Beacons

Bell Rock Lighthouse

There stands a beacon where a bell proved weak,

Voice to the voyagers in luminous speak,

Identity unique by pulse precise,

Guidance given where the sea hides vice,

Ragged rock with a tidal view

Dwelt below the surface, steered untrue

Were the vessels in their passing, as they hoped to pass,

Made safe in the knowledge cast by coloured glass.

Fires on the hillsides, pillars by the ports,

Candle flames for safe escort,

Antiquity to modern, lighthouse gave

Synonymous, eponymous, strobes to save.

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Masked Molly’s Ballad

The masked theme is, apparently, still running.

Along came Molly with her handbag and a brolly

And a mask to cover all and any fears,

At five foot ten she socked it to the men

Who reduced any woman down to tears.

Half brick in the bag, she was no one’s hag,

An avenger with a twinkle in her eye

Hidden by the mask, enjoying each and every task

And that, my friends, I’m telling is no lie.

Strutting on the street, she greeted all she met

With a jolly jape for all who hailed her friends,

Legs up to her neck, brolly held erect

Baton, nightstick, brolly use no end.

Patrollers when they viewed presumed that she was new

A lady of the night with fetish weird,

Mask, bag, brolly, a monumental dolly,

Confidence exuding, nothing feared.

Men who asked the way or offered her to pay

Were directed to the ladies, caution told

‘Be good to my sisters,’ warning all the misters,

Some there were who answered, brash and bold,

‘I’ll treat them how I please once I get them on their knees,

I’m paying so I get to do my thing’,

Then Molly got real close and whispered, nose to nose

They scurried off, ne’er seen in parts again.

The misters who were keen, abstained from being mean,

Were surprised when Molly shook their hands and squeezed,

For Molly was a dude just doing what he could

To balance equality displeased.

A brolly laden maiden with a brick inside her bag,

A crushing hand, a mask that hid her growth,

Legs that went for miles, an empathetic smile,

Ex-copper, superhero light on toes.

Now Molly was a mister who’d had a little sister

Who’d embraced the oldest trade since time began,

He didn’t judge the men though he took no shit from them,

Bitch-slapping hypocrites as only superheroes can.

Watch out for Big Molly, a mister-sister dolly,

Protector of all women, punters too,

As long as there’s this trade, mister-sisters should

Remember Molly loved his sister, just like you.

Safety Net Optional

I never ‘got’ the the circus,

Never got the fascination,

Big tops and clowns,

Never got why waving chairs at lions

Held a crowd.

I never got, the one time I went,

Why trapeze artistes would associate

With such,

The smells, the noise,

Those clowns.

Rather fly high,

Higher,

Touch the sky,

Leap into oblivion,

Risk the fall,

Dare to dive,

Feel the air rush past,

Reach for hands,

Sigh

Upon touch,

Safety net optional.

I got the trapeze.

Always will.

 

 

May Music, Day 7 – Memory’s Going…going…not quite there yet…

First, I want to apologise for this one although I don’t know why I’m apologising to you. For all I know you might love this song. But it sets my teeth on edge. I can feel a twitch starting in my right shoulder and my eyes are screwing up as if I were squinting against last year’s glorious sunshine. I had a real job trying to remember any songs from last summer to answer Twindaddy’s question of which song reminded me of that time.

Getting on a bit now, at 53, my poor brain finds it difficult to remember what I was doing an hour ago or what I walked into a room for. Ask me about thirty years ago and I’ll regale you with in-depth detail on colours, sights and sounds. But last year feels like a bit of a blur.

Apart from my age then, oh to be 52 again, there was the problem with vitamin D levels that was uncovered and went a long way to explaining why I felt like crap all the time, falling asleep at the drop of a hat and limbs full of aches and pains. I thought it was decrepiticity (it should be a word) arriving and was just about to break out cod liver oil for impending brittle bones and was preparing snide comebacks for a family of ingrates that think seeing their mother keeling over on the couch in snoring oblivion is a great hoot.

Thanks to frantic research on the internet I found out what was wrong with me all by my lonesome and requested additional blood tests. Bingo. Guess what you need to up vitamin D levels that have plummeted to below 20? Huge doses of natural source and supplements.

Now, as it happens, last summer was a beezer here in old Scotia. Marked in calendars everywhere as one of the best. Sun. Sun. And then some more. I thought I’d died and gone to heaven when the doctor signed me off work and told me to get as much as I could. Minus the sunscreen for part of the time. Parts of the time? Aye, like that was gonna happen. I lay in a lounger, read some, dozed some, turned over, baked myself and turned and then basted for browning. Done to a ‘T’ I was. And I love the sun. Worship wouldn’t be too far off the mark.

Anyway, what this has to do with music and what I’m about to post is a bit vague, I know. But I had to write something. And, other than beginning blogging last June because my sister told my brother that I was vegetating in the house, unable to do any chores or even concentrate on TV, there’s not a damn lot else I remember. Brother set me up with a blog. Ta da! Go Phil. Go Veronica for telling him in the first place.

Sunshine and a new interest and huge supplements did the trick.

So, to the song. I’m trying to delay the inevitable here.

I’ll give you some clues. As some of you may know, I’ve got 7 sprogs of my own and I teach primary school kids on a daily basis.  As much as I can’t consume a whole one at a single sitting, I do love weans. Except.

Except when they inflict things on you.

Anyone with offspring or nieces and nephews knows what I mean. Whatever is flavour of the month for them becomes your viewing, your listening. I sat through so many demos of this in school. Each kid prouder than the last that they had mastered the art.

My own wee yin, 6 then, had practised with her older sisters who’d seen the movie and nothing would do but that Anna should display her skills to her class. Whereupon the teacher sent her around the rest of the classes to show just what she could do. And she did. Song and actions.

Now I should probably have complained here at the fact that the teacher was probably snickering and using my wee doll for a spot of light entertainment. But what the feck. We teachers don’t get that many opportunities for a laugh in the face of mounting pressure to be everybody’s mammy or daddy. Whole other post.

Have you guessed yet?

Well, I’m not going to post the video here. I just can’t. But I will provide the link. Have at it! And this is a memory of last summer I hope will fade in time. No offence to the young lady in question and the multitude of tween followers she gathered.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cmSbXsFE3l8