Tuesday 18 June 2013

Le Stelle

Her love gone
Her heart cast adrift, she so forlorn,
she and Le Stelle, they rode the storm
‘til tempest died, and sails rent and torn
all hope was lost and she so did mourn
the loss of love for she he had scorned.

And she in despair,
Wind still, now becalmed and lost at sea
at the mercy of the Gods was she
and she uttered forth her soulful plea
O my love, I gave my heart to thee,
please return my love and rescue me.

And Sol bore down.
She adrift for days on briny deep
and sun bore down and death did slow creep                                     
and for her lost love she so did weep
and she prayed the Gods her safety keep
as she drifted now in twilight sleep.

And the vision.
And in her dreams Paleamon rose
and he and dolphin leapt ‘bove the bows
and she in his arms he did enclose
sang sweet to her and soothed her woes
and delirious, life with him she chose.

And then eternal peace.
Life below blue sea she now did crave
neath new luscious moon and crested wave,
and to Paleamon her heart she gave,
and she to him a willing slave
on dolphin leapt to loves watery grave.

Anna :o]

The above is a late response to the dVerse Saturday prompt of Beauty.  The beauty of the human singing voice sprang to mind and that led on to Pavarotti and so stuck on YouTube I became – I missed the deadline.

I was introduced to the wonder of Pavarotti by my handsome one; he bringing home the LP King of the High C’s and that was it.  I fell in love with his voice and his image on the LP sleeve, abandoned the hubby and kids, packed my suitcase and stalked Pavarotti round the globe…

Seriously, I do so love his voice and always will, and it was through him that my love of opera began, until then my only exposure to it being while at school and limited to The Mikado and The Pirates of Penzance

Pavarotti truly was, especially in his early career, king of the high C’s he once describing ‘hitting’ one thus: “Excited and happy, but with a strong undercurrent of fear. The moment I actually hit the note, I almost lose consciousness. A physical, animal sensation seizes me. Then I regain control.”  Lovely!

And to further excite your ears, more Pavarotti, this time Che Gelida Manina – now this I want played at my funeral!

Videos’ courtesy of YouTube.

Wednesday 12 June 2013


Skies blaze as shadow casts
her dusky blanket,
sun dip-sinks below horizon. 

Twilight nags at those
who would sleep forever,
jolt-jars them from their slumber,
irritates, alters perception;
Reaper glimpsed                                                                                      
they shiver in their bones.                                                                                     
Charleston Farmhouse Door (The Mag)

Under half-dead eyes
they rise like jangled puppets,
strings pulled   ease aching limbs
from chairs that confine
like waiting coffins,
zombie-like they shuffle
until agitation animates their every action.

The Sundowners, brain atrophied,
this is their time,
a time of purpose. 
Fists, voices raised;
locked in on the other side of freedom,
they clamour at the door.

Anna :o]

Late afternoon, early evening and sometimes further into the night, some of our residents stir from their lethargy, lose their contentment, become agitated, argumentative, restless and wandersome.  These are the Sundowners who for reasons not yet quite certain are disturbed by and disorientated (at) this time of day and symptoms worsen.

Giving evening/teatime meds is fraught with distractions, little Edith will be hanging onto the bar of the drugs trolley bobbing up-and-down like a jack-in-the-box, Annie will be crying her heart out as she tugs at your sleeve, wonderful kind and pleasant Bill becomes a raging hulk demanding to know why he is kept a prisoner here and so it goes on.  The drugs trolley has become a magnet compelling all Sundowners to stick to it (and you) like glue.

Some Sundowners form escape committees – my mum did in her first residential home – sweet little mother morphing into a horrendous screaming banshee inciting her fellow residents to take action and escape this strange place they found themselves in.  As it was a residential home the door was unlocked, that is until my mother became a resident there and come early evening it needed to be locked!

In my home (where I work) some residents, confusion increased, attempt to leave the building with the day staff, adamant they have finished their shift too and demand to go home.  (We got round this by staff leaving by the back door.)

My lovely, lovely people – I hate to see them distressed.  But it will pass…

MLM’s prompt at Mindlovemisery made me think and Tess’s image prompt at The Mag gave me direction and so both these good people gave me inspiration.  Thanks MLM and Tess!  Also entered at dVerse -grateful thanks to Brian and Claudia!

Image: Courtesy of Wikimedia Commons
Author/User: Fir0002

Saturday 8 June 2013


I am the quiet little mouse
that nibbles holes in skirting-boards,
dark holes to hide within;
in-between the spaces in the walls,
dark cavities built brick-by-brick,
a private place, a place for solitude,
a place for this reclusive
intro-vert-ed happy child.

They hunt me out –
the cats that is –  
prey on me with cruel mew,
paw at me with protracted claw,
try to scratch out words that don’t exist,
kill my sense of who I am.
I don’t want to play and make them purr,
I just want to be left alone.

Anna :o]

Karin at dVerse has us writing of any of the ideas of twins, opposites or divided selves and I thought I would write of my divided self.

Although not realising it then, as a child I was introverted, the child with not much to say and I knew I was different.  I could relate to adults more than I could to my peers – but I did have two good friends in my early years, friendships’ that carried through from primary to junior school.  And they were good strong and comfortable friendships and with them, my friends, I had much to say.

At the age of eleven my family moved from (a then and maybe still) rich southern coastal town to colder climes and it was here I realised how different I was.  Sitting at the desk of my new form teacher in my new school I glanced at the records (she was reading) from my previous school on which was written ‘doesn’t appear to have many friends’ and was hurt by this and couldn’t understand it at all.  Why would I need more friends?

Life was much harder in this new town and my difference led to me being bullied and quiet little mouse that I was, I accepted it, that is, for two years and then I fought back, having a ‘scrap’ with one of the bullies, which I lost – but won their respect and they never bothered me again.

Much later, when one of my children reached four, I had an internal scrap with myself, for this mouse needed to open her mouth to prevent a great wrong and it was at this time I invented the extrovert me.

Most people who know me, or think they know me – don’t know me at all.  To them I am the happy extrovert; outgoing, humorous, gregarious and they are comfortable with me – as I am with them.   Not very deep inside, the real me exists, I can count on one hand close friendships – I still don’t need anymore – I love solitude, quiet, thinking; hate parties, large gatherings at which I am expected to speak and hate noise.  Being the extrovert me, I am very happy having lived in its clothing for so long – being the introverted me, I am even happier.

Image: Courtesy of Wikimedia Commons

Author: Lxowie

Thursday 6 June 2013

More to Worry About

Fish in drinks,

allergies turning systems entirely by chemicals,  
cancer of their durability,
biological hermaphrodite and are volatile;
operating conditioners and disruptors’ identified
also there’s disturbing upsurge
in amphibians with investigated carcinogens –
similarly embryonic mammals’
remember reproductive polymer
causing warm back in English charity
and fish infiltrate testes. 

Trust the three CHEM hormones – plastics ability
(joggers in excellent host fisheries are
the undescended weather molecules). 

The containers that you work for -
responsible or single –
paints a species with mortality into children –
are there huge health results? 

Do use the day –
these with the belief of the ‘it’ in archetypes
necessarily out the reptiles but they,
they’re not immune, contents probable (of birds). 

Has intersex a plastic endocrine?
The frogs in France,
they that leach in every other fabric,
do up our legs – asthma not reduced.

Anna :o]

Charles at dVerse has us writing “Dada poems with scissors” – now this is new to me and I found it tremendous fun!  I chose this article I had read (in printed (slightly different) form) in The Sunday Telegraph, cutting up two paragraphs into single words, putting them in a dish and chose seven words at random, attempted to make some sense of them and repeated same until all words used (there were three ‘ins’ in the final batch which I stuck in where appropriate).

Image: Courtesy of Wikimedia Commons.

Author: Thue

Tuesday 4 June 2013

Drum Roll Expected Please

You wind me up!

I watch you as you wind me up,
you care naught of my mechanics,
what makes me tick,
I merely a visible denotation
of your self-perceived position
wrapped round your flabby wrist.

You wind me up!

You think you manage me
but I manage you, set your pace,
my hands upon my face indicate
where you are  or should be 
in this very time and space. 
I am your controller.

You wind me up!

I am horoLogical, I am movement,
I am energy, I am precision. 
I move, wheels turn,
I bring societal recognition.
Your value is in me!

You wind me up!

I give you time, guide you
through the passage of existence,
offer a future state of potentiality
from this present to the finality of your past.

You wind me up!

I watch you as you wind me up,
you care naught of my mechanics,
what makes me tick,
I merely a visible denotation
of your self-perceived position
wrapped round your flabby wrist.

You wind me up!
 Value me – or time will quick run out for you!

Anna :o]

MLM at Mindlovemisery writes:

“This week’s theme is Personification! Personification is the attribution of human nature or character to animals, inanimate objects, or abstract notions. By all means feel free to submit stories as I feel this prompt lends quite well to fantasy. Any type of poetry goes, even just a blog posts about your encounters with animals behaving in a human manner would work beautifully.”

I thought I would write about my watch – not a Rolex (!) - which I would be totally lost without, the odd thing being that I have a pretty good sense of time and can almost always predict same before looking at my horological instrument – I guess I must need confirmation!

Time fascinates me and I often wonder what has preceded me in the annals of history - who/what occupied this very space in which I sit at my old computer desk…

‘How a Mechanical Watch Works’ – courtesy of Daniel Radeck at YouTube.