Daubs Deployed

Whispers echo still, enlighten’d darkness,

Linger, longing, found in cyberspace,

Heard beyond all planetary, winsome,

I hear them then I picture words and face.

Whispers rise up, somehow are converted,

Awesomely configured, rendered, changed,

I can’t conceive of how a brain invented

Ways to alter speech, so rearranged.

I guess it started with some daubs on cave walls,

Grunts to graphics, pics for history,

Some cuneiform and hieroglyphs translating

Thoughts to page awaiting you and me,

Some ink pens then, calligraphy, that beauty,

Painstaking effort, patient and adorned,

Greek, Semitic, Arabic and Chinese

Marks upon some parchment to inform.

I’m thinking then of smoke and drums and phone calls

And telegraphs that sped the process on,

Who knew that one day someone could encrypt so

And fire words to ether coded, formed.

Thinking typewriters, TV and now Skyping,

Measures that foreclose the distance, space,

So techy I can barely understand it

But glad still that the progress had its place.

I’m putting down my pen now, words on paper,

Typing from the symbols, thoughts to all,

Sending code still daubed, deployed as little pictures,

Some abstracted, etched forever on my cavern’s wall.


Round In Circles

I don’t really have any right to accept the Liebster Award because my followers exceed 200. Yay! But, I haven’t followed the rules with these awards for quite some time. So I’m not going back in time to the early days of blogging to abide by every rule. Once I’ve broken a rule I quite like pushing to see how far I can go. I had a tame teenage life so I have to rebel now…and again.

Lovely Hillary at ‘‘Why Is There Bread In My Kool-Aid?’’ (fab title, eh? I’ll let you check out why), thinks I deserve it. So, given that I spent my earliest years and so many in between thinking I didn’t deserve things, I’m accepting it.

Now that makes it sound like I didn’t get things or was a bit sad about what I thought I did/ didn’t deserve. But it’s not like that at all. Like so many of my generation, it was indeed a different world back then. Less was more. And expectations were limited to what you believed possible. Money was that thing dad gave mum, mum managed and was spent on rent and food and stuff that kept the homefires burning. It was for camping holidays or the odd B&B. Most of those wouldn’t take a clan at one sitting so camping it was. It was for Christmas and birthday presents, essentially, of my mum’s choosing. And I was always pleasantly surprised.

Except one year when I got a pair of ball-bearing skipping ropes and a bag of pick ‘n’ mix. This is what occasionally happens when your birthday is in January.

What I really wanted was what my sister had received in October. A silver sharpener. I kid you not. One with two holes that took all sizes of pencils. I don’t know what else she received that year. I just couldn’t see past that sharpener. God help me, I’ve been fixated on stationery all my life. Very sad I know. But I just love those shops. I get quite moist and excited going into Paperchase or WH Smith or the aisles in the supermarket devoted to such. My kids go mental when I start browsing there. I love it. Like book shops. I go a bit dreamy eyed and cross-eyed in those too.

I don’t know if it’s because of that silver sharpener or not. That would probably require more psychoanalytical skills than I possess. And maybe a bit of hypnotic regressive therapy. But I like those two little addictions. Who am I gonna hurt with books and sharpeners, eh?

I’m in heaven now in my own little home office. Where I get to have my bits and pieces around me. Staple and staplers, index cards and labels. Lots of paper. I know. I might be quite anal, actually. Except that I don’t necessarily use them. I just quite like having them. Except the paper. I use reams of that stuff. I still love the feel of a pen on paper. It’s mesmerising to me. Sends me off on one. Even just doodling.

Now why am I blethering on about crap like this?

Well, god knows really. Except that having less meant making more of what you did have. So I read. A lot. A lot, a lot. Like all the time. So much so that my mum said I wasn’t an ordinary child, ‘for the love of Jesus go out to play.’ Well, that was ok sometimes. Like playing ‘kick the can’ or hide and seek. Or rounders. But the best times were when dad took us on forays on a Sunday, out to the country. Which was local then. Now it’s built up so much that he wouldn’t recognise it. My granda would have kittens at what they’ve done to the greenbelt. I’m having kittens at what they’ve done to the greenbelt. Despite protests.

When dad was there I was safe. ‘Cos there were big scary bastards out playing with us. And some wee ones I was terrified of too. All age groups mingled. And some of them swore. Seriously, they did. They used bad words that offended my ears. And I was a crapper. My wee sister learned to say, ‘fuck off’ quite early. And therein lay her courage and brave shadow that I could hide behind. Cowering. In case there were monsters. That’s what happens when you read too much and your imagination is allowed to go into overdrive. Monsters everywhere.

I got better when I learned how to swear. Seriously, I was about 14 or so. My eldest brother winded my sister – the brave one. And I called him a, ‘Bbbbbbbaaaaassssttttaaaarrrddd’. That’s how long it took me to force it out between my lips. He was gobsmacked! It was wonderful. He even tried to get back on my good side and ask me not to tell mum about it. He knew he had crossed the boundary when I actually swore at him. How liberating.

I didn’t take to it like a duck to water or anything. I kept it for what my brother liked to call ‘special occasions’. He was usually the recipient.

Now I’m somewhat more liberal in my use of expletives. I got to realise that they’re words. Just words. But some words have more power than others. Depending on who, when, why, what.

And this brings me back right round. I do usually get there in the end.

Words. I love them. More than anything they make me gaga. More than staples and paper. Yes, even more than paper. Which I just love. Have you felt the quality of some of that stuff?

And ‘words’ is where the Liebster Award comes in. It’s where I came in nine months ago. To WordPress. When I fired a few posts out. Well, a lot actually. I had found something, somewhere to talk where, even if people told me to shut up, I could just put my fingers in my ears and go, ‘la,la,la,la,la.’

Sooo, yes…talking a lot. That would be from the quiet child over there who couldn’t say, ‘fuck’ once upon a book ago.

What I really want to say is thank you. It’s not a year that I’ve been here. But it also feels like a really short life-time. Thank you to those of you who read my meanderings and poems that start off one way and finish up another. Thank you for commenting. Thanks for sharing your mind with me. For opening up and not being the big scary bastards I might have once thought bloggers were. And who knew what blogging was anyway? Not me, for sure.

I’m not going to answer any questions for a couple of reasons. One, I’m not entitled to this award. And two, if you really want to know just ask and I’ll tell you.

These are the questions I will answer if you really want to know. Or you can ask me anything else. And I might answer.

Questions from Hillary to me:-

1. What’s your favorite genre to read?

2. When you write do you require silence or can you have “life” happen around you?

3. Do your friends and family know you blog?

4. Have you been published?

5. Are you an introvert or an extrovert?

6. When you are writing, does it swallow you up or do you allow yourself to be interrupted constantly?

7. What program do you write in?

8. What has been your least favorite job?

9. What has been your most favorite job?

10. What brings you the most peace and contentment?

11.  What makes you snort with laughter?

Nominees. Now this I’m going to do. For some reason people are very backward at coming forward when you say, ‘Grab!’ So, here are the ones I’ve discovered fairly recently through links to other people I follow.

http://naptimethoughts.com/2014/03/04/this-will-go-down-on-your-permanent-record-2/ A funny mummy

http://alm383.wordpress.com/page/5/ It only takes Google translate to use words across the world.

http://mysoresoul.co.uk/ photography and a few rants that I can’t help smile at even while sympathising with the reasoning.

http://maxadaland.wordpress.com/  Gorgeous poetry.

I have no idea except for the first whether these blogs ‘qualify’ for the award based on numbers. But I figure they deserve note. And when else am I gonna walk on the wild side where I can break a few rules?

If you want to follow the rules here they are. Good at passing on the rules, you see. Might speak volumes that. 😉


  • 1. Thank the blogger who nominated you:
  • 2. Answer the 11 questions given to you
  • 3. Nominate 11 other blogs
  • 4. Post 11 questions for your nominees to answer
  • 5.Tag your nominees & post a comment on their blog to let them know you nominated them

new-leibster So, thank you, Hillary for the thought and the award. Thanks to all of you. Many, many thanks for letting me bend your lugs. 😉 x

P.S. To all you lovely people who have nominated me for other awards I hope I have remembered to thank you individually and not missed anyone out. I just don’t always do a post on them unless it comes up my humph. And it did tonight. I still appreciate them so much. But if I followed all the rules I’d never write anything else. And I just can’t do that. Love to all who show their caring in this way. And thank you.x


Honed to perfection,

Sharpened to a point,

Clear as running water,

Honest words anoint


Giver and receiver,

Taken to the heart.

Truth will set you free, they say,

Let utterances impart


Comfort to the wounded,

Insights to the blind,

Love revealed, in lightness,

Salving every mind.


Maybe not so serious,

Some laughter and a smile,

Some rectitude for what’s not good

Can make it all worthwhile.


A simple plan to ease the pain,

Honour where it’s due,

Sincerity in all we say,

Trust may thus accrue.


And with that trust comes something else,

A bolder way of being,

Intuitions and perceptions

Help with all we’re seeing.


No magic in the formula,

No poison pen of ink,

Simplistic, fair and genuine

Streamlines how we think.


Much easier then if words are real,

Honest, forthright, strong.

Confusions end, paths made straight,

Minds suffer if they’re wrong


In thinking what another says

Is somehow meant for them.

Care in how we phrase ourselves

May nullify the pain.


Losing in translation,

A risk we have to take,

But clarity, corrections made,

Of openness partake.


Undiluted, concentrate,

Speak as how we feel,

Remembering that hurts are wrong,

Help each other heal.


Ah’m no’ hard.

Ah’m no’ even that tough.

Bit ye see, Ah come fae Glesca,

So that seems tae be enough,

To send some people scurrying

Right off their mark,

Terrified I’ll chib them,

Attack them in the dark.

Bit ye see, it’s jist an accent,

‘Cos ah come fae this place

Jist lik you’ve got wan,

Mibbe nicer. Bit still an accent.

An’ a face.

Ah could dae Irish fur ye,

That sounds awright.

Ah’ve always liked that yin,

‘Cos it disnae gie ye a fright.

Or mibbe the Highlands cos

They sing a wee song,

Makes ye want tae dance

As if ye belang.

Or ‘ow about ze French?

I ‘ope eet’s not too bad

Been a leetle while seence I practeesed

So eet might sound a trifle mad.

But ah’m no’ fae they places

Ah’m fae Glesca, awright?

An’ ma voice is jist a voice

Wi’ an accent that’s no’ too polite.

A helluva wie tae judge people though,

Lookin’ at faces an’

Listenin’ as if ye could know

Whit they’re aboot,

Like ye know them so well,

Rubbish that is,

A terrible wie tae foretell

A person’s character, their

Values, their worth.

Makin’ judgements ‘cos folk are different.

Who dis that kinda stuff?

Ah’m no’ hard, ah’m tellin’ ye,

Jist a Glesca lassie that’s aw.

Inherited my accent

Fae ma da an’ ma maw.

Bit they always tellt me,

No matter yer station,

‘mind yer as good

As the rest ae the nation.

A message ah learnt

When ah wis jist wee

No’ tae judge others

‘cos ae where they’re fae.


After the Horse has Bolted

Brain buzz,

French fried,

Sizzling, scorching, sear.    

Unaccustomed to the sun

Mind addled?

Yes, I fear.     

I was not one

To speak in rhyme

At the dropping of a hat   

But sunshine

Has affected me

I feel like such a prat.    

I really must

Retire indoors

Before it is too late.

Oh, damn and blast!

The horse has gone,

I didn’t close the gate