PC and Stupidity

Hang her high!

She tweeted what she should not.

Out to dry!

She did it, yes, she did, she posted it.

Said a thing or two she’s now regretting

And some are saying, stupid girl, a dullard, what a tit.

Me, I’m wondering, what about the old days,

The things we did and said that keyboards never caught,

The silly, stupid things, the mad and mental,

The things we did, full knowing, we should not.

I’m thinking she’s a silly girl for tweeting,

Sharing status, dubious, to all,

Putting neck and job online, forgetting,

That others see

That anyone can run with

Make a private call.

I’m thinking that she shouldn’t have, but musing,

How many of us would still have been employed

If everything we’d done and said, back then, had all been

Captured on a timeline, on the internet, for the world.

I’m vexing for young woman caught, so stupid,

Twenty-four or so, so soon to be dismissed

If what she wrote is deemed to be inflammatory or offensive

And why the hell, oh lassie, did you not resist.

I’m thinking of all we others who have ever

Been just as stupid, in our pasts, or presents, never seen,

Are we any less culpable than she is,

For stupid not now showing on big screen.

I can’t stop thinking of that lassie,

Career on hold, most likely, gone for good,

Such a waste, and how two-faced some folk are,

As if they’ve never fallen, always done what they all should.

I’m thinking of the arguments, the counter,

The should-have-known, should-not-have put it there,

I’m thinking of Big Brother and her mother,

Of voyeurism. I’m thinking it’s not fair.

I’m thinking and I’m glad it’s not my daughter,

I’m hoping that good sense and fair play win the day,

I’m thinking still of how we could all be that lad or lassie

And I’m cussing on pc and on the internet today.

Advertisement

Horn Of Plenty

(source)

licquor pours across all floors

it is not possible to become

intoxicated today when

bota bag bleeds and seeps

its blood-red vintage while

weary herdsmen weep

and skin afresh, hanging

hircine hopes on kids

gathering yesterday’s grapes

for fresh pressing

remembering to decant

old with old, the new with new

and both willing the carver

with every bone in their bodies

to gouge with due caution

adhere with common sense

remember libation to providers

and secure for all, in celebration,

that the horn has plenty

She Flies Tonight

(source)

she flies tonight

embraces new tomorrows

bids a brief farewell

to yesterdays

she flies tonight

and for a time

suspends the world

in continental crossing

nothing lost

nor quite forgotten

while she flies tonight

Have No Fear, Wild And Free

I’ve given up for the night on attempting to write any more school reports. I have weans on the brain. Those I’ve been writing about, my own, my nieces and nephews, friends of my kids, you name it, I’m surrounded!

And they amaze me. They fill me. They are up to the mark on so many things I wasn’t even thinking about at their age. They’re so on the ball. Sharing their thoughts and feelings with a passion that leaves me speechless. OK, nearly. I have to have my say. And they come back at me, and they listen and they question and they share.

Gawd, how they share! Do weans these days have no embarrassment?!

Seriously, I won’t tell you what ‘inappropriate’ stuff filters through my poor lugs. I’m scandalised half the time and, fortunately, honest enough to acknowledge that the only thing that stopped me from sharing so much for so long was fear. They don’t seem to have that. Well, they do, in some ways, for things I can’t believe they fear. Then they go and say or do something that leaves me gasping WTF!

They are tremendous. Truly tremendous.

Young minds engaging in absolutely everything and with passion and a sense of truth and justice I am proud to say must have had something to do with their parenting. Even a little.

As for the rest, the times they live in, we live in, guarantee easy engagement.

I could go on forever as to why this matters to me, to us, but I won’t, hoping instead that my poem says it more succinctly. If it doesn’t, I have a cohort of youth at your disposal to enlighten you to their feelings and thoughts.

You’ll find them near an almost empty fridge. Do they ever stop eating? No wonder they’re all towering above me. In more ways than one.

We’d better laugh just now,

The kids are crying,

They’ve taken all they’re gonna

And that’s sad,

Sad they ever had to

Deal with lying,

Keep on trying

To oppress,

The kids are mad,

Mad as hell,

Just like their mental mothers,

Sanity in fathers

Gone for good,

Pressure boils the cauldron,

Can’t contain it,

Watch out folks,

For kids misunderstood,

Understanding new,

Where once was absence,

Absent fathers,

Mothers gone to pot,

Bubble, bubble,

Here comes trouble,

Children,

Raised without

Deserved, so

They’ve got

Passion in their veins,

The kids can’t help it,

Fires in bellies

Where there should be food,

Listen to their grumbles

And you’ll see it,

Won’t take much more,

The kids don’t need the ‘hood.

Courage on their foreheads

Like a tattoo,

Raising merry hell in politics,

Ask them,

Go on, ask them

Can you take it,

Up to all the spin

And dirty tricks.

Child from streets

Not talkin’ ’bout the ghettoes,

Kids like yours,

Like mine,

They see it all,

Festering, they burst it

Then anoint it,

Blessed be,

The kids won’t take the fall.

Savvy on the streets

And in the parlours,

Talkin’ jigsaws,

Piecing all the bits,

Whoopdedoo,

Some arse is due for whipping,

Generation 20′ need their fix.

Rocking chairs we ride on

Are now seizing

Little bits of pasture gone if dealt

On the pain of children,

That’s called justice,

Not too late yet

If we feel what’s felt.

Riding with the kids,

No need for Harley,

Hair to air on horsepower from inside,

Comin’ at you,

Watch the film now screening,

No place to run to,

Braves are running wild.

Wild and free,

We know that we were there once,

Difference being,

Not a bit afraid,

Everything’s been shared on social media,

Not got a secret left,

They’ve all been played.

Free from fear,

The kids are on the rampage,

Some misdirected,

That’s just par for course,

But watch the wonders,

Surging all around us,

Youth with yearning,

Action and discourse.

Gawd, excited! Can’t you feel their movement!

Battalions brave, bevy beautiful,

Lads and lassies,

More than hopeful, fired up,

Subtled to astute

‘Tween ruled and rule.

Russian Roulette

This came as a song. Think one guitar, husky voice and slowish tempo. Or make up your own. I’m very democratic. 🙂 And I can’t quite get politics and the short and long term effects of austerity on so many people everywhere out of my head. 

Facing life’s rouletted wheel

Down barrel of a gun,

Bullet to the head would do,

Spent days nearly done.

Emptiness and hope devoid

One missile, once deployed,

Would end the pain, she can’t sustain,

Escape into the void.

He’s swept for mines upon his path

And joked at losing all,

Limbs and life and, lastly, hope

Prepared to take that fall.

A quicker blast than endless shells,

Wary everyday,

He’s the guy who’s being passed by

While gamblers poke and play.

Daughter, son, can’t be outdone,

They’re watching every stroke,

Nitro in their nostrils,

Aware they’re butt of jokes.

Nothing left to lose, they guess,

As parents lose their lot,

Power fracking system,

Systemic in its rot.

Grab the keys, on automatic,

Stakes higher than you know,

Hope berefted diffidence

Finds courage as it grows.

Dismal fog but headlights gleam,

Truth or dare the game,

No gamble on the future

When death and life’s the same.

Kingdom of Auld Fartdom

I have come to the conclusion that I have now become a tax-paying inhabitant of the kingdom of Auld Fartdom. I have visited its environs from time to time and peeked over the city walls, even ocasionally entering its gates, sometimes shaking my head at what I’ve seen inside. People, old and young and some of indeterminate age, cautiously going through the motions of life or, contrarily, completely knackered by their exertions in the fray.

I’ve always hastily withdrawn from these forays, accepting that some there are who are old before their time and others whose age has caught up with them, lassoed their legs and brought them down with a yeeha!

Lying in state upon my king-sized, coffee at hand, kindle on lap, I’m trying to recollect the last time I really felt like moving myself on a Friday instead of succumbing to end-of-week syndrome. Looks shattered, feels shattered, is shattered, shattered I shall be. Let me be.

I’m thinking back to my youth (pre-marriage and weans) and recalling how I was always first in from work, way before my brothers and sisters. I had first dibs on the boiler and didn’t even think of needing or stopping for coffee or any other sustenance such was my anticipation at the evening ahead. Getting shifted had priority over everything else. Leisurely hours of prepping for a night on the town were punctuated by the sounds of my siblings arguing over who needed access to the shower next. How many times one or other of my brothers would play the self-same trick of pleading an urgent calling for the bathroom, forestalling my sister’s ablutions, only to hear her roaring at them for stealing her towels and toiletries as the emergency apparently required immediate use of the goods laid out.

I would be listening to music, applying makeup, drying my hair, happily distanced from the melee if not the noise. Teachers’ hours were in my favour then.

The school day has changed somewhat, the hours have even altered a bit but not enough to signify the turnaround on my Fridays.

Supposing I had a heavy date lined up with Wolverine’s alter ego I’d be hard pushed to rouse myself with anything approaching the same cheery demeanour.

Want the shower? Have the shower? Need my toiletries? Wire in.

Trying to recollect when exactly it changed is proving elusive too. I still remember three nights out at the weekend in early marriage so not at that point. After kids? I could still have moved myself with gusto but opportunities were limited. Whenever they availed themselves I was like a dog out of trap two. So not then either.

Recent Friday forays into the city have been prepped for with fucks and grumbles at having to be there at a certain time, the inconvenience of getting there and the bigger one of getting home. But I’ve gone and enjoyed it despite myself.

Tonight though, supposing I was offered chauffeur-driven luxury each way, a slap-up meal in between finished off with dancing and a spot of tongue-tangoing with wolfman I’d have to decline.

Because I’ve taken up residence in the royal burgh of Auld Fartdom, just within the walls of the city, very much part of the kingdom and I can see people peeking through the gates. I’m mouthing, ‘fuck off’ at them with the gurniest face I can muster and I think I might like it.

 

One coffee has boosted my reserves and I’m contemplating a glass of red to remove the sound of children’s voices from my day.

If anyone does have a spare limo at the ready I may, with the help of some lubrication, be persuaded to step outside of the city walls for old time’s sake. But you can still have first dibs on the boiler. It’s a combi. Bit like myself on a Friday.

Music Questions

So, it’s Friday. And in the glorious bygone days of my youth I would have come home from school, showered, glammed up and gone out. Easy peasy. Now? Now I want to. Somewhere in the dim recesses of my mind. But that’s not what happens. I have long since resigned myself to the fact that I am shattered on a Friday. A bit of blogging, a couple of glasses of something (or three) and I’m fit only for bed. Oh, how the mighty have fallen. OK, I wasn’t mighty but I was game. Now not so much so.

So, thanks to Steve, I have a lovely wee pastime on a Friday and it suits me down to the ground. With a slight problem.

Suits me because I get to shuffle my I-Pod and rediscover what’s actually on it. Bearing in mind that not all the songs are mine. Daughter downloaded loads in the beginning when I was learning the ropes.

Problem. I start looking for links on You Tube. And I get carried away. Tonight being a case in point.

1st question:- If I was sucked into a jukebox and turned into a song then the song would be…?   

I Wanna Grow Old With You, DJ Limmer

Don’t we all? I like this even although it sounds like Pinky and Perky. You know Pinky and Perky? Black and white kids’ programme from the days when most TV was in black in white. You know, my childhood. Can feel a post coming on here.

2nd question:- If I was sucked into a television then my tv show would be about…?

Bittersweet Symphony, The Verve

Sounds about right.

3rd question:- If I was sucked into a movie theater screen then my movie would be about…?

Twist And Shout, The Isley Brothers

Slight cheat here as I like this Bruce Springsteen version.

Which then got me to remembering how I first came across The Boss. I was in a pub in Glasgow, The Corn Exchange, across from Central Station with my then boyfriend and this video came on. Yeah, we had progressed from black and white crap to colourful music videos! Amazing. And the camera panned up Bruce’s legs, the beat began and I was riveted. Entranced for the full time. I think I fell in love slightly. 😉 Bear that in mind, Rene, when you’re fixing me up with Hugh. Anyway, it obviously didn’t put the boyfriend off. I married him three years later.

Still love this song. Wonder if Courtney Cox being there was a put up job or if that’s how she was discovered?

Ahhh, those were the days! Not Pink and Perky! Don’t be dense. Who the hell wants to watch Pinky and Perky? I mean Bruce and my youth. *sigh*

Sane With A Touch Of Mad

So here was I earlier congratulating myself on having two ‘sensible’ daughters now in flats. Knowing how to take care of themselves. And budget. Grown up stuff.

The phone call I received last night just after midnight from the sexual health clinic did make me laugh. I thought it must be one of my sixteen year old daughter’s friends who’d been here last night. I must admit, in the earliest seconds of the phone call, I was going, ‘Who? What! When?’ Doubting my own sanity, you know? But I did chuckle. They said they were sorry for phoning me so late at night and would call back the next day!

Turns out several other people were laughing for different reasons.

Someone thought they had won a holiday.

One was obviously slightly concerned that Yahoo had contacted them to report suspicious activity on their account with the threat of a jail term where ‘you know what’ might happen.

Apparently, the one referring to, how shall I say this, love of animals, particularly on a Saturday night, caused some hilarity to the young man in question.

Her future mother-in-law was questioned about being an illegal immigrant with threats that if she didn’t do the conga and post it on Facebook she’d be spending some time in Barlinnie at her majesty’s pleasure.

Now I know that my daughter has a rather weird sense of humour at times but she’s 24 for crying out loud.

I blame it on the stress of being a nurse. They like to let their hair down now and again. Oh, and alcohol too, obviously. 😉

But at least she did apologise.

“ I would like to apologise to anyone who may have been affected by my antics last night. Some individuals may require a more formal apology but due to the nature of the behaviours I’m unsure who these people are.. If you feel you fall into this category please do not hesitate in contacting me directly. Thank you.

Ps dear vodka we are overrrr!”

Her equally ‘aged’ friend has just facebooked me an apology

“Eh yeh I think I did do a shift at the sexual health clinic last night, sorry!”

Young ones, eh?

It’s been ages since I’ve done that. What an old fart I now am. 😦

Not All Is A Memory

 Photo courtesy of Mark

 

We bathed here

Clothes thrown to boughs

Skinny dipping in the dark

Skin touching undercover of ripples

Calm surface wakened by our arousal

Stretching in the sand

Giggling in the moonlight

Those were the days then

When cares were only for years to come

And eyes sought the others in black holes of midnight

Peaks outlined by starry skies

We loved then freely and with energy that age envies

We love still

Not all is a memory

Dream Lives

Trying their best to ignore what they feel,

To live in the present, where everything’s real,

Dreams are ephemeral dice.

Knowing that others’ needs must be met,

They sublimate thoughts, attempt to forget

Chances to live their lives twice.

 

A strange twist of fate to glimpse for a moment

Alternate path that seeks to torment

And prods at the softest of hearts.

She’s just a girl with longing and tears,

He’s simply a boy, heart ridden with fears

And the two must stay far apart.

 

Recollect selves but dream the sweet dream,

Imagine the moment where nothing seems

Impossible to realise.

Shift back to now,

Remembering how

Reality is somehow more wise.

 

Never forget, though, that dreams may come true.

It’s strange and confusing but often they do

In the weirdest of wonderful ways.

They sanctify souls that search for all bliss

To know heart’s desire, love’s sweetest kiss,

Till nights’ searching fulfills all the days.