Or not, depending on my mood
Semantics…
Rhetoric the main concern
Doublespeak a favoured term
Weasel words imply and squirm
No clear meaning fixed and firm
Spin and soundbites fill the space
Lies instead of facts in place
Semantics twisted to your face
Politics a pure disgrace…
Fandango’s One Word Challenge: Semantics
Scribe me a tribute
Bribe me with ribbons of love
Scribbled by my tribe
Yeah, I know, it doesn’t actually make any sense, but it’s what came into my head when I saw this week’s Stream of Consciousness Saturday prompt of ‘rib’ – it seems the innner workings of my mind are even weirder than I thought… 🙂
Count your garden by the flowers
Never by the leaves that fall
Count your days by golden hours
Don't remember clouds at all
Count your nights by stars not shadows
Count your life with smiles not tears
And with joy through all your journeys
Count your age by friends not years ❤
I’ve been reading all sorts of different bits and pieces of random stuff at my parents’ house over the last few weeks. Apparently this little verse was remembered from an old calendar by one of the contributors to a little pamphlet titled ‘Evergreen Memories’ about elderly resident’s memories of living in the old fishing village of Ardersier on the North East coast of Scotland (where I brought my kids up). The sweet sentiment of the verse caught my attention and I copied it down to keep, so have decided to share it for Chris and Cee’s Pick Me Up for today 🙂
Dad has porridge for breakfast each day
Made with meal, the traditional way
Boil with water and salt
Stirring smoothly, don't halt
Till it thickens to soft glossy grey... 🙂
Dottled and Thrawn...
A million loving moments fill my head
Remembering my dad from childhood years,
But facing new realities instead
His failing fragile mind prompts blurring tears.
As vascular dementia takes its toll
Forgetful blank confusion plays cruel tricks,
Bewildered absence taunts his stubborn soul
And thrawn and dottled's not an easy mix!
Each tiny blockage works to undermine
The crumbling bedrock of his memory,
His world's diminished, harder to define
Frustrating future beckons senselessly...
And once the day has come when no "Dad"s left
We'll simply go on loving, quite bereft...
PS For the non-Scots speakers of you out there, “Dottled” means in a state of dotage and “Thrawn” means stubborn… 🙂
My stiff yoga moves fail to impress
And frustration leaves me in distress
Screaming hamstrings so tight
Stubborn hip-flexors fight
Till I blink back hot tears – what a mess… 😦
Soliloquy…
Within my screaming mind I hear such noise
Cacophonies reverberate immense
Tempestuous and lacking shape or poise
Staccato sounds unformed make no real sense
My mental maelstrom silences my voice
Prevents my thoughts form clearly in my head
Like tongue-tied mute I struggle, stripped of choice
My larynx flayed, I cry a storm instead…
But in a while my wild brain calms once more
Such quietude replaces strident shout
And settling, soft words soon come to the fore
Caress my tongue and dance so sweetly out
Soliloquies flow gently with such ease
Like ribbons streaming freely in the breeze…
