Wishful Thinking

Don’t think ignorance is an excuse
For pure vitriol, vile and profuse
Nothing gives you the right
To spout hatred and spite
Voice such small-minded verbal abuse

Keep your judgemental views in your head
Teach yourself how to keep thoughts unsaid
Learn to open your heart
And you might find you start
To feel kind towards others instead

Word of the Day: Ignorance

Big Dog Boris

Big Dog Boris reminds me of Trump
One more arrogant deluded chump
Caught in too many lies
Time to say his goodbyes
Will he wait to be pushed? Will he jump?

Idle Time

Idle Time…

Choose to idle away many hours
Sitting out in my garden of flowers
It’s my own time to waste
Any guilt is erased
As I soak up each plant’s healing powers

I enjoy not just colour but scent
As I savour the time that is spent
In the fresh airy breeze
Doing just as I please
Sitting quietly, smiling, content…

Weekly Prompt: Waste

PS The image is a photograph of a page of a little book titled ‘Self-Care: How to live mindfully and look after yourself’ by Claire Chamberlain 🙂

Paradise Lost

There’s something about that song that always makes me think of being back there, in that particular time and place, driving around to find a quiet, private spot and parking up so particularly situated on the cusp of everything, ripe and ready for love. The spectacular sensation of surging hormones, heart beating hard and blood-flow burgeoning with typical teenage overkill. I remember the perfect potency of promise and feeling so powerfully alive at the burning urgency of it all…

Before the responsibility of pregnancy got in the way, before the adult realities of married life for two people so clearly unsuited and the sheer drudgery of perpetual poverty dragged me down and divorce divided us so definitively. Yet that song reminds me I was young and uncomplicated once, I yearned and loved and lusted freely along with the best of them. It reminds me with every note played and sentiment sung it is not our song, and never was; rather it is decidedly my song claimed in retrospect, long after you had left my life. Mine alone to carry with me always…

My female experience of paradise by the dashboard light ended not too much differently than Meatloaf’s testosterone-charged version, and all these decades later the thrumming rock music still brings back heated memories of my youthful desire and the oh-so-meaningful tongue-in-cheek lyrics still sear my sated soul, making me smile and shake my head at the fateful inevitability of it all.

I am growing old now and have moved on in life so far beyond every expectation. But watch me still play my song so unapologetically at teenage volume levels and you’ll see my eyes flash with the remembered brilliance of passion personified, the nascent climax of young love, a million sparkling fireworks exploding so suddenly across a long-lost landscape before fading away, limping so silently and softly into the scent-soiled night…

Fandango’s Story Starter

Scottish Soup: A Sonnet

My Scottish senses love the cooking smell
Of soup that starts with deeply smoked ham hock
Boiled up with split red lentils, seasoned well
Traditional good food from fresh-made stock

Or leek and tatties make the perfect base
With chicken bouillon, carrots, onions too
Add herbs and salt and pepper judged to taste
A little milk to finish – that’ll do!

Pearl barley thickens broth like fattened rice
With cheap-cut beef and root veg simmered low
Soup fills you up at such a decent price
Well-blended flavours make your tastebuds glow

A bowl of love with thick-sliced bread to eat
Now that’s a hearty dinner hard to beat ❤

I know I never seem able to get the hang of writing really Terrible Poetry, but I’m joining in anyway cos I really love this week’s prompt of a sonnet written about soup – what fun! 🙂