkins in the night.

 

Another bash at a Wordle as suggested by http://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2014/11/03/wordle-33/

 

I wrote this on the same day but, due to my self-imposed exile during Nanowrimo,  I didn’t post it then. But I’m nearly finished now so I can. 🙂

Ball Out Of Play

There’s a game that people play but I don’t get it;

it’s called take offence when none intent is there.

I’ve seen it all, enacted in my family,

with exes; dearest siblings pulling at their hair.

It’s a power sort of game that leaves a flavour;

a bitterness that tastes of dank decay,

when wealth of hate showers forth in spittle

but not for any words they had to say.

It’s for being who you are but they don’t like it;

like you’re happy and they can’t believe that’s real,

so the vitriol or silence seek to thwart it,

expunge the love, let crusty scabs not heal.

It’s a game I see in work and with companions,

as if life is just too easy so let’s fight;

a soap opera to my reality, really,

I don’t get it! How can this attitude resemble right?

Naivete has always been my virtue

and my vice as well, if truth be told at last;

I never comprehend that I’ve offended

for it’s the last thing that I’d seek, so always ask.

I’ll move my knight to your rook and I’ll ponder

the route to trap and check the king, no vice,

I’ll throw the dice and play the cards and wonder

if betting on the game is worth the hellish price.

I’ll move my dog and hope that I collect some

prize or fund for playing my game fair,

but changing rules, anarchic games that some love,

are way beyond the bet I’d ever dare.

There are bastards in this world, please don’t doubt it,

I know god loves them just as much as me,

but I decline to play the games they’re playing

and leave, I hope, with vestigial dignity.

I’ll watch from sidelines when my friends are challenged,

I’ll bite my tongue and pray for some control

but never when I see a bully smirking;

I’ll jump right in and save that goddamn goal.

The penalty of those who play this game; you know,

the one, where winners there are none, or broken souls,

is loneliness forever, never reaching,

destitute in spirit; fragmented whole.

Ah’ll Minecraft Ye!

I was wakened about twenty minutes ago by a cry in the dark. I jumped out of bed and rushed next door to the room my two youngest share. There’s Anna sitting bolt upright in bed crying while Louise drags her duvet back up on to her bed. Apparently, Louise had fallen out of her top bunk onto Anna. Impossible? No. They have an ‘L’ arranged bunk bed, designed and built by their dad to maximise space and so that they weren’t too high. I hate high sleepers.

Anyway, Anna was crying because Louise had landed on her. I went to comfort her and noticed she was wearing a pair of headphones! Upon removing them from her I then realised they were attached to a wire attached to the new Christmas I-Pod Touch, purchased so that she could play Minecraft with her sister. Guilt was written all over her face. And I couldn’t even give her a proper row. Not because of the hour but because I still can’t speak! Frustration. The most I could squeak was, ‘Ah’ll Minecraft ye!’ It was a loudish squeak.

I have my suspicions that both Louise and Anna may have been playing Minecraft together. Along with the cry in the dark I thought I heard Anna say, ‘You’ve took all my money!’ Tell me, does money ‘change hands’ in Minecraft?

I’m sick of hearing about this game. Anna now has her I-Pod confiscated until tomorrow and I might have to take it from her every night because I’ve heard a few whispers late at night coming from next door that I think may mean they’ve been having late night Minecraft sessions since Christmas. But three o’clock in the morning! And that’s me wide awake now. Bloody Minecraft addiction.

And now I’m kind of laughing because I remember being caught by my dad doing the same with my sister. Only it was a board game then. 😉

A Gamble

It’s too late in the morning for reason.

No excuse seems valid to me.

You dealt your cards, now use them.

Cheating can never be free.

There’s a tax on your woeful behaviour,

A poll to pay; you won’t pass.

There are dues you had to consider,

If you wanted our union to last.

The thrill you had in your dealings,

The hand, to me, that you dealt,

No thought considered the feelings.

Was it worth it for all that you felt?

I’ve thrown my cards on the table,

I relinquish the stakes that I bet,

I’ll take my pot to a different casino.

You stay with the one that you met.

Everything has to be paid for,

All gambles, consider the odds.

Luck, in life and at tables,

Lies in the lap of the gods.

The above is not a reflection on my relationship, as someone expressed concern that a previous one was. It is a combination of imagination and knowledge of people close to me who have had experience of the above.

A Debt or Two

I owe a debt of gratitude to the following blogger. Image

http://mythoughtsonapage.com/2013/07/07/ireland-if-only-you-knew-what-my-family-has-done-for-you/

Without her, I would be having a whole other summer experience.

By booking her summer holiday in a land of assured sunshine, she has inadvertently blessed the British Isles with what is currently promising to be (touch wood) a lovely summer.

Without her, I would not be able to hang outside the multitude of washing that is usually draped indoors.

Without her, I would not be able to replenish my seriously-depleted levels of Vitamin D. (I’m even taking high-dose tablets for that.)

Without her, I would be a pasty white colour instead of acquiring a golden glow.

Without the selfless measures of this woman, I would be unable to take my gang on a camping trip that was cancelled last year because of constant precipitation. (Yes, it pissed down for the whole summer.)

It is because of the generous act of this fellow blogger, and her adventures in sunnier climes, that our part of the globe is sizzling in sunshine, perspiring in puddles and feverish with fun.

I foolishly commented on her post that had I known that sending her off on a jet would have ensured clement weather, I would have paid for it myself.

I have already assured WI at http://tracesofthesoul.wordpress.com/category/whispering-reflections/    

that she will have a share in any lottery win once I convert Canadian dollars to real money. It would now appear that I am obliged, as per my word, to make a Euro or Irish punt calculation at the same time.

 I will gladly buy a winning lottery ticket, if anyone can lend me a pound, ‘cos all this sunshine is costing me a fortune in ice-creams and lollies.

But, I can live with that.

P.S. Could you give me exact dates of your holiday please, tric, so’s I know how much sun cream to stock up on?!                              

Image

Bless me Father,

For I have sinned.

Sometimes I make things up. Not in a bad way. But, I’m a teacher, you see, and a little poetic licence sometime goes a long way to get to the point of a moral. So, I have lied, more than a few times. In my defence, the kids don’t know this. I get to the point and they get the message. I call that a win/win. Don’t you?

I have also cursed. A lot. But so does everyone else in the staffroom. Otherwise, how could we cope with some of the traumas we learn about? So, excuse me, please, on that one. We were all at it. (Pointing, rather pointedly.)

Father, I have also lost the plot a few times and went ballistic with my own kids. But I think you would have too. I mean, how do I keep the head with some of their insignificant complaints after what I see and hear during the day?  I know that’s no excuse because it’s not their fault that some kids have shitty parents. I want to tell them how lucky they are but I don’t want to see them cry. So, sometimes, I lose it. I’m trying my best. Really, I am.

I also sometimes swear and curse just for the hell of it. You’ve heard me. I know I’m not shocking you.

Fuckety. Fuckety, bastardy, shitty, God-awful parents that don’t deserve kids sort of swearing.

I really, really try not to do this ‘cos I don’t know where those parents are coming from. God knows, (that would be you) all what sorts of shit they’ve had to deal with.

But, God forgive me, I still want to batter their faces in.

I mean, I really want to knock ten bells out of them. And I know this is not fair because I don’t know all what sorts of traumas they’ve come through.

Yadda, yadda,yadda.

I still want to stand up to them and really get in their faces and …well, you probably know what limbs  I want to rip off, so there’s no need to go there.

Father, I don’t for want for me to be a violent psychopath with reasons that could be justified in court.

Please help me to either not give a shit about these kids. Or, at the very least, to recognise that,sometimes, I will find myself breaking every commandment in my head. But I won’t act on them and you’ll forgive me for the thought, I hope. I promise I won’t castrate every person that dares to abuse a child.

I’ll think about it, though. Is that a sin?

P.S. If you could see your way to us winning the lottery a lot of the above could be avoided. At least, by me.x Kisses and cuddles. xxxx

Teenage Demands

(18-9-04)

Money on your phone every month – a camera phone.

Membership to a gym.

Dropped off and picked up at every turn.

Friends to stay.

The traffic flows

It’s all one way

You want we give

You don’t pay

With words or thoughts

Or kindly deeds

You take the lot

We’re on our knees

To try to provide

As best we can.

Our efforts stink

You seem to say

With each ungrateful

Gesture or word

Or messy room.

The dishes pile up in the sink.

The clothes lie dropped where you will

Then you cry like a baby for your wants and needs.

Where are my clean clothes?

There’s nothing to eat in here.

You’re miserable

You’re mean

You’re a nag.

You, on the other hand, are a pleasure

To live with.

Like Harry’s Kevin

You are loathsome when your teenage tantrums

Display the most selfish aspects of your character.

The teenage displays of me, me, me

Are a disappointment and a rebuke

To everything we try to do.

Go work and visit the real world.

In the real world no one does everything for you

Or gives you things for nothing just because you exist

We’ve gone beyond providing for need

Now you’re expecting us to provide for greed.