Attitude

Kick some ass today, it’s fun!

Go on, try it, everyone.

Next time something gets your goat,

Grab its metaphoric throat,

Tell it, ‘No!’ Be loud and clear.

Show your mettle, have no fear.

Whip its butt for all your worth,

Be the boss of all your stuff.

Thoughts and feelings, they’re the worst,

Get control, their bubble burst.

Some folk too that won’t be named,

Face them up, let them be shamed.

Bullies, buggers, bums that need it

Kick their butts, just don’t concede.

Be your truth, yourself, with ease,

Knee to groin works too with these.

Masters of our destiny,

No thought control, a new release.

Up and at it, that’s the way!

Kick some butt, with love, today. 🙂

 

Inspired this early morning by John’s fab attitude in this poem here.

Do Tell

There’s a wide-eyed wild woman in my house this morning. I’ve met her before and given her short shrift on my way out to work. My husband commented on her presence this morning with the words, ‘What time did you come to bed last night?’

‘Late’ is a perfectly valid time on the writer’s timepiece. It is just vague enough to have been reasonably early or heading for the hay as the birds twitter.

I wasn’t that late last night/this morning. But, good grief, I have to get this writing malarkey under control. Truth be told, I don’t really want to because too many years have passed wishing for just such dedication. And now that I’ve found it I’m scared to jinx it by being too controlling.

And I’m not so hot on the discipline thing anyway with regard to certain activities. I know myself well enough for that. I would have made a lousy soldier. I prefer to rely on impulse and compulsion in some areas of my life. Too much of it is dictated to by routine and rote. So, sensory pleasures must be allowed to flourish whenever possible. A more regimented routine is difficult to imagine at the moment.

But when I viewed myself, looking and feeling somewhat like a vampire – all white-faced and red-eyed seeking a good blood source for a much-needed feed, I have to consider whether I’m not neglecting my health in the name of the written word and thoughts.

So, I have to make some sort of effort to exert some discipline and self-control and rejoin the land of the living. But I don’t know how to switch it off without switching it off! Up too late writing, then thoughts disturbing my sleep. And hubby’s, I’m told. I’ve always talked in my sleep. Apparently, now, I also knock hell out of folk!

No selfies on this one but think Macbeth and three crones. I’m not Macbeth. But Shakespeare must have had a peephole into my future when he wrote that one. Maybe that’s why it was set in Scotland.

What do others do? Give in and go with the flow glad to be pouring forth on paper words that might never see the light of day anyway? Take pad and pen everywhere? I already do that. Try for a timetable? Take up running? I hear that’s good for keeping the thoughts flowing while getting fresh air. But that’s hubby’s love and I didn’t like it when I tried it. More than once, I might add, to give it a fair crack.

The weather’s picking up so maybe garden writing like last year. Sun and words, a wonderful combination. But it’s so hit and miss yet. And I can see clouds rolling in from here. I’ll never make my first year blogging anniversary at this rate. And I don’t like the coffin look. So do tell.

Mask

Whose mask

Grips,

Viced on scalp

And brain,

In dungeon’s dark depression?

Who holds, controls,

Wields

The key

To your

Suppression or oppression?

 

Invisible

Intruder,

Grim

Warden

Of the night.

Whose twin,

Alter-self

Decries,

Denies

Light?

 

Empowered

Lies,

Fortifying self

At your expense?

 

Have you

The key,

The duplicate,

Self-freeing

Padlock broken?

Who is the

Master

Of your life?

Whose voice

Is spoken?