Photo Challenge #28 “Climbing the Walls”

climbing-the-walls

It’s the ringing

The constant ringing

They are at me

Day and night

I wanna, wanna, wanna

Can I, Can I, Can I

He hit me

She poked me

He looked at me

She kicked me.

Did I sign up for this?

Did I miss the fine print?

No matter where I go

What door I lock

They are there.

I’ve tried going out

Staying in

Headphones on

Music up loud

Ignoring them

But it’s impossible

They are as constant as the day is long.

Like minute assassins they smile;

I know what you are on about!

They said they’d grow up

When?

Every day is a hassle

If it’s not one then the other

Hanging on one arm

Haranguing my ear

Playing me against their father

The soft touch dad, giving in

Undermining me

As I pick up his refuse.

Mum, dad said we could go

After I had said no, you ask HIM?

My head is splitting

It throbs ringing with demands,

Emotional blackmail, packaged guilt

Sucks my life from me.

I reach for the bottle

My saving grace

Pissed and loving it I say.

Disgusting they chorus

Fine example of a mother.

Try standing in my shoes I say.

I climb the walls, scratching out my name

Remember me, I live here too.

Written for: http://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2014/09/30/photo-challenge-28-climbing-the-walls-2/

Posted in family, MLM, mothers, Poetry | Tagged , , , , , , , | 21 Comments

Wordle #28

week-28

This weeks words to play with are: Pivotal Mermaid Bedlam Blast Conveyor Chromium Plethora Cinnamon Vortex Kitchen Reception,Vaseline

Many people have thought that producing children at my place was a sort of conveyor belt of an activity, but let me assure you it was all hard work. Rumours that they just turned up every nine months or so are greatly exaggerated.

Having been raised Catholic we were bought up to believe that every sperm was sacred and should be afforded such status in our lives.

So children appeared until the point came where I decided enough was enough, I had made my point as to the virility of my sperm and it was time for me to do other things than increase the worlds population and continue the destruction of any dreams of having a bank account that was not an embarrassment.

The pivotal moment came with the news that my youngest son was on the way. You didn’t need to be Einstein to figure out how all this was happening so there was born the idea that the chop was my way out of the bedlam I was currently living in.

I couldn’t do anything about the past but I could influence the future. So I did despite the blast from my wife that I depriving her of her right to have babies, which at the time with a child on each hip and the older ones invading our hip pockets was a spurious argument.

Life in our kitchen could best be described as never a dull moment. Cooking for eight has its challenges, the plethora of foods and varieties was mind boggling on a daily basis.

My favourite meal, which fed a small battalion, was what I called ‘Stage Food’. A mince dish, in which a swag of cooked vegies swathed in some sort of sauce made from tomatoes and barbeque sauce and Worchester sauce and sometimes served with boiled potatoes or if I was feeling adventurous rice! It was also important to include cinnamon in every dish as I had been told it had great benefits for their health and the fact they grew up on every meal tasting like cinnamon never fazed them, or at least they knew no different. Though I have had to answer a lot of questions since they left home.

But as I point out to each question, they are very healthy people.

This dish always arrived on their plates with the same negative reception. Oh no not stage food again they would say not realising the high nutritional value contained in every spoonful they consumed, or rather as so often happened, choked down their throats.

The meal originated the night the kids were involved in their first dance concert. They were very excited about the concert, and why wouldn’t they be when their mermaid costumes were all stunning, made with love and care by their mother who would sit up each night sewing on the necessary sequins to each child’s costume.

The net effect of all this sewing and sequinning was it left her a nasty mess spiralling her into a vortex of incomprehensibility into which she would be found on the bathroom floor, smearing her face with Vaseline muttering 24 over and over.

Thankfully with a right and proper dose of selected electric shock treatment she would snap out of it. All memory of the mermaid costumes expunged from her memory and each child forbidden to ever mention such things ever again.

As I said at the start it was hard work having children, each learnt to take their turn, each grew to be a chemical engineer specialising in the uses of chromium, which I blame their mother for in some perverted and twisted way factitiously connected to the mermaid costumes of so long ago.

Written for: http://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2014/09/29/wordle-28/

Posted in family, MLM | Tagged , , , , , , | 16 Comments

Prompt #74 The Hollow Men T.S. Elliot

scarecrow-face

Image: Richard Keeling

The weeks prompt is based on our reading and interpretation of T.S. Eliot’s The Hollow Men.

It began as a joke

A few idle words

Spread across a page

Intended to excite

Irritate and incite.

Expressions of life

Trivialised behind a nursery rhyme

Repeated as any popular ditty might do

In questioning

Inquiring

Philosophising

The futility of

Inner and outer meanings.

Substance was the query

What is whole?

What is hollow?

We without tangibility

Destined to roam

Wander

Meander through

Waste lands

Left ragged

Desolate

Skeletal.

Instead we gleefully

Over turn reality

For fantasy

Dream

Speculation.

The true meaning

Clouded as it is

Left to each ones

Miserable determination.

Round and round it goes

Where it ends

No body knows.

So say a prayer

Offered on high

For in the end

Who knows

If it snows or blows?

As long as the bang

Is louder than the whimper.

Written for: http://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2014/09/28/prompt-74-the-hollow-men-t-s-elliot/

Posted in MLM, Poetry | Tagged , , , , , , | 16 Comments

D’verse Open Link – Alone Again, Naturally.

abstract-photography-08-575x575

A door opened

The small boy thought locked.

Through the gap he saw

Light and prospect.

Sitting in thought

He contemplated

A million questions:

Why now?

When?

How?

Should I?

Will it hurt?

Stepping forward

He knew was dangerous

He’d been warned

‘Know your place.’

Then the ‘what ifs’.

A word, an idea

Connection maybe

An offer even

Suggestions of

A new dawn

A new hope

A new beginning.

A new plan.

Am I,

Can I,

Be brave

He wondered

As he took up his pen.

In a far off country the small boy sat at his desk

Writing words to a far off small girl.

His words spoke of love

Of hope

Of life.

Her words spoke of loneliness

Abandonment

Futility.

What would happen thought the small boy

If I were to meet this small girl of the north?

What would happen thought the small girl

If I were to met this small boy of the south?

She’ll run thought the small boy

He’ll run thought the small girl

I’m unsightly and stayed in my ways thought the small boy

I’m unsightly and stayed in my ways thought the small girl.

Then fate in its wicked twisted way

Stepped in,

And grinning cruelly

Stuffed everything.

The boy put down his pen

Sighed deeply

As Gilbert O’Sullivan

Reminded him his place.

Written for: http://dversepoets.com/2014/09/27/open-link-night-september/

Posted in Poetry | Tagged , , , , , | 28 Comments

Fairytale Prompt #27 – The Blue Princess

This week we are asked to used the below quote to inspire our Fairy-tale

You’ll meet her, she’s very pretty, even though sometimes she’s sad for many days at a time. You’ll see, when she smiles, you’ll love her. ~Pan’s Labyrinth

The Jamieson Valley stretches out before me.

Sydney104

It’s been a few years but I’m glad to be back. I stand on the lookout gazing down into the sunken valley that stretches out before me, one of nature’s magnificent vistas.

I came here many years ago with my grandmother on a hiking trip. Gran loved to hike. She took me deep into the valley to show me as she put it the home of the Blue Princess. The entire area is known as the Blue Mountains and got its name she said from the misting tears of the Blue Princess.

We had been tramping through the bush for two days before Gran said she was happy to stop as the Princess was nearby.

‘You know that feeling of wonder you felt when you stood at the lookout gazing down on the valley? Well when you see the Blue Princess you’ll feel it a hundred fold.’

Gran had said these words to me as we set up camp that night on a small flat piece of ground beside the creek, which dribbled its way down through the gorge, we were in. Gran had been camping for years and was the one person I knew who prepared for everything, including finding our way out of the gorge. I was a little nervous as the week before there had been a report on the news of a hiker perishing in the valley, they still hadn’t found him or any trace of him.

That night she told me about the Blue Princess. A magical lady who lived in the gorges of the valley, whose tears gave the Mountains their blue hue, a woman who cared for and nurtured her environment and was known to evoke retribution on anyone who desecrated her land.

Gran had met her some years before, when on a trip into a valley she had not previously explored she had discovered the Princess sitting at her camp fire one morning after a long night in which the wind had blown and the rain poured down soaking everything Gran had carried in with her.

The Princess was particularly interested in this resilient woman who had made it through such a rough night and who had been so well prepared for everything nature had thrown at her.

Over the morning the Princess and Gran had become good friends and each had promised to look out for and protect the other.

Apart from me Gran had never revealed the whereabouts of the Blue Princess to any living soul. I remembered the visit we made, the glow of the light as the Princess stood before us, her immediate concern that Gran had brought in with her an outsider only to be placated by Gran when she told her I could be trusted and I would take over the secret of her location when Gran passed on.

Gran had died the year before and I was on a holiday determining to seek out the Princess and make her acquaintance and pledge my desire to uphold Grans promise all those years ago.

Of course finding the location was my first concern but I remembered Gran’s words that it was two days down into the valley and the hidden gorge could be found by following the tiny trickle of a stream.

As I had not been hiking for a number of years it was slower going than I remembered with Gran but I did eventually find the stream that disappeared behind the rocks beyond which was the gorge I now climbed into.

The flat spot Gran and I had camped on so many years before was still there, as if awaiting my return. I set up my camp and settled down for the night thinking that in the morning I would see if I could search out the Blue Princess.

As I lay there that night I thought back on those wonderful times I had spent with Gran. Her stories of the Blue Princess always filled me with wonder. As Gran had said to me on several occasions:You’ll meet her, she’s very pretty, even though sometimes she’s sad for many days at a time. You’ll see, when she smiles, you’ll love her”

I had no thoughts otherwise about her as I recalled her as a woman of astounding beauty, the blue aura that surrounded her accentuating her allure.

Near to dawn I was awoken by what I thought was the early morning sun. But the blue light that surrounded my tent was not the dawn.

I poked my head out of the tent flap and there at my smouldering campfire sat the Blue Princess.

She had not aged; her beauty was to my maturing self more breathtaking than any memory I had of her as a child. Her eyes pierced mine, she looked at me, then she hovered above me, her aura spreading round me, engulfing me as she took in all I was.

‘ Man, what are you doing here?’ she asked, voice flowed into me as softly as the stream behind me trickled its way to the sea so many miles away.

‘ I’m Tommy, my Gran bought me here many years ago, she asked me to come back and tell you I had taken over your secret as Gran died last year.’

She looked at me her head tilted slightly as she seemed to be considering taking me at my word or casting me into some sort of oblivion. Then in a voice that evoked sadness, and through eyes that at once misted the bluest of tears she said: ‘I miss the hiking lady. She and I shared much magic. You are welcome to visit my land, but you must keep the Blue Princess’ secret, it would not be good for too many to know of me.’

‘I promised my Gran on her death bed that I would, you have my word.’

With that she held out her blue radiating hand and touched mine. At that moment I understood what Gran had meant by those words: You’ll meet her, she’s very pretty……You’ll see, when she smiles, you’ll love her.

794261-bigthumbnail

Written for: http://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2014/09/26/fairytale-prompt-27/

Posted in Faery Tale, MLM | Tagged , , , , , , , , | 10 Comments

d’Verse – Meeting The Bar – The Quarrel Form

920351-my-vision-of-a-abstract-nightmare-with-a-set-of-merged-faces-that-could-be-in-great-pain-or-could-be

Lies

Grow bigger

Truth begins blurring

Words said the great divide

Circles of hate thrown randomly

The world fractures

Where to now

Tears flow

End

Love

In innocence

Blossomed once

Messages back and forth

Deep meaningful affirmations

Hanging on every word

Smiles and tingles

Your love

Mends

Nothing

React pretend

My blows predicted

Cowering in a distant corner

What’s raining today isn’t wet

Get up be some sort of a man

Love pats is all

Say nothing

Fend.

Life

I awake

You were everything

Apple of my blue eyes

I called you my precious one

To your retreating back

My heart broken

Forever

Send

Written for: http://dversepoets.com/2014/09/25/9490/

Posted in Poetry | Tagged , , , , | 21 Comments

Tale Weaver’s Prompt #27 – Feel the Love – Toby and Suma

73172846-lovers-bed

Toby had been aware of Suma for some time. They were fellow commuters on the 7.15. He had seen her the first day he caught the train and had been fascinated by the small woman and her impish good looks.

As time went by they became nodding acquaintances.

After several months they began chatting.

Toby was in no way naïve enough to think of Suma being interested in him; he was essentially a shy man and was in no way presumptuous about his looks.

Over the weeks they chatted and often to fill the boredom of the journey to work. They worked in a similar location and would alight at the same stop.

One day Toby made a light comment about it being Friday and they could have a drink after work before their trip home.

Suma said yes and so what followed was Toby worrying all day about this date that he thought she’d never go for. During his lunch break he went out and purchased some new deodorant and after-shave and a new shirt.

They met in the bar near their respective work places, which was a buzz with fellow Friday afternoon workers looking forward to their weekends. They found a seat near the back corner and it went from there.

Hours later they were still locked in conversation, so much so that all thought of getting home and eating had been forgotten.

The flickering lights of the bar signalled closing time and they both looked at each other wondering where the evening had gone.

They discovered that they lived relatively close to each other and decided since it was late they would take a taxi home and split the cost.

In the back seat of the taxi Suma took Toby’s hand and thanked him for the wonder evening she had spent with him. She invited him to her place for a drink before the night ended.

Suma lived in a small one-bedroom place and she and Toby continued to chat until Toby realising it was late suggested he should be off home.

He walked to the door, in a way elated at the way the evening had gone and in another way sorry it had to end.

As he stood at the door Suma took his head in her hands and kissed him.

Toby melted into her.

In the following weeks they saw each other a lot, he stayed at her place and she at his. Their relationship blossomed, the connection they shared was special beyond words and Toby would pinch himself every so often to remind himself Suma was all-real.

They shared each other’s life stories. They had both had their share of sadness and grief. Suma revealed her years of abuse, Toby his years of suffering at the hands of an overpowering, uncaring woman who took everything when she eventually left him.

Suma loved Toby because as she’d said to him on several occasions Toby took her for who she was, a damaged woman, a woman on guard against all men. He respected her and had been honest with her in all their discussions. He saw no point in being anyone other than who he was.

Their’s was a union that was loving and caring, they looked out for each other, their sex was giving and fulfilling, they both loved the thought of waking up each morning in each other’s arms. They both agreed the feeling they had when together was an awakening of their spiritual and physical selves.

Suma worked for a large accounting firm and announced that she would be away for some time as they were sending her inter state on a special mission. But she promised to be back before Christmas.

Toby missed her greatly. As Christmas approached he thought he may have heard from her but there was no word, no message, no communication of any sort.

It was Christmas Eve and he had decorated his living room tastefully he thought in expectation of Suma arriving before Christmas.

By 11PM he had begun to think she wasn’t coming and was preparing to lock up the house before going to his bed.

There was a noise at the front door and looking towards it he saw a white envelope slip under it.

Inside he found a card:

MERRY CHRISTMAS TOBY

May I come in?

Suma

Opening the door he found her, wrapped only in Christmas tinsel. As she came through the door she kissed him lightly on the lips before heading towards his bedroom.

Toby couldn’t help but smile as he saw her bare bottom disappearing into his bedroom.

Written for: http://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2014/09/25/tale-weavers-prompt-27-feel-the-love/

Posted in hope, MLM | Tagged , , , , , , | 11 Comments

Poetics: Passion of Brooke Shaden

13802449363_90faf3809f_z

Image by Brooke Shaden: ‘we are infinite.’

Echoes of 70’s music

Carly Simon and others

Good times

Long gone

Distant fading memory.

More recently

Doors slamming

Questions asked

Was I crazy?

You lunatic.

Promises of love

Committed to the now

What If I die tomorrow?

What if my infinite has a used by date

That’s years after my best by.

I stare into the future

Its there, waiting,

Beyond today is mysterious

Living in hope

Is it enough?

‘Will you still love me tomorrow?’

Plays in my head.

Closing my eyes I see you

The sassy playful girl

Lighting up my dreams.

Written for: http://dversepoets.com/2014/09/23/poetics-passion-of-brooke-shaden/

Posted in Uncategorized | Tagged , , , , | 34 Comments

Photo Challenge #27 “Milking the Moon” – Moon Milk Elixir

moon-milk-27

Image: Christian Schloe

My Uncle Albert made a fortune from milking the moon. All for his own benefit I must add.

As each full moon would approach Albert would call a town meeting and pontificate about the evils that could beset any random man or woman from exposure to the full moon.

He would cite examples of previous citizens who had gone mad from the influence of the full moon, perfectly sane and upstanding towns folk had gone from normal and responsible to drooling idiots forgetting their families and roaming the streets under the full moon uttering incantations and often found lying in pools of their own secretions.

In order to alleviate the concerns of the people Albert sold them his moon milk elixir with promises that a good half-cup the night before the full moon appeared would protect them from an evils that might come their way.

It is fair to say that Uncle Albert had his detractors, the people who saw him as a charlatan, a quack and made their presence felt whenever they saw Albert’s signs appear announcing his next meeting date.

But being the showman he was he had a way of countering all sceptics and winning over the vast majority of his audience.

He had a mate, Shakey Weston, whom when the going got tough, he would wheel out onto his stage as an example of a poor soul afflicted by the ravages of the full moon.

Shakey by modern standards had Parkinson’s disease but in Uncle Alberts day such things were unknown, at least in his part of the world. Shakey of course was in on the scam and bunged it on good and proper.

He’d stagger onto the stage and drool and carry on while Uncle Albert would announce that Shakey had not eaten nor drunk all day and when he was given a sandwich and a drink there followed a pantomime to beat all pantomimes.

Shakey would accentuate his condition to the point of having sandwich and drink all over the stage and not a crumb nor drop in his mouth. The poor fellow would stand there looking decidedly forlorn as around him lay his food and drink, his arms and legs shaking uncontrollably.

As if that didn’t convince you he would then tell his story in a stammering voice, the audience drawn to the sight of a man so severely afflicted by the moon that his tale was told slowly and painfully. The audience would hang on his every word as he told them of the Easter full moon some five years previously where when walking home from the public house he happened to glance up at it and suffered a life changing shock. So overcome was he that he was stuck rigid for some ten minutes until Uncle Albert happened to come by and shook him back into reality, but the damage had been done and he went from being the most steady man in town to the shakiest one overnight.

Once Shakey was finished Uncle Albert would regale the audience with promises of no such affliction would beset anyone who drank his moon milk elixir.

The result was the stuff sold like hot cakes. Some bought several bottles and Uncle Albert and Shakey would later retire to their humble dwelling, count the spoils of their night and have quiet ale or two together.

I met Uncle Albert in my youth and he was by then an old man. His days of selling his moon milk were long past, but the legend had lived on within the family.

On my second visit I worked up the courage to ask him how he made his moon milk. He was surprised I knew about it but not surprised the stories had been passed on to me from my father.

He didn’t say much that day, but I saw a gleam in his eye as he remembered back to those times.

He smiled at me and said. ‘It was ginger beer.’

 

Written for: http://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2014/09/23/photo-challenge-27-milking-the-moon/

Posted in charlatan, family, MLM | Tagged , , , , , | 26 Comments

Wordle #27 – Spider V Digger

week-272

Today’s words to play with:

Sanction Cripple Retinue Spider Locker Savagery Hubris Condensation Bronze Upholstery Argyle Platform

‘Spider’ Matthews was on the run again. All authorities had been alerted to his escape earlier that day.

News spread quickly that he was on the loose. Everyone knew he was socially and morally crippled. Mothers locked up their houses, fathers locked up their daughters and sons, the retinue of government officials who gathered to consider the crisis locked themselves in the parliament chambers.

Spider struck fear into every corner of society. It was little wonder that most workers that day made sure they were home before sunset as they wanted to eliminate the possibility of coming under Spiders notorious code of sanctions which he wielded with impunity whenever he was on the run. In Spiders world there was a simple way of looking at things. ‘You were with him or against him’.

Of course this meant that most people were against him and he knew that as he justified meeting out the vengeance he saw as befitting his social standing.

The savagery of his form of ‘justice’ was a way of terrorising the neighbourhoods in which he operated. Fingers, toes, ears, the occasional eye were all fair game for Spider who saw each encounter as a way of establishing his control over the people he knew most feared him.

He had a very well known and respected opinion of himself including his knowledge of new and exciting words designed to confuse and impress all those on whom he used them. Recently in the daily paper he had been quoted as saying ‘ My own hubris leaves me with a sense of righteousness second to none.’

That statement alone sent chills throughout society, how could a cold-blooded killer like Spider believe such a thing as that about himself. The man was insane many began to say, a lunatic, moral degenerate and plain and simple mean as bat shit.

He had escaped from the prison by stowing himself into a music locker which was marked for the dump. He stayed in the locker as long as he could until the condensation from his own heavy breathing made living and breathing very precarious.

Once free he made his way to Digger Campbell’s place in the High Street. Digger had one flaw in his character and Spider was on to correct him for it. Spider hated argyle sweaters and Digger loved them. He had in fact many in a variety of colours and wore them every day.

Digger like Spider was a tough man and many feared the day would come where the two of them would face off over the sweater issue. Spider had made no bones about his dislike of Digger’s argyle sweaters calling into question Digger’s manhood.

Digger responded by calling Spider all guts and no class and had his photograph taken in his most prized sweater the bronze argyle.

Spider had seen the bronze argyle and was so mad he vowed there and then to get up on his soapbox and announce his intention for the much-awaited showdown.

A platform was set up for the two men to match off on. Each side turned up with their own retinue of supporters, Spider’s with banners and slogans calling for death to all argyle wearers and Digger’s supporters in assorted argyle sweaters. If nothing else it was a colourful sight.

A hush developed as the big event drew closer. Around the nation people in their homes were glued to the television sets, their fingers digging in to the upholstery of their respective lounge chairs.

You could have heard a pin drop, the silence was deafening, the expectation chilling, the combatants nose to nose.

Suddenly there was a disruptive noise as Spider and Digger’s mums stepped onto the platform. Each brandished an umbrella and began laying into their respective sons with it. The crowd erupted. Spider and Digger cowered before their umbrella-wielding mums.

In the weeks that followed there was much said about the great argyle faceoff. Spider was sent back to gaol. His retinue disbanded, until he escaped again at least and Digger received a new argyle sweater from his mum, in gold, silver and bronze.

At the bingo the respective mums congratulated themselves on raising such fine young men, yes they agreed their sons may well be socially inept, capable of the most savage of acts, have far more hubris than was good for them, love the thought that on any platform people cheered for them. Despite all they saw as crippling their sons growth they both agreed they were basically good boys in need of a little guidance and they were only too willing to sanction it.

Written for: http://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2014/09/22/wordle-27/

Posted in MLM | Tagged , , , , , | 4 Comments