F This (may cause offense to delicate sensibilities or anyone younger than em, 12 maybe?)

Can’t we all be f#*°®¥°*¢ friends

As birds that f#*°¢ together

F*°«~*’s such a better choice

If we all had f¢¥* f#*°®¥°#

 

I used to couldn’t swear, it’s true,

Erupted just instead,

Blessed myself and wondered why

Couldn’t even curse in head,

Then thought a bit about some words

And joy of all behold,

Realised perception’s worth,

I practised, grew quite bold.

Didn’t say them when they caused

Any deep offense,

Didn’t say them to my dad,

You’re joking, not that dense.

But found that words like feck and fuck

And shit and sod and damn

Kept volcanic in its place,

Accursed sort of dam.

Use them sometimes as a laugh,

Some jokes just need that jest,

Other times I use them, well,

Hubby knows those best.

Found a fuck to give right here,

Well many, just be warned,

Fucks aplenty, no asterisks,

But, with humour, lessons learned.

Haven’t counted but I know

There are fucks galore

But funny fucks and useful fucks,

I’m keeping some in store.

Only one that I can’t see

Is one I wrote at first ^^^^

Flying fucks from feathered friends

With not a single curse.

Symbols might suggest there’s more

Than merely letters missed

We fill the blanks in anyway

So no censorship for this.

http://tonysbologna.com/2015/07/02/social-media-and-the-state-of-fucks/

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No Maidens Nor Castles

Words and phrases, popping randomly into your brain, don’t you just love it?

Apparently, the etymology behind ‘faint heart never won fair lady’ is difficult to accredit to any precise source. So says googly world. The earliest date originally cited with any supportable evidence was around 1545. But another takes it back to around 1390 where a castle was drawn into the comparison. Anyway, from thinking to this.

Faint heart never won fair lady

Nor, lady faint, encaptured bravest knight,

Where courage lacks, all faint hearts fear and quiver,

Dragons roam, no heroes left to fight,

No damsels waiting fast within a tower,

No badge of honour, standards hoisted high,

Where faint heart lives all loss resides there,

No castle for the knaves who fear to try.

 

Guddling

Trash! Smash balderdash,

Gibberish, all mish-mash,

Masquerading as the news.

Fiction, facts, we’re owed the truth.

Pish! Posh, all that dosh,

Dishing dirt, a load of tosh,

Captivating, cunning plan,

Doled out fodder for wee man.

Big man runs the well-oiled wheels,

Sleight of hand, we watch, he steals,

Steam, press, turn, depress with force,

One-sided justifies divorce.

Free to question, new release,

Biased brethern, big bro’ pleased.

Watch little man as he cuts chains,

Asking why, alive again.

Hubble, bubble, all this trouble,

Got our countries in a guddle.

Ickle, tickle, brand new hatch,

Easy-peasy, stand by, catch.

Fishy fish, caught with intent, by

Fishermen with hearts well meant.

Then we can fry them with some garlic and a lovely lemon zest. Hmmhmm. Smack!

 

Way Too Familiar

There’s a pussy-cat hiding in my pants drawer!

I’m not kidding! He’s climbed in there again.

There are baskets sliding in my wardrobe

And for reasons, yet unknown, he’s drawn to them.

I don’t do cats but daughter has this kitten,

It’s everywhere I go, it follows me.

I wake and it’s staring at my person

Like we have some strange affinity – a chemistry.

I don’t! I swear. I’ve never had familiar, if witch I am

I’d pick a tiger striped or  panther black,

They’d never fit inside my baskets or my wardrobe

Nor cling on there so stubbornly at the back.

Don’t say it! The joke’s already made here,

By daughter, husband, while at cat I rant,

‘There’s nothing worse than finding, on exploring,

A strange pussy hiding in your silken pants.’

 

My family are disgusting!

We Write…

We write of summer meadows and of dewdrops,

Of circles caught in circles in our mind,

Of senses’ fantasies that beg releasing, in

Images that seep on page to find

Recognition in the land of journey

Of imagination played before our fluttered eyes,

Of colours bright or muted, freed from prism,

Of right or wrong, of truth, of evil lies.

 

We write of winter howling in bare treetops,

Of geometric tangents linked with space,

Of god and gifts and sad laments of knowing

Revealed inside the gifs behind our face,

Of politics and grace and favour owing,

Of how, by nature, owls seek out and track their prey

While, through the night, their silent wings stir currents,

Nocturnal voice, soft breathing held at bay.

 

We write at dawn and in night’s tiptoed torment

Of tales and thoughts, common to us all,

Of worlds within the world we all are sharing,

We write, in honesty, must be the greatest call

Of those drawn to the world of language,

In letter’d form, placed hesitantly, upon page,

Hit ‘publish’ while our hearts on white are crafted,

Daring reciprocity or rage.

 

Of ballerinas twirling in their jewel box,

When opened to reveal our trinkets there,

We write and dare our eyes to endless wonder,

We write, we risk our souls to honest bare.

We write because not doing is no option,

Words bedevil, haunt with no regret,

Spectral forms hover oe’r us, in cloud lexicon,

Begging exorcism on the net.

 

We write in music, pictures and prose poetry,

In art, in forms all risen from the pyre

Of ashen phoenix, from a long tradition

Of pigments mixed in charcoal from the fire.

In black and white, in colours that suffuse us,

Permeate the gases of our form,

Our nebula of knowing that what moves us,

Communication, as the human norm.

 

We write when tears are forming on our eyelids,

Smudging ink that proves our hearts still feel,

In anger, too, spilled blood from ancient consciousness,

We write to justify our thoughts are real.

We write because we see all souls are hurting,

As mine does too, from time to time, no less,

We write as union with the great unknowing,

One cell from shared communion that we bless

 

In knowing that no trouble that we carry

Need be borne alone no matter where we are,

Our words are missiles, more powerful than nuclear,

They are the love that nurtures near or far.

The word is flesh, the word is souls abiding

In light, its form, its earthless, weightless mass,

In silence and in photonic dark room,

One word may mean more than all the rest.

 

We write of dreams succumbed to when we’re sleeping,

Of daydreams caught in shower’s gentle sting,

Of justice, truth, of pain, of deep depression,

Of cloud release ascended on the wing.

Of tender-hearted moments that we’ve nourished,

Of visions seen in skies, on mountain peaks,

We write of all that’s conjured in our musings,

We write because some words are hard to speak.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

‘Divided By A Common Language’

A few humorous language ‘difficulties’ on WP prompted this ditty from me. A conversation about kilts and pants. And it wasn’t for the first time that comments with a fellow blogger took on a whole other meaning. Google doesn’t translate English to American or vice versa. Not that I know of.

 

Take a stroll on your sidewalk, my pavement,

Watch your ass or my arse on the kerb

Mind out for your trash and my rubbish

Our differences should not perturb

The fact that your fanny’s a bottom

While ours is a word I can’t say

And a name of a female or eejit

Irn Bru captured in ad for some days.

Your diapers are nappies, our trousers your pants,

Our pants are your underwear,

Your shit is our shite, but fuck is still fuck,

Good lord, it’s confusing, I swear!

You might wear a rubber, while I’d just erase,

And your fag’s not my cigarette,

Your sneakers are trainers, my randy your horny

Your buns are not iced/frosted as yet.

Your shag’s not my shag, cos ours copulates

While yours is a dance, I believe.

Your fries are my chips, your chips are my crisps

One language? Who would conceive?

I’ve been wasted; so touched by the pleasure,

Of words kindly said by a blogger.

On telling this truth she thought I was pished/pissed

Or high. It’s becoming a bugger

That words that I say with a smile and a nod

May be viewed with a frown or with glee,

While my reading here still guesses at some

Expressions not heard on TV.

I love it. It’s charming. It’s funny.

Like a joke that no one has used,

Except when we’re chatting and we each say a phrase

That leaves the other aghast, flummoxed/confused.

I’m thinking that we might need translations

To pass off the comments so jolly

A dictionary perhaps, in my boot or your trunk

Or maybe your cart or my trolley.

So before slagging off my sayings

Or I laugh at your craziest of phrase,

It might just be that like you, like me,

There are differences in all of our ways.

So Slainte to the Irish, the English,

Canadians, Scots, Aussies, the Welsh,

To the US of A and whose other Anglais

Is confused by our distinct vocal cords.

I’m all for the accents, the flavour,

The taste of a word said in prose

Or poesy fine, straight or in rhyme,

Though it helps if we sort out our codes. (zip or post)

 

 

Bear in mind when watching this that for us, well for me and my crew, this is not a word we would use in common parlance unless in the unlikely event that we met some female by this name. Or maybe, occasionally, if we were humorously calling someone an eejit/idiot/tosser.

On first hearing it in my living room, with some of my kids there, I was speechless. As were they. Then we fell about laughing. It was the talk of the place afterwards, everyone asking everyone else if they’d seen the new Irn Bru advert. Doesn’t take much to make us laugh! And Irn Bru’s very tasty too. Although it still wouldn’t persuade me to call any wean Fanny.

 

 

May Music, Day 10 – Star Ships and Fairy Ships

With more than a passing nod to Twindaddy here and his love of all things Star Wars but question 10 had me flummoxed. My favourite song by my favourite band is also in my favourite film which is tomorrow’s question. If I’d had a little foresight I might have managed this more easily but, as it was, today my poetry attempt began to sound like a riddle. So I thought, what the heck.

Of course, favourites I have

but hard to filter through, it is,

gargantuan hits and vocal feats.

What to do, this lass?

Declaring one today, revealing,

it would be, of song and film,

group as well, three out of three

favourites, one charm.

But worry not, muses self,

tho’ questions mingle answers.

Some foresight in wanderings?

No, much too much the chancer.

Seat of pants and later fret

spring readily to mind

so favourite, not, but current, yes,

oh Yoda! help me find

the one, today the sight

that’s not the one,

tomorrow, that way, must light.

 

So Annie Lennox it is,

Cruising into the west.

Feckin’ fabulous she is!

So too the movie but still not my best.

 

Xenophobia

Perpetuated myth

of stranger evil,

daggers drawn

for devils in

disguise.

Weird, lurking

creatures, strange of

habit, beware their styles,

their foods, their tongues that lie.

Remember to dissuade

all hope of union,

foreigners fierce,

fulsome

of eye.

Bewail

portents, signs,

curses may befall us,

enlist the guard, pogrom,

genocide. Ensure a culture dies.

Propaganda, stereotypical isolation,

belief that diverse

means

alien,

 spy.

Really?

Are we all so

very different?

Two legs, two arms,

One heart, we live, we die.

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.