Sunday, 21 May 2017

No News...

I don’ read books or anyfin,
ol’ fashion people do,
an’ I’m young y’know
an’ I’ve ‘air to crimp  an’ knees t’show – Har Har! 
Is this dress too short or not short enough?

The lads love me cos we talk of fins
that are importunt like, like what (?),
well fins in the neighbour’ud,  who’s screwing who,
an’ wevver fat ol’ Missis Smiff will kick Jonny
up ‘is arse‘n’kick ‘im owt like she said she would
when she found ‘im kissin Mike (yuk yuk),
y’know Mike ooze got’is brain arf missin.’ 
Har Har!

Prime Min’ster?  T’resa May innit? 
Tell trufe I don’ give a shit ‘bout anyfin in pollytics.   
They never do nowt for me, she’s Tory innit? 
Watch news on telly?  Nah, its borin’ innit? 
Wars?  Don’ care.  Famine?  What’s that?  Oh ‘unger.
Don’ care, only care what’s in my belly! (LOL)!

Newspapers?  Already said don’ read books or anyfin, 
I’m not ol’ fashion y’know, but I text’n’fins
so know evryfin that’s wurf anyfin I need t’know.

Anna :o]

Brendan at Toads writes brilliantly of how ‘The News’ is fed to us in this world of ours, where we are constantly bombarded with ‘News’ here there and everywhere. 

News and its intention to educate has now become a source of entertainment and often is presented thus.  It creates the shallow world of ‘celebrities’’ and then does its best to destroy same, cluttering their world with the sharks that are paparazzi, this especially so of the tabloid gutter press, who frequently find new depths to sink to.  Sadly, this presentation of ‘news’ is popular with its readers… (And this I worry about, worry about how society is being dumbed down.)

What did the (gutter) press do when Dr. David Dao was dragged off the United Airlines plane – they sought to find ‘dirt’ in his history and joined Oscar Munoz in victim-blaming.  Why in heavens name did they do that?   Luckily not all newspapers are the same and the Independent gives a fair opinion on this.

I could rant on forever but won’t.

Oddly enough, when reading Brendan’s post, the first thing that came to mind was that of an ex-colleague, a lovely kind young woman, who had no interest in the world outside her own sphere and had little knowledge of it – and so I wrote of her.   I could never understand why she didn’t want to know.

Image:  Courtesy of Wikimedia Commons

Author:  Bobbie Johnson

Wednesday, 17 May 2017


In the carnage of that that is war,
she touched by icy fingers of impending Death,
he rasps her (unwelcome) welcome as
he sucks in her last dying breath.

He finds a peculiar warmth there,
a tincture of her fear,
a scintilla of her hope there
as she knows that Death is near.

Oh how she fights it, her
heart pounding in chest,
a clock ceasing in relentless time
as he lays her out to rest

Her vision is forever dimmed
by the blackness in her eyes.
She is enveloped by the darkness
as she knowingly slowly dies.

He has won then,
his duty almost done,
she is enveloped by the darkness
as he blocks out rising sun.

She returned to the earth then,
her life is but her death,
relinquishing all her hope then,
she bequeathing her last breath.

She searches for the bright light
as promised by her God
and much to her displeasure
finds there is naught but neath the sod…

Anna :o]

Mish at dVerse has us writing of sensory play, that is, an abstract view of the senses.  I really don’t know if my offering fits the bill as it is not pretty, but nevertheless is what came to mind (from where I do not know!). Maybe an abstract of an abstract..?

Image:  Courtesy of Wikimedia Commons
Author:  Soumyadipto

Saturday, 13 May 2017


He behemoth, obese he is, ridiculous, an affront to us, we who with polite constraint, nibble feasts with dainty fingers, whilst he, fat slothful fool, greedy, gorges gluttonous, fills selfish pleasures of his round repulsive belly.

How low he is, how far beneath us, we who scowl, sated with our smug self-satisfaction.  Deserving he of our derision, failed he is, outside the norm, he an imbecile, an embarrassment, a blight upon us, worthy of nothing but our scorn.

Watch how he moves, fat rippling flesh of fat lumbering fool!  How can we (in our ivory towers) do naught but smile smug self-satisfaction, laugh out loudly, jeer and deride?

Anna :o]

Magaly at Toads has us writing of how we think mythical monsters/imaginary beings might fare in the prejudices and discrimation rife in our present day world.

I don’t think Behemoth would fare very well, we would not tremble at his roar, rather he would tremble at ours…

Also shared with the good folk at Poets United

Image:  Courtesy of Wikimedia Commons

Author:  E. Plon

Thursday, 4 May 2017

Wash Day

Peggy Vierra Link (1923-2004) Wash Day, Oil

She finds a certain intimacy
in the washing of his things,
his soft blue woollen jumper,
his old grey cotton slacks,   these
the clothes he died within. 

She sniffs the jumper first, inhales him,
then gently submerges him in suds,
she is beguiled by wild emotions,
there is wire in her blood.

Her breath caught in deep excitement,
she scrubs away his scent,
from deep within and deep without   he 
the source of malcontent.

Her labour brings with it vivid imagery,
of knife glistening in the sun,
of sharp surprise upon his face
as she with cruel twist of blade
his waywardness undone.

She bears the scars within her heart
of a woman truly sinned,
but cleansed her soul she pegs him out,
leaves him blowing in the wind.

Anna :o]

Margaret at Toads welcomes us with Artistic Interpretations, that is ekphrastic poetry inspired by works of art, of which she has chosen a fine selection (for us).  Cheers Margaret!

Also shared with the good folk at dVerse OLN.  Cheers for hosting Grace.

Image from Real Toads and used with permission.