Monthly Archives: October 2016

and we danced


like a giant
you filled my vision
eclipsing the milling mass
blue eyes bigging me to your size
arms unable to wait
and we danced
two giants
so intent on  passion
we didn’t see blurred mortals fall
or feel their bones smash
beneath our feet

The Daily Post #Giant

©Jane Paterson Basil

Open Letter to the Addict Haters

I could have reblogged this on my addiction site, but it would only have been read by those who already know the truth of JoAnn’s words, so I’ve chosen to post it onto this site.
JoAnn is a brave recovering addict, who puts a lot of energy and love into supporting those affected by addiction, and educating people on the subject. Without knowledge and empathy, we cannot fight this monster which is eating up our children.

Holy Addiction

Dear Addict Haters:

Hello, you don’t know me but I am an addict.  I am one of the “junkies” you love to bash whenever someone mentions addiction on Social Media or hear it in conversation.  I know it’s hard to forgive the things we sometimes do because of our addiction but I have a question for you.


Obviously, I won’t get an answer to this question but think about it.  The thing that you hate that you did.  You know, that one thing that not too many people even know about. Well, what if everyone knew about it.  What if for the rest of your life you were labeled by that one act that you would erase in a second if you had the chance?

That is what being an addict is like, kind of.  Now I don’t feel like…

View original post 592 more words




frozen between
two small tasks

unable to decide which to prioritize
weighing each, .judging them equal

then, for an instant, .figuring this one is more pressing
before changing my mind, thinking the other more fun

arranging, .switching, .rearranging
struggling .to come .to. a..decision

until finally
I do neither




The Daily Post #Rearrange

©Jane Paterson Basil

The lonely man


Having made the decision to dismiss all things related to jiggling passion and doe-eyed romance, she hypnotised her libido into an indifferent torpor.

Months stretched peacefully into years, before a lonely man with physical allure, but dull conversation, approached with an inviting smile, injecting a rippling frisson beneath dry skin;
a tiny itch like the tail of a sting.

The eyes of the lonely man dove deep into the core of her, and with a finger, tickled unwilling, damp fantasies.

His hand(as if by accident), brushed lightly against her thigh, pressing lascivious ideas into wakening flesh.

As weeks went by, each accidental meeting added heat to her unwanted, wanton desire for the relief which he was longing to give.

And he, hungry for love, pitching for her heart, her soul, continued in the only way he knew,
until she, weakened by the ache, gave him the treat of no more than her body.

It would not be true to say she had no heart, for in the moist heat before he undid her buttons and zips, her heart froze at the knowledge that the lonely man with physical allure but no conversation, was undone.

Later, in her melting tower she turned the lock, took a shower, cleansed herself in steam, all the while humming the closing strains of a bawdy song, her demeanor briefly shaken by his desolate scream.

Wrapped in fresh linen, her renewed flesh forever banned from thinking of him, she slept.

The Daily Post #Banned

©Jane Paterson Basil

You ask

You ask how much I need you, but I explained;
I wish you had more sense in your tiny bird brain.
You ask how much I love you; I told you before,
You irritate my senses, you foolish old bore.

Hold the train, I won’t be a mo.
Hold the train, can’t you see I want to go.

You ask that same old question, did you mis-hear;
I’d love you to syringe all the wax from your ear.
You ask how much I need you, I’ll tell you true,
Until the twelfth of never I’ll not be wanting you.

Hold the train, I will not be long.
Here’s the train, release my arm and I’ll be gone.

You ask that same old question, did you mis-hear;
I’d love you to syringe all the wax from your ear.
You ask how much I need you, I’ll tell you true,
Until the twelfth of never I’ll not be wanting you.

I offer my almost sincere apologies to Jerry Livingston and Paul Francis Webster, who wrote The Twelfth of Never.

Unfortunately, the following video only shows Johnny Mathis singing the original version, as I haven’t yet persuaded him to record my lyrics. However, it’s really rather good, and I hope you’ll enjoy it.

The Daily Post #Tiny

©Jane Paterson Basil

Bending my ear


What is wrong with you?
Curtain twitching before dawn;
peeking at sleepy stopouts,
tutting like it’s not decent,
were you never guilty of being young?

What is wrong with you?
Whining at the slightest ceiling creak –
if you weren’t pacing the boards,
and in turn, irritating the stalking grump beneath,
you would sleep through the tinkle of wizened bladders
being emptied with relief.

I despise your malicious cobble of gossip and lies;
Tell me no more of ‘er and that man cohabiting,
‘e with his filthy fingernails and smelly ‘air,
‘omeless people sleeping in corridors –
if you can’t say who saw them,
why insist the rumours are true?

Your vintage tales of stolen roses;
of immoral acts detected in a neighbour’s busy bed;
of sex uncovered in a public passage,
are blotted with the fingerprints of the dead
and coated with ancient dust, and yet
your words hint at today’s press.

Your fiction that this itchy place is a den of iniquity,
and the understanding that you consider it a disgrace
must be forever maintained.

How does your trick of buying stolen meat
fit in with the image you wish to portray?
Or is it your design to be judged a hypocrite?

You could fill your silly days with useful deeds,
instead of being a nuisance.

Stop complaining about  your smoke-tarred lungs, your diabetes,
do what you will with your aching bunions, sore back,  creaky knee,
but drop your bad attitude, and look for a solution.

Help reduce the plastic garbage that heaps;
feed the heartbreaking hunger that creeps;
staunch the thickening blood that seeps,
leaking crimson stains to rust our limping planet.

There are millions more needy than you,
and they could use your assistance.
Find an Oxfam shop and volunteer.

I apologise – that’s a crap idea.
I’d rather you go to the Hospice or an animal charity;
I work for Oxfam and I’m sick of you bending my ear

The Daily Post #Volunteer

©Jane Paterson Basil