I Can do it if I Feel Like it

It was from another place.   It was quick, about five minutes if that.   Some might say its no good, but they would say that if I found an unpublished sonnet by Shakespeare and called it mine.

It reads young and I think that has become part of me, once it was an experiment trying new words see how they felt.  Now I notice I do it all the time on this blog and elsewhere.  I think perhaps its a form of defense keeping everyone from the real me.

It was an exercise I wanted to see if I could do it and sure it lacks the hearts and flowers of some but it doesn't need to be good it was an attempt to find out if, after reading so many written by others, I could even get close.

I think I got close enough.

Clearing Space

I've been not exactly busy, preoccupied is the right word I think.   I'm sorting through old clothes, I have wardrobes full of  clothes so its a pity I hardly ever change from my routine selection.  Or that's what I decided, time to make some changes I thought,  time to have a clear out thought I.

Time to be ruthless and get rid of some stuff.  I mean there are naked people in a desert somewhere dangerously exposed to the elements and obviously desperate for one of my old dresses.

The thing is I can talk about it, I can write about it and I can even say it out loud, but I can't do it.  Not without standing for an hour, or so it feels, clutching a not very important skirt as though it held deep emotional and psychological significance just for me.

I'm a hoarder the fact that no item of clothing I have is more or less important than anyone elses  is neither here nor there I'm certain deep in my bones that if I throw anything out I will as soon as its hanging in Oxfam have a desperate need for it.

Let me tell you about the blouse I've had since the seventies, very fine cotton, floral with bell sleeves, and those long collars you don't see anymore, its bound to be needed one day probably the same day it will fit me again.

I went to the trouble of moving the buttons on the sleeves so the cuffs were properly tight so I did.  Fuckit I'm not giving it away its obviously far too important, and only think whoever I gave it to might wear it once and throw it away.  The very idea!

Its not as if I'm not generous I give money easily, I've given a lot of my jewelry, well I had to even I couldn't ram that many rings onto my fingers as for ear rings and necklaces I don't wish to be reminded.  I miss each and every one and happy I am to know they've all gone to good homes.

So I'm doing it.  I am!  Slowly methodically and to say the least reluctantly.  I might if I work hard and maintain resolution fill a whole bag of clothes by sometime next week or maybe next year.

Found Elsewhere

Some rhymes 

Tell the truth and shame the devil,

that’s what she was taught,

little did she know or even give a thought

to the many shapes and sizes

the devil adopts as his disguises…

-----

So they were furious and two stopped by to stare

To make sure that nothing that shouldn't be was on display there

Don’t lie to her you live in fear its why she’s tolerated

She knows enough to shut you down and for that she’s hated

The answer is fuck them, fuck you and to herself be true

-----

D’ye know he must be pushing sixty and very likely more, 
and the silly old scrote was talking  as if he was seriously up for the score

Eh, the wild oats were sown decades ago all he has left is the husk, 
a cruel reminder to the vainest of fools that this one once had a tusk.

The tusk is gone, the hair is too and he hides it as best he can 
and prays no one sees him without the cap and remembers he once was a man.

-----

So you're pissed off with her
So what?
Is she supposed to care
That all you've got 
Is a twisted mind
With no one living there

-----

I wanna live in your arms, wake up to your smile.  

I wanna know that when I get home you’ll be there.

I wanna lay the rug in the garden and lie on it with you 
and watch the stars as we make lazy love all night.

I wanna watch the sky lighten and lick the dew off your shoulders
Moving down as the sun rises and the spirit moves me.
I wanna be able to write like Shakespeare 
so you can know the sonnet that is this love

-----

Witchy, witchy burning bright
In the darkness of the night
The flames do roar
The wind does howl
The cat stares up
at the witch who prowls.

-----

Sweep, sweep beat it clean

Make sure the world knows where its been

Sweep away the arrogance and the pride

Leave them with nothing and nowhere to hide

-----

Oh, my dear anonymous but you have serious form. 
I was not the first nor the last to feel your twisted scorn. 
Oh my dear anonymous, I have copies of them all
and keep them safe should  I ever need to recall. 
The daring do of  gangs swaggering to their fall.

Impregnable?

 Lednica Castle, Slovakia , EU

Love this, its so what a mountain should be and there nestling as if of the very root of rock is a castle. Ancient and slowly day by day dying.   As are we all.  Don't preserve us we're all as common as muck but try if you can to save the likes of this hewn from rock and man.

The castle is tough built in the thirteenth century right into the mountain, and all but destroyed in the seventeenth by, of course, us.  What remains has weathered the years and is now one of the most inaccessible castles in Slovakia and probably the world.   To get to inside the remaining walls you have to climb some eighty steps inside, I think, the mountain!

Well worth a visit and if you're lucky you might see the ghost of the lady who its said did believe there is a fate worse than death.  At night she haunts the castle where she preferred to die rather than be ravished.

I found this picture, or rather it came to me on Tumblr!  Via photo via by Jozef Sadecky

Trolls?

Its been suggested from somewhere on high that all commenters on blogs should use their real names and proof of real identity should be provided by giving credit card details to the blog or site.  The reason is said to be the proliferation of abusive and threatening trolls.

All or most blogs insist that commenters give their email address that means they can be tracked down and banned or blocked at the whim of the blog owner and that means any and all trolls can be banned and abusive and threatening behaviour can be reported to the police.

I have very good reason for using a pseudonym and I have been called a troll. I'm not.  The object of my attention is very specific I rarely bother to comment elsewhere and would prefer not to bother anywhere except perhaps to admire the occasional picture on sites like Tumblr.

It occurs to me that others might feel the same way I do and possibly for much the same reasons.  It seems to me that its time to show the insidious and extremely unhealthy way in which some blogs and other websites sometimes work together and the damage they can do both to the proliferation of trolls, many bloggers troll their own sites, and the harm they can inflict on ordinary commenters.

Bloggers often seem to feel invincible and ungovernable, they're neither I think its time they were shown that.

At it Again!

I was going to write about my big beautiful Trixie but yet again life and Pippa get in the way.

Pippa is a stop out slut, for her the cat door is left open til the small hours because heavens forbid she should be stuck outside all night.   She is a biter and a scratcher.  She hates closed doors and considers anything she wants is hers by right of length of claws and sharpness of teeth.

Pippa is not unaffectionate, she is the sweetest cat, who seems sometimes to think she's a dog.  She is talkative, friendly or more likely indifferent to the other cats and dogs, except Olly, she loves Olly.  He is her favourite she drapes herself around him like an extra layer of clothing.

I digress.   Pippa is also very generous she it is who brings me gifts of mice and this she has done, again. Last night a beautiful clear and very wet night she came home, put her little gift for me down and immediately started to cry in the very different and special way that is real cat conversation, not a meiow at all more feeling and more understandable, because the mouse had legged it under the radiator...There is a mouse in the house, again.

Olly is on the case  he has not stopped crying since the wretched mouse escaped from Pippa.  I can't find it I'm going to have to get the trap out, again.  I may have to resort to poison.   I cannot abide mice in the house.   

Almost

Just don’t take too long you anorexic rodent…I've seen more meat on a butchers apron

Paid it!

So I paid the damn thing and why wouldn't I I hung on for as long as I dared, but we all have to there's no doubt at all that if we don't the revenoo will make us do it the hard way.  I can't just can't face the fuss, not to mention the increased charges, of going to court.  It had to be done and done it has been.

I whined a bit, not as much as I could, its what I do best, but I kept temper in a firm grip and just got on with it.  E245.00 it cost me and the gods only know how much in telephone charges because though I tried to do it online you can only pay for the property tax that way to pay the household charge you have to phone the revenoo and wait, and wait, and.....However job done until next year and we're already more than half way toward it, when it will all start again only more expensive.

On the whole I have to say it was quite a good humoured little occasion its a classic don't blame the messenger thing.  It was unfair to blame the person at the other end of the phone, she was very nice, or seemed to be and I don't for one second grudge her her generous salary or her bullet and bomb proof pension....I paid the thing.  Its done.

Love and Murder in the Night

Playing with the idea of a love poem I slunk away to write

Had to settle for murder and wondered if that was the night

Of wind and whispers a scare when the dog barked thrice

Playing with the idea of a love poem settling for murder in the night

The Path Less Travelled

He could see them through the canopy of leaves, the circling, watchful, waiting of them.  He looked at the leaves and grasses not bad but not good enough.  He needed more, he needed to be able to both cover and distract and what he had would be no good for either.

He moved, if he was very careful he could move an inch or so, he could definitely move both arms and if he was careful one leg could move a bit, look on the bright side he told himself, if he could stand he could find a stick and hobble to the end of the road.  He had time yet, but not much, he felt drowsy and knew that sleep would be his biggest and probably his last mistake.

Why had he chosen this route?  He couldn't now work it out, had it been prettier, easier?  Had it looked for one brief second shorter?   No, he'd decided to walk the path on a whim he'd wanted to be alone, now he was, he hadn't wanted to meet any nosy, noisy neighbours, now he knew he almost certainly wouldn't.

She wouldn't come looking for him.  The thought bothered him, she'd lay there, waiting for him, or someone, but she wouldn't worry, there was always someone else in her realm.   He thought of the curtains drawn against the day, how odd would that look?   The music blaring loud, would anyone complain?  He doubted it, why should they they never had before.

He  thought of her body warm and wet of the times she had waited just so for him.  He thought of her spread across the bed in erotic disarray.   He wondered how long before her next guest and would they notice the change, bright, darkening colour.  He found he could think about that with a kind of detachment.  It was her fault after all.  He had only done what any man would do and now he had his own problems and they were getting closer.

Which would come first the vultures or the night and would it make much difference.....  

Friends

A friend is still here but she’s older

What she didn't know then you taught her

And she still cares wants you to be well

So she can be first to greet you when you get to hell…

Monday Wash day Blues

That's the laundry fucked.  I was going to do it today I usually do the washing on Monday but its not going to happen today.  Well when I say I do the washing I do put it in the machine and occasionally I might if I'm in the kitchen glance at it to see how its getting on.

Its not getting on at all today because the sky is a dark cloud, the weather woman, I don't like her; bag of bones, on RTE says its going to rain and outside confirms it.  So not washing today.  I have noticed that here in Ireland some people have no problem putting their washing out and leaving it there in the rain.  I don't like that I can't see the point.

In other riveting news there is a slight problem with Trixie.  I've not written much about her before I will put that right sometime soon but not right now.  This occurrence concerns both Pippa and Trixie.   The animals know they are not allowed on the leather because even if I were to throw covers on the chairs the claws would sink through the covers and onto the leather and this I will not have.

Erm, when I say will not I perhaps actually should say would not, times change and Trixie inveigled her way onto the sofa beside me.  The leather sofa is a two seater, I gave the three seater away because the rooms here are not really big enough for so many sofas, and anyway the animals have their own sofa in what was once the dining room.

Aanyway, Trixie likes to sit or lie beside me on the two seater leather sofa and in an act of kindness, I always regret those, I allowed it.  Now Pippa has discovered the joys of lying or sitting beside me on the two seater leather sofa and there are signs of territorial war breaking out on my sofa.   I know I'm going to have to throw them both off but its going to be hard, they're not going to like or understand why something they could do yesterday is not allowed today. 

Autumn She Does

Come let me tell ye said the wise old owl.   See the leaves how they shudder and frown?

Autumn is coming its glories will shine but each of the leaves know its almost their time.

The wind she do blow and the rain it do batter Autumns her name and the earth she do shatter

The Autumn its golden the time it is ripe and what you've not eaten you store for long winter nights.

There's pain and there's loss at this time of the year and for some there is anger and terrible fear

Autumn she takes and glistens in gold and the red is the blood of the leaves growing old.

There's a sadness to Autumn as she lets us all know,  its time for the harvest and then time to go.

The Poet

It seems to me there is an assumption that a poet always tells the truth.  As if the poet when he puts pen to paper puts aside all deceit and dissimulation.

How can that be?  If most poems are not written in an hour or three, they are written over days and weeks, a word here a line there.  Not to tell the truth but to make it rhyme to make it somehow better.

The truth is not better.  Truth knows neither rhyme or reason it simply is, and that too is something poets reach for but as they toy with this and play with that and fiddle with the ubiquitous comma, it seems to me that truth is the last thing they think of and often the first thing they cast aside.

Poetry is not about truth, or hardly ever, its about pretty lies, and honeyed stanzas.  Its about the vision of the writer and since when has that been or needed to be truthful.

Poetry it seems to me is about the vanity of the writer who but the vain would spend days agonising over the right word or phrase to say what the rest of us would use and discard in a second?

Ah but I do love poetry, not poets you understand, poetry,  for who could love someone who pours his energy, his emotions his very life into the words, and watches helpless as they end up wrapped in someones fish and chips.

And perhaps, just maybe you've gotta love a poet, just a little, for the poetry, the whimsy, the courage and the dare to be himself.

If Yesterday were Tomorrow

But sometimes the beauty in the words
However fraudulent the intent
Move her to admire and respect
The words send her back
To days gone by
In fleeting wordless carnage
If only yesterday were tomorrow

The words call to her
She would be different
Herself again
She hardens her heart
Denies a response
Those days are scars gone by
If only yesterday were tomorrow

===

Off the Top of my Head - but I'm no Poet..

A witch need follow no rede or decree she's unconcerned by what others believe.

She does as she pleases into the night demanding that evil and wrong be put right

She's nobodies toy and she's nobodies fool her fingers a curse and her eyes a blue tool

Fuckawayoff with ye're suspicion and stress a witch has no need of the right day to hex

She does as she pleases and if she says its right then the best foe can hope for is one harmless fright.

Quick Trip

To town to check out the festival, all the roads leading directly to the centre were blocked off, there were stalls, dancers and musicians.  It looked like fun but I didn't have time to explore much this year.  I stole a wee look at the dancers one of my neighbours was involved and I at least had to be able to say I'd seen them.

I do like the feel of these little festivals it kind of confirms the localness of everything,d'ye see I had to go to see a neighbour and that's probably the same for many of the attendees.  Isn't that wonderful.

If I missed anything at all it was the lack of a hot dog stall if there was one I didn't see it and I thought they were obligatory and I like hot dogs, with onions and sauce.

Better anyway than having to endure the cowards attempts to show me what a poor poet I am...

Waning Gibbous

Here is another one I had to bring I know everyone says I can't write poetry and I've no doubt they're right, but poetry isn't about good or bad or I don't think it is, but then I can't write poetry. 

A beautiful sight on a clear, cold night but not one to trust burn she never so bright.
Waning is banishing, run! Go away. Send in disgrace and in hurt disarray. 

But gibbous is other its more and its less.  Its shine is temptation its shape a temptress.
The gibbous moon says try if you dare, be foolish, be young and I’ll meet you there.

Reincarnation ?

    thecatdogblog

 thecatdogblog

I had to bring him here, it wasn't a choice.  I stared and stared and I knew I just had to bring him here.

They say his name is Wicket.   Really?  I would like to know his exact date and time of birth.  

I'm not going to say he's my Bertie reincarnated that would be silly!  But here he stays and I will keep a close watch for more pictures.

D'ye see how those eyes would look on a pitch black night?