Laughter or Tears?

That is the idea (suggested at P&SU ) and the following words give a fair description of how things lie between Ada and Caddoc more often than not!

Tears: 

Diamond-drops fall

down a face lined with pain,

while a heart reflects their sadness -

until rising splutters of amusement

erupt into full blown laughter

as self-mocking mirth quells 

the need to shed 

tears.

N.B. A word to the wise :- In your blog settings, checking there is an 's' after the 'http://' of old, will ensure your URL won't generate a warning triangle saying 'Not Secure' when anyone tries to read your latest post. It's an easy fix, and who doesn't like to feel secure? ♥

Am I Listening?

 I certainly am... Click HERE to see who asked the question.

My Ada boxes clever. 

But my plate is always full

of scrambled eggs each morning.

Our days are never dull. 

I swear to leave her never.

She says "Well, perhaps you should!

I might find a better suitor.

Don't you think I could?"

'Daft as a brush', she labels me,

or ' Thick as too-short planks!'

As happy as a pig in muck, 

is something that I ain't!

How to make friends -

 And influence people?!  This phrase may be well known to many, in this age of Mobile Phones & IT wizardry. but meeting a person in real life and discovering friendship between compatible souls, is another matter entirely.

I'm glad to have stumbled upon one Caddoc Trellis, who fits the bill for me - shy little piglet that I am.  Sorry about the blurry picture of our historic meeting...

I first came to life thanks to the nimble fingers of one who was and is an admirer of the original Pooh and Piglet tales. My photograph clearly tells the world I'm of an era long before Walt Disney created his cartoon version. My 'blueprint', as you might say, was drawn by E H Shepard, to whom I'll owe a debt of gratitude for ever more...

Resurrection, perhaps?

 With Blogland changes, I am checking to see if I still exist?! Hohoho...

Bad Spelling?

A picture is worth a thousand words... BUT...

An out of place plaice
had a sneer on his face
as he swam through the murky deeps
Though his spelling, I fear,
was the worst in his year,
still his spots made him oddly unique-
for he used them to count
to ginormous amounts,
and became a mathematical freak!

For Tess and Steven Kelly at The Mag

And here I apologise to any visiting Mag addicts, for I've just managed to enter myself a second time on the link list, after adding the rhyme to my original wordless wonder, idiot that I am! These senior moments are the very pits...

Twister? Not for the tongue!

Satellite picture;
cyclone approaching landfall.
Batten down hatches!

This week's Mag must have got my head in a whirl, or twisted my eyesight! Thanks Tess. :)

The Beacon

Lighthouse Dandelions by Jamie Wyeth

I dreamed of a lighthouse, lit by the sun,
but the dark clouds hovered near-
threw a vivid and menacing shade on a hill
whose atmosphere filled me with fear.

Stark rose the seed heads, as from the grave,
the gold of their petals long gone,
and their skeleton bodies reached up to me
as I stood apprehensive and wan.

My dreams sailed rough seas all that night long,
storm-tossed on turbulent waves,
till a beam from that lighthouse lead me to shore
and I knew, as I woke, I'd been saved.

Written for The Mag  with thanks to Tess

Yearning

Always the head turning,
yearning for the unattainable,
out of reach star.

A bizarre unspoken plea
we see in the eyes
as the soul espies a far horizon
enlivened by possibility.

Curiosity nurtures
future dreams,
seeming to enthrall
all who are captured
by the rapture of expectation.

Inspiration came from the Mag 167 thanks to Tess and Mary Cassatt. 

But Oh, my goodness! Now Ada has discovered my yearnings -  I shall be in the dog house for sure...Hang on...I do believe Beloved has decided to pinch my arty endeavour, and join the fun here this afternoon. Well, wonders will never cease!

Well, Well!

The title beneath this illustration which IGWRT's Kerry O'Connor provided a link to today, reads thus :-

Cadmus prepares to slay the pitiless reptile who had killed his poor companions.

Strike me down with a feather! Oops - no! Not Cad must prepare to slay a dragon, after all. My eyes played tricks on me. Thank goodness for that... but now I need the story...hmmm... that might take some time. I'll be back...

 Play Time

The local Am Dram players, rehearsing in a wood,
were all dressed up in togas  (my, what a load of freaks)
but their play was due to open in but a few short weeks.
It was about a dragon, that Cadmus, if he could,

had to catch, then kill (politely) and then repeat  (twice nightly)
But the props man wasn't ready. " How can I find a way
to make a dragon in that time? Let alone one you can slay!
It’s giving me a headache - I tell you all, forthrightly!”

They held a special meeting, the cast, the crew, the boss,
and put their heads together, pooled their D.I.Y ideas –
their brains were working harder than they had for many years-
“We’ll do it if it kills us, we just don’t give a toss!”

At last they had a brainwave- papier mâché, wire and string
should make a framework, all in bits; that was just the start.
They then worked out a cunning plan how it would fall apart
then be put back together! Oh, ‘twas a wondrous thing!

So my namesake, trusty Cadmus, was as happy as a king.
The play was great. The theatre was fully booked each night
 and the dragon fell and rose again – it was an awesome sight.
BUT at the last performance, the dragon it took wing …

and was never seen again. That’s MAGIC!

Brown Study

From a selection of artworks by Chelsea Bednar comes this Abstract7, which suggested to me a great sense of longing for home. So I wrote this - 

In a far country
a stranger's understanding
dispels loneliness.
Then realisation comes -
home lies within one's own heart.






I trust my attempt at a Tanka fits the request made by Margaret Bednar at Imaginary Garden With Real Toads, to capture the emotion in the picture.

Out Of Hibernation...

...I come, for a while at least, to answer the Toad Call of the great outdoors... or any other outside...  thanks to Peggy Goetz at IGWRT's. Perhaps the cold has got to me, for all I could come up with was this...

Outside is not in.
The thin
edge
of the wedge
is felt
when snows melt
and wet
is met
coming in from outside.
Occasional land slides
can mean
houses lean
towards the 'in' of the Earth.
They decrease in worth,
fast...
The last
thing a house needs
is to be inside earth like a seed.
It will not multiply,
but stultify,
possibly rumbling
while crumbling
towards impend-
ing doom. The End.

Apologia?

Friday gives us the chance to put 55 words together for G-man, so this morning as I was searching for a subject, what came to mind but the one little word 'Sorry', which can be one of the hardest ones to say, but one of the best to use!  I've had so much practice in saying it to Ada, that I thought some others of you may have found a new way to deal with the problem... Give us a clue?

How many ways are there to say “Sorry!”
to leave behind heartache or anger or worry?
What flowers or chocolates may do the trick
to smooth the rough edges of some hissy fit?
If you have the answer, please tell me at once-
I’m sorry I’ve managed to be such a dunce –
Please forgive me?

Bookworm Paradise

Central Library, Manchester, U.K., by Robin Gosnall

Oh library, great library
you make my heart beat faster;
you're full of words of wisdom
spread out for me to master.
With my precious ticket
waving in the air
I can own a little bit
of every book in there...

My eyes eat words for breakfast,
chomp knowledge into chunks
of easy, bite sized pieces
when its time for lunch.

A volume here, a volume there
will fill my tum for tea
with recipes, or pictures,
as I gobble what I see
in my imagination...
and all of it is free!

So I'm a happy bookworm.
Leave me to browse in peace
among this paper paradise -
may its glory never cease.

Written for Tess at The Mag,

Aftermath

We had a new year's party; guests came from far and near...
but now it's time to clear the mess, and look what I found here
beneath the coffee table! A glass containing dregs of beer
by a saucerful of ciggy butts as dead as the old year!

Photo by R A D Stainforth

'No Smoking in our house, please' the signs were very clear.
But people still ignored them, or so it would appear,
for twitchy nose and gimlet eyes both made me stop and peer
until I found the culprit whose reek of fags, I fear,
was oh, so overwhelming, it killed my festive cheer!

See more options at The Mag 149, where Tess gave this nudge to our creative juices...

The Start Of Love

Pray tell me, where does love begin its life?
Does it creep into the conscious mind
from ancient memories of long lost dreams?
Is a sight, a sound, a scent, a touch
enough to wake it, give it form and feeling
to send five senses reeling with its joy,
as two bodies find that five plus five
make ten... and then... and then, and then...

Often we may search and yearn for love,
spend hours, months or years without success,
before, one moment, unannounced it comes
to overwhelm us with its tidal flood
of all that we desired. Then we are drowned
as its currents sweep us from the shores
of loneliness. We can but bless the fates
who made us wait for this, made us see
the waiting as a gift which added golden
overtones to prayers which had been answered.

Thanks to Kerry's Wednesday Challenge over at IGWRT, I was spurred to wax lyrical this afternoon, though probably not in a way in which she intended - But then, what can you expect from a Cad?!

Guilty Pleasure

Isadora Gruye,  at IGWRT , asks us to reveal our secrets. This one is perhaps a fantasy on my part,  as I don't believe I've indulged in such a caper since I was a lad - and even then, not at midnight! I had too much respect for my teeth. However, a man can dream, can't he?! That in itself can be a guilty pleasure!


How I ask you, may one measure
the guilt attached to guilty pleasure?

Does it mean the size of the Mars Bar
or the depth of the sweetie jar
will add it's own dimension?

Must I mention
how this delight
on midnight
exploits to the kitchen
can get your fingers itching
to tear the paper
fast, then make a
start, as teeth
nibble away to reach beneath
the chocolate topping,
find the caramel. No stopping
until the nougat is licked clean.
Know what I mean?

"A Mars a day "
so adverts say
"will help you work, or play, or rest"
but one at midnight tastes the best!

Last Minute Friday 55

Doctor FTSE spoke of a Triangular Number in his blogpost today, so I thought I would do a triangular 55 for G-Man, with thanks to the  Doc for putting the idea in my head, also for explaining what the h*** he meant!

Each
little word
adds to another,
and pretty soon you
find that this one extra,
added line by line, will keep
you at it even while asking  how
much longer you will be forced to write
this rot, making little sense if truth be told,
until lines one to ten equal fifty five words. Magic!

Mercy!

Dust clouds turn the skies blood-red and the moon
spills acid from its lofty perch above
wastelands where darkness blankets the hillsides.
Only the gleam from the sea's surface lights
the landscape with hope. Fragile, filigree
treetops shudder in the onslaught of winds
which howl from all four points of the compass
at once, defying the laws of Nature.
When the Furies of the Cosmos unleash
their hatred man can only beg "Mercy!"

Inspired by Tess and Felix Vallotton at Mag 143

Soldiers

Amongst dust and dirt

flying bullets end their lives,

destroy relatives

who wait with dread to hear news

which splinters the family.

Generations mourn

orphaned children, widowed wives.

Parents and siblings

acknowledge their loss, with tears,

with rage, with numb disbelief.

British boys and girls

fight wars in other countries,

die for an ideal.

The whole world should be asking -

is their sacrifice too much?

Offered for  Toad's Open Link Monday today.

Fridge Magnet

Midnight Snack, 1984, by Curtis Wilson Cost

When a grumbling tum in the dead of night
plagues your dreams - switch on the light,
raid the fridge - and then sleep tight!


Written for Mag139, even while the hunger pangs gnawed....Haha!

Doctor, Doctor! What Have I Got?

Sick Woman, 1665, by Jan Steen

The bearded Doctor in his ruff was often known for being tough
but when the lady Arabella needed help from a medical fellow*
he was the one who came to mind, for she knew he could be kind.
He felt her pulse, prescribed a potion, and gave her a flagon of rub in lotion.

With herbs and simples, carefully mixed, the patient's ailment was easily fixed.
But Doc was nothing if not astute, and, noticing her handsome lute,
he said" Dear madam, if you please, while I relax and take my ease
within your curtained, poster bed, could you sooth my head instead?"

So he promoted her to Nurse! He'd cleverly made their roles reverse.
His plea "I've a headache. Help me, quick! Now I'm the one who's feeling sick!"
brought out her caring, gentle side and his wish was not denied,
for Arabella spent the night playing her lute for his delight...

* pronounce as 'fella', please!

See more medical matters at the Mag 138 this week.

 

Three by Four ?

Photo by Joy Ann Jones

And the scudding clouds streak across the sky;
thin, vaporous beings, insubstantial,
yet softening the effect of a day

when sunshine may otherwise prove too strong
for tender petals blushing pink with shyness.
Close-cupped buds hide in spherical silence,

while trumpet pistils herald golden light
from central tones of ruby at their base,
deep notes resonating in harmony.

A summer symphony is created
for our enjoyment. The natural world
is generous with its gifts to mortals.


For IGWRT's Sunday mini challenge.

Cheeky!

There was a young model who posed
while still wearing half of her clothes -
the jumper was cotton...
but why the bare bottom?
I guess there is no one who knows! 




Of course, there is a slight possibility she was wearing cream coloured jodhpurs, but where would be the fun in that? Thanks to Tess and David Salle for this chance to have a giggle with The Mag 136.

Dancing Partners

Image by Salvador Dali

Don't be put off by extra bulk,
if your partner is a hulk,
for often those with larger frames
dance lightly on their feet. I came
to understand this well,
and there are stories I could tell
of dance hall days
which might amaze
those who read my words today.
I well remember Gladys May,
a rotund lass. But like a feather
she would float, and I could never
once deny 
our dancing feet managed to fly
around the floor better than most.
And that's no boast,
but honest truth.
Ah, long lost youth!
Where did you go? And when?
I know I wish you'd come again!

A tongue in cheek offering for the Mag 135, with thanks to Tess
Also shared with  Open Link Monday at IGWRT.

No Peeping Toms Please!

 Big Room, 1948, by Andrew Wyeth

The curtains and blinds have been sent to be cleaned,
 and without lacy nets left to drape
in front of the transparent windows, you see,
we'll be saddened if folks start to gape

and peer through the glass here to watch us all day,
or worse, to survey us by night,
when maybe an unguarded action or two
could really give someone a fright.

Bright sun through the windows will ruin the floors,
the carpets, the parquet, the rugs
and with no roaring fire alight in the grate,
we'll have to keep warm using hugs!

Written for Mag 132

Light Versus Dark

Black anger,
slashed across the page-
no finesse
or planning
but emotion’s overspill
of dark energy-
bites my soul,
makes me turn away
to cower,
shield myself
with light to defeat the wrath
of primal forces.
Powerful
radiance grows bright,
spreading out,
increasing,
defeating the darkness with
illumination.

Studying the image by Franz Kline which Tess used in this week's Mag 127,  made me feel uneasy. I found it painful, even! No accounting for how imagination works...
Also linking to Poetry Pantry. #107..

Well, whatever next?

At this time of year, people start snapping their holiday snaps, capturing special moments with which to entertain their friends when thy return to their hum-drum, everyday existence. This one of mine was too good not to share... along with a warning haiku.

Water skis -
Ada in full flow.
Stand well clear.

A Yokel's Lament

The folks up at the big house
have rooms enough to spare.
They hold enormous parties,
the gentlefolk in there.

Their guests arrive from far and near,
and rooms get full to bursting...
while every common lass and lad
dreams of such revels, thirsting

for a taste of carefree life.
For seldom may we sing or dance,
intent upon enjoyment,
and as for feasting...well, fat chance!

What is a farm boy meant to do,
but doff his cap... and dream anew?

Written for Mag 119, and inspired by Tess and Edward Hopper.

Morning, M'am!

I once took on a summer job
(you could never call me snob)
driving round an ASDA van
as weekly shop delivery man,
carrying groceries to the door
of ladies, both the rich and poor.

Old Mrs Jones from forty three
never asked me in for tea,
but Mrs Jones' bonny maid
always gave me  lemonade!


This 55 was written in anticipation of the day when G-Man resumes normal service. Best wishes for a speedy recover, Sir!

And today, by popular request, the bonny maid is on view HERE , together with another 55.

A combination of two prompts...

...from  IGWRT and Mag #116, set me thinking, and here's the result - a poem in Florette form.

Photo by R A.D Stainforth

I lie dreaming by the river,
hearing random ripples shiver…
I feel her spirit in my mind,
whose tempting words, loving and kind
                                                 call me hither.

“Brother, follow me” she’s saying
“and together we’ll go straying
far beyond the realms of sorrow
to a make believe tomorrow
                                       where joy’s playing.

“ Sister”, I reply with sadness
“to leave our chosen path is madness.
I know that many moons must turn
before, together, we may learn
                                               true gladness.”