Monthly Archives: January 2017

Still silent

 

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Sly
sunshine
serenades
Sally, staring,
~ sitting still, silent ~
seeming shyly serene.
Silken skin sweetly shimmers,
sheen suggesting summertime sweat.
Slowly she slides ~ so slowly ~ slipping
~ speeding ~ sinking southwards ~ slumping, senseless~
seated still. Someone sees; screams seer sky.
Small scarlet splashes seep, swelling,
staining Sally’s shorts, shirt, skin,
swamping sweat, soaking seat.
Somewhere, sirens sound ~
speeding, shrieking.
Still, silent,
Sally
stares

<<>>

A double etheree this time (100% alliterated) – still playing wordgames…

©Jane Paterson Basil

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Greedy George

greedy

Gross!
Greedy
George gorges;
gulps gazpacho,
guzzles gingersnaps;
gives gargantuan groan…
gusts gigantic, gruesome gas…
gesticulates… grabs gut… goes green.
George gone! Graceless guests gawk, gasp, goggle,
Ghastly girlfriend gapes, gets giggles. Ghoulish.

~O~

I wrote this poem last night, for a contest which required  an etheree poem containing as much alliteration as possible. An etheree consists of 10 lines of 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10 syllables.

To make sure I wasn’t outdone on the alliteration count, every word begins with G. I was quite pleased with the result.

When I tried to enter the contest, I was automatically  disqualified. The contest organiser had decreed that nobody who’d won a contest on that platform in the past 90 days was eligible. I think I’ve come 1st, 2nd or 3rd on that platform eight or nine times.

I thought I’d post it here instead. 

©Jane Paterson Basil

Odd thoughts

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Sometimes, even twenty years on, I feel like crying when I think of the father of my eldest Grandson, lying dead in his bed.

Maybe I have PTSD – very dis-ease must have a name tagged to it, validifying it, making it a bona fide mental disease, which – since they came into fashion – deletes the shame.

I have a list of such fun conditions, but they didn’t think to offer me PTSD (Post Traumatic Stress Disorder).

Maybe I’ll apply to my psychiatrist to have those initials added. The great thing about having all those letters assigned to your case, is that you don’t have to pay to put them after your name.

You can’t say I’m a pathetic worry-guts – I have GAD (Generalised Anxiety Disorder).

You can’t say I’m crazy – I have ISIP (Intermittent Stress-Induced Psychosis).

You can’t say I’m cold towards my son – I have BO (Bullying Overload). OK, so I made that one up…

This post gives the impression that I’m feeling low – I’m not. I’m having a great day, while I wait for the phone to ring, and this time, it won’t be bad news.

Time to sign off…

Jane Basil G.A.D. I.S.I.P. B.O.

PS I left out the RDD (Recurrent Depressive Disorder), as there’s nothing humorous about those initials. I wish it was ODD (Ordinary Depressive Disorder), so I could have put “Gad, I sip odd BO” after my name, but it’s not a recognised condition…

©Jane Paterson Basil

Laura’s birthday

rose-670447__480I’ve had a fortnight of reading, copying, pasting, editing, and formating the best 150 poems I have written over the past two years; a manic race to complete an album of my verse, to give as a gift on my daughter, Laura’s birthday, two days ago.

I succeeded, in spite of constant interruptions from friends and family, and a particularly nasty and unexpected brain-rape, on the 22nd, by a strange sexual predator who made me so angry that I thought I was having a heart-attack. It was hard to work the following day, since I was physically shaking. I’m a bit confused by the unwanted attention I’ve been getting lately.

It happened that I’d been invited to a family dinner with my brother’s ex and my nephew. When Linda discovered that it was Laura’s birthday, she invited both her and her boyfriend, Joe. Laura, Joe and I walked to Linda’s together. Laura looked beautiful; nicely dressed and well groomed. Every time I see her I notice a new improvement. She was well and happy. This was to be the first family event she was to attend for over three years, and I was very excited.

My sister had had a tough week, and felt too tired to attend the dinner, but she met up with us beforehand, as she wanted to see Laura on her birthday. By the time we parted company from her aunt, Laura was positively glowing from the compiments laurahair12she’d received.

It wasn’t a big party – only seven of us, so I wasn’t too worried that she may feel overwhelmed, but I didn’t expect it to go as well as it did. She had a lovely time. She ate a proper meal, and a desert, and talked confidently. Everyone was impressed with her, and they liked Joe. It was lovely. I felt so pleased and proud. They left before the rest of us, as Joe’s nephew was staying over for the night, and he wanted to spend a bit of time with him. Although Laura clearly enjoyed herself, I expect she was emotionally exhausted after a couple of hours, so it was good that they had an excuse to leave, but the ice has been broken. From now on I expect she’ll be included in all the invites I get from that part of the family.

She’s managed to build up some savings. Before, every penny she received funded her drug habit.

One day at a time…

©Jane Paterson Basil

Atrocious poetry

WARNING! POOR QUALITY POETRY! ENTER AT YOUR OWN RISK.

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STOP! THINK!

CAN YOUR FINE SENSIBILITIES COPE WITH DREADFUL POETRY?

Just try the first stanza, and see how it goes,
though I’m not trying to lead you by the nose
but just a little note to  pursuade you stay,
it’s all about the trouble I’ve had today.

It’s a perfect day for atrocious poetry.
Today day in particular I hate technology.
I’ve run out of internet, my phone’s up the creek
I’ve unlocked a new one, but it’s too late to seek
a simcard that fits onto the neat little slot.
I wish I’d refused this new phone I just got.
I liked my old phone, should have let it be,
but I’ll blame my mistakes on all but me.
I’ll blame it on my son and the and the bloke next door
the man in the shop and a few people more.

Congratulations on getting this far,
you’re a brave little tinker, a hero, a star.

The laptop has no bytes, as my son used too much,
watching lots of movies and comedies and such.
I missed an important Webinar last night,
Thinking my phone would display it all right,
when I could have gone round to my daughter’s home –
which I would have done if only I had known;
my phone has the web, but no technology
for sharing the necessary webinar with me.
I’m unable to talk to my friends on the net,
as my phone has its ways, and it’s ways are set,
Neither can I open my most essential sites,
as I’ve tried several passwords and none of them are right.
I can’t even access my recent emails,
as every time I try, for some reason, it fails.
So I can’t exchange old passwords for new,
with my emails concealed, so what can I do?

Two stanzas on and you’re holding up fine –
you can manage the third one, it’s only four lines.

The bloke next door gave me a brand new phone,
As he’s already got two or three of his own.
I grudgingly took it, as he said it was posh,
and because it hadn’t cost him a lot of dosh.

The next one’s a sixer; and that’s not much more –
who knows what excitement you may have in store…

I got it unlocked by a very nice man,
and while waiting, I did some work in Oxfam.
When I returned to collect it, I intended to ask
him to put in my simcard – an easy task –
but I wanted to know that it fitted the slot.
In my hurry to get home I clean forgot.

You must have some stamina to have read all this text;
Perhaps you’d like to learn what happened next.

I got my old phone and I opened the back
in such a great rush that I made the screen crack.
But I didn’t think it mattered as I had a new one –
It’s all bells and whistles, a fancy Samsung.
So I opened it up, to put my simcard in it.
That’s when I learned that my simcard didn’t fit.
I shrugged my shoulders thinking, “that’s OK,
I can wait to use my Samsung for one more day.”

You’ve survived this far, so you might as well stay,
and find out all the rest that has happened today.

I replaced the simcard in my other one,
and that’s when I learnt how much damage I’d done.
The phone didn’t work, and now I’m filled with sorrow,
as I have an appointment with the dentist tomorrow,
and he sent me a text to tell me what time,
but I couldn’t read it, so tomorrow at nine
I’ll have to be there, as the one thing I recall
is the appointment is early, and I cannot call
him up on the phone, as my phone’s up the creek.
All in all, this is not a good week.
I’m feeling very stressed and it’s not hard to see,
I’m really too reliant on techology.

If you think it’s all over, I’m afraid that you are wrong,
But I’m injecting some fun into my monolithic song.

And just to add to my little tale of woe,
Another thing has happened to add to my sorrow.
I’ve lost my shoes! Yes, my shoes are gone!
Making it impossible to put them on.
They’re not in the living room, they’re not in the hall –
my comfy, cosy shoes are not anywhere at all.
They were in my bag when I left the gym,
I remember that I had them when I went in
to the shop where they unlocked my phone for me –
oh, where can my lovely shoes possibly be?
Did I leave them on the floor of the unlocky place?
Or in the back of Oxfam? In which case
Will I have to pay money, just for the treat
Of putting my favourite shoes back on my feet?
It doesn’t really matter – not to worry –
I’ll wear my boots instead, as I’m in a hurry
to find a friendly face to commiserate with me;
I’m going round to Claire’s for a cup of coffee.
(This poem would sound better if I’d typed in tea,
but I’d have had to tell a lie, and that just isn’t me.)

OK! OK! Please bear with my tale.
After all your effort, I’d be sad to see you fail.
There’s not much left, my story’s nearly done,
or to put it differently, you have almost won.

A few hours on, and I’ve had a great time,
telling this in prose instead of in rhyme,
including the bit that I haven’t told you yet
about another little factor that I rather regret;
I wrote this poem before I went out the door,
but clicked on cancel, so it was there no more.
I didn’t mean to do it – it was an accident;
a sad little mishap to my detriment.
I’ve wracked my brains and my memory,
and this version’s even worse, as far as I can see,
but I don’t really care, I’m devoid of shame –
I’m going to post it anyway, ABOVE MY NAME.

Wait a second – there’s a little PS
If you give up now, you will miss the best.

P.S
Oh happy me, my shoes are under my chair!
I can’t understand how they could have got there.
Now I’m off to bed, and whatever I may say,
All in all, it’s been an entertaining day.

I’m totally impressed with your sticking powers –
You thoroughly deserve this bunch of flowers.

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Sorry they have wilted, but I’ve waited for days
to post my little ditty on this WordPress page.

©Jane Paterson Basil

Nicotene kiss

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So long ago… an image of clear, cascading water… green leaves and virginal blossom… a happy couple with fresh faces… those tempting words, “Cool, fresh Consulate, cool as a mountain stream.”

The advertisement beckoned temptingly from magazines, forever whispering in my ear, suggesting that I, too, could find myself scrambling up mountains, sharing jokes and smiles with a male soul-mate, if only I smoked menthol cigarettes…

And you, the truth behind those pretty lies, your handsome face half-hidden by the shadow of night-time trees in a city park, smoke from your cigarette curling upwards, forming a half-frame which drew me ever back to your sensuous lips. How could I resist the offer of one of your narrow, nicotene-filled tubes, so stylishly flicked from the interior of the pack? My foolish heart lurched at the intimacy of your lighter igniting the end of my cigarette…

Those times I spent with you, in the corner of a cloudy nightclub, drinking doubles, while I smoked like a grown-up, never once smudging my make-up, feeling, oh, so sophisticated… I was young, and in love… We never climbed mountains, meeting only at night, under those city lights sometimes sneaking into the park, to make the only kind of love I had ever known. Afterwards you would want a drink… a cigarette… soon, so did I…

I lie here, in the slippered silence of this hospice, listening to my rasping breath, feeling the alien growth take over my lungs… I press a button on the gadget in my hand, and feel the swift relief of morphine haze. If only you were here with me, but I’m on my way to you…

I wish we could share one last nicotene kiss…

Written for Michelle’s Photo-Fiction Challenge.

©Jane Paterson Basil

Thanks, everyone!

WARNING! THIS POST MAY CONTAIN STRONG CHEESE!

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I’d like to thank all the amazing bloggers who have supported my prospective venture into uncharted waters. Some have reblogged the post in which I explained my plan, others have given helpful technical advice, or told me where I can access it. Many have wished me well. I humbly thank you all. Should my new blog succeed, I want you to know that you will all have contributed to its success.

It’s going to take a while to get the blog up and running, as I’ve decided to do a blogging course which Safar at Blisters, Bunions & Blarney thoughtfully directed me to. Although I’ve been blogging for two years, there are a lot of things I don’t understand about SEO (Search Engine Optimization), and I’m sure there will be other little details on the course which will be valuable. The course begins this coming Monday, and I expect to start building my blog after the first lesson; it won’t go public until I have all the details straight. A part of me wants to rush into it, but that wouldn’t be wise. It needs to create immediate impact to prevent the risk of it fizzling out. It has to succeed.

Thank you all again.
You have done more than you can know.

I had compassion by the bucketload, but there were a lot of factors lacking in my life.

By liking me, you made me feel likeable.

By trusting me, you taught me to trust again.

By showing your faith in me, you gave me faith in myself,

and with your love, you eradicated my fear of giving out love.

You’ve given me all the tools to succeed

(apart from writing: I’ve got that covered)

Please highlight space between brackets to reveal arrogant secret message.

🙂 🙂 🙂 🙂 🙂 🙂 🙂 🙂

If that sounds like some clever little piece of word-weaving-Jane-ishness, I want you to know it’s not. It comes from my heart. I’m a richer, better person for knowing all of you. I love you all.

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 ©Jane Paterson Basil