Aunty Nellie's Party

I found something I wrote some years ago. I don't remember when. Maybe it will give you a giggle.

Aunty Nelly's Party.

Shelley and Kelly were watching the telly
when who should arrive but their old Aunty June;
she’d just come from Delhi with great Aunty Nelly
whose 90th birthday was coming up soon.

Being quite hearty she wanted a party
with all of her relatives present to boot.
Not so much tarty as ex-glitterati,
Nelly was known as a bit of a hoot.

The party arranger was June’s cousin Grainger
along with his know-it-all wife Gabrielle
but she was the danger; this dog in the manger
was not known for making a party go well.

June’s sister Gemma was in a dilemma
‘cause she didn’t think that poor Grainger could cope
but that just left Emma, and she had a tremor
and June said that Emma just hadn’t a hope.

So, with much trepidation, without a relation
June started to get everything underway
but with one stipulation: this great celebration
was not an excuse for a drunken display.

With everything ready her youngest son Freddy
acted as chauffeur for most of the guests.
They could get unsteady, and some were already,
and this way there shouldn’t be many arrests.

Grainger’s friend Duffy provided the buffet
and what a magnificent effort he’d made;
the soufflés were fluffy, the vol-au-vents puffy,
and each single item superbly displayed.

The first to come in was a woman called Lynn
with her husband, and old chap who looked like an elf;
she asked with a grin for a bottle of gin
and made it quite clear it was all for herself.

Then in came Theresa, a bit of a freezer,
who only drank straight bitter lemon, on ice.
No one would tease her or come near to squeeze her.
Theresa thought that sort of things wasn’t nice.

Then someone spilled cola on June’s gorgonzola
and June didn’t think that was funny at all
so, hurriedly, Lola got out her viola
and played a duet with the pianist, Paul.

This prompted Hedley, whose singing was deadly
and likely to send everybody to sleep,
to accompany Sedley in singing a medley
of songs guaranteed to make anyone weep.

Great Aunty Leah, who’s rather a dear,
said their accomplishments just wouldn’t do.
She picked up a beer and, shedding a tear,
poured it all over the heads of the two!

A cousin from Derry was getting quite merry;
he put on some music and started to jive
with terrible Terri who’d had too much sherry,
which greatly disgusted her fiancé, Clive.

A woman called Corah was dancing the Hora
and trying to make everybody join in
when Great Aunty Nora upset Aunty Dora
by telling her she was as ugly as sin.

Dora cavorted, her face all contorted,
“Ugly I may be but you’ll go to hell!
You should be deported,” she loudly retorted,
“and all of your jailbird relations as well!”

Just then young Mary, dressed up as a fairy,
got up to give us her best party piece
but June all unwary said, “Look! a canary!”
and Dora said someone should call the police.

Her daughter, Priscilla, whose face was a killer,
ran to her mother, to Nora’s delight.
“It must be a thriller. Here comes a gorilla!”
she said very loudly. Priscilla went white.

She grabbed hold of Pam who was carving the ham
and asked her to carve up Aunt Nora instead.
“I’ll get you some lamb, or we’ve even got Spam,”
she replied. Well, she isn’t quite right in the head.

Cousin Matilda kissed Cyril, a builder,
and asked him if he was a man or a mouse.
This just bewildered poor half witted Hilda
who burst into tears and ran from the house.

She ran down the street with no shoes on her feet
and was picked up by neighbours who took her right back
but she mumbled some stuff about things getting rough
which caused them to wonder if she was on crack.

The party was done, well it wasn’t much fun,
just too many idiots all in one place.
The big celebration, devoid of elation,
had caused some relations to leave in disgrace.

The great aunts were fine as they finished the wine,
giggling like mad as they kicked up their heels
whilst June swore she’d never do parties, not ever,
as long as she lives. And I know how she feels.

© CS 2018

I Don't Like Children: Confessions of A Great-Grandmother.

Take this with a pinch of salt, if you need to.  But not too large a pinch.



I don’t much like people.  Present company excepted. You’re ok.  Just people in general, you know. Ok, some people are better than others, it has to be said but, on the whole, I’m not keen.

And I especially don’t like little people. Wait - I don’t mean fairy-type little people, elves, pixies, goblins, what have you.  I don’t actually know any of those so I can’t say.

And I’m not talking about persons of restricted growth, as I believe is the correct term these days. They seem all right though I don’t know any personally so I can't be sure.

No, what I mean is small people. Very small people. Ok, children. I don’t like children. 

I know it probably seems odd, a woman not liking children, but I’m sure I’m not alone. Children are manipulative.  Don’t you think?  Some are very cruel. And sneaky. And frequently sticky. Or snotty.

I’ve never been the kind of woman who squeals and coos over babies, or who wants to squeeze their little fat cheeks, or bite their bottoms, or whatever. Never saw the attraction. It just isn’t me. I find the phrase "I could just eat you up!"  rather disturbing. 

In case you were wondering, yes I have children. I had three. You might think it’s odd that a woman who doesn’t like children had three of her own. And in quick succession I might add. But sometimes what you want and what you get are two different things.

I suppose I must have liked them a bit. To begin with. Once they get into their teens they become a totally different kind of creature. And then they grow up. I must have done something right as mine did, in fact, grow up. Now I more or less tolerate them. 

Yes, they grew up and had children of their own. Lots of them. I have ten official grandchildren and at least one unofficial one. I’ve heard that there is another one somewhere, lurking in the woodwork, ready to spring a nasty surprise on me. But then again, that may never happen. One can only hope. Though the OCD in me thinks a dozen sounds preferable to eleven.  Is that odd?

To be fair, as children go, they’re ok. The ones I know. I don’t mind them. I’m quite fond of them on the quiet, but don’t tell anyone. 

But as if that wasn’t enough to contend with, those children are now having children of their own!  I currently have six great-grandchildren and don’t imagine it will stop there. I haven’t met any of them so I don’t really know whether I’d like them or not. But these are all family, with family resemblances. It’s other people’s children that I find unattractive.

I’m not sure why I don’t like children. I was a child myself once, after all. But even then I didn’t like children. I suspect there is something missing somewhere. A bit of wiring that went wrong perhaps. In school I never really played with the other children. I might have have played with the boys but they didn’t want a girl in their midst - and seeing how high you could pee up the boys toilet wall wasn’t an option anyway - and the girly games held no interest for me. 

The only children I had at home were a cousin who gave me Chinese burns (which she always denied and was believed because of her ridiculously slender fingers. And her huge brown eyes), and my little brother who I didn’t really see much of.  There was another cousin - a boy- who I played with occasionally.  I remember using the old brass bedstead in the attic as an imaginary stagecoach.  Goodness only knows what the game was.  Cowboys and Indians perhaps?

I had a sort of friend who walked to school with me sometimes. She was a kind of mother hen figure. She used to do up the buttons and belt of my gaberdine coat and straighten my tie so I looked respectable. But I can’t honestly say we were close. 

There was a boy I walked to school with sometimes too. I did like him, I must confess. On the rare occasion I got to play kiss-catch in the street with the other children I always managed to let him catch me. But then they moved to Canada so that was that.

Maybe my feelings, or lack of them, have something to do with my mother’s attitudes to the local children. I wasn’t allowed to talk like them for one thing. They were “common” and so was their accent. They never wanted to play in our garden because we had flowers. And a greenhouse. Which meant being careful, not rushing about.  No ball games. They didn't like that.

I was rarely allowed to play in the street. That was “common” too.  Sometimes I’d stand and watch them through the front room window.  Clearly we weren’t common, though I’m not sure why. We were nothing fancy, they had previously been more countrified than townsfolk though so maybe that was it.

Up the road a way lived a girl who owned a horse.  Her name was Patricia.  The girl, not the horse. I never knew the name of the horse.  She used to ride it down the road sometimes and I longed to get to know her. And her horse.  But that wasn’t allowed. They were “Catholic”.  We were not. Apparently that was enough to stay well away from her. I doubt the horse was religious but I'll never know.

Funnily though, although mum sent me to Sunday School every week I only ever once saw her in church, when I persuaded her to come to Midnight Communion with me one Christmas Eve. I think she sent me to Sunday School because the two elderly sisters who lived next door were Sunday School teachers and no doubt it got me out from under her feet for an hour or two. I think they were called Annie and Bessie Clegg but I could be wrong about that.  It’s a long time ago.

My gran, though, she was different. My grandparents lived with us. Or we lived with them. Either way we lived in the same house.  My gran - if I remember right - was or had been “Chapel”.  Or possibly Salvation Army.  She would sometimes sing the kind of songs sung in such gatherings. Anyway, she was low church and clearly not meant to mix with those of a Popish persuasion.

Oddly though, the church I attended was High Anglican. No morning or evening services for me. We celebrated Matins and Evensong. And chanted the psalms. I liked that.  We also had a crucifix beneath the pulpit. I liked that too.  There were no bells and smells however.  Just the bells which rang out before the services to call the faithful to prayer. I liked those too. And the wonderful feeling of ancient calm in the place, though it wasn't an ancient church.  Red brick rather than stone. I never realised that until many years later when driving past one day, after it had been cleaned up.  Or maybe it had been rebuilt in brick as I had always thought of it as stone.  But memory is a strange thing. 

Maybe you’re thinking I was rather a strange child and perhaps I was. Alone a lot. Didn’t mix. Never felt I fitted in.  But one thing is sure. Whenever I hear that advert that says “Always keep away from children,”  you can bet I’m saying to myself, ”Oh, I do. Believe me.”

Aspects of Christmasa

 Another View of Christmas

It’s snowing out tonight,

the garden looks enchanting.

Beside an open fire

the dogs are lying, panting.

Right here in my lap,

so satisfied and cosy,

the cat is fast asleep,

and even I feel dozy.

Reflected in the window

I see the Christmas tree,

the tinsel and the baubles,

the fairy lights and me.

Oh yes, I’m here, of course

but where are you, you peasant?

You promised you’d be back,

you promised me a present!

There’s holly and there’s ivy,

there’s mistletoe (for kissing)

there’s softly glowing candles.

There’s only one thing missing!

It’s you, you rat, you bum!

You’re driving me insane, dear.

Just get yourself back home.

You, and your wretched reindeer!

CS

Good Yule

Winter solstice chills the ground;
festivals of light abound.
Now, in winter's cold dark tomb,
candlelight relieves the gloom.

As the soft flames dance and flicker
hearts beat just a little quicker.
Celebrations cheer the soul,
lift the spirit and console.

Religion, too, will play its part
in nourishing the hungry heart
at this time of long dark nights
with its attendant fears and frights.

Ivy, mistletoe, and holly
help to make the houses jolly;
gold and frankincense and myrrh
combine to make the senses stir.

Christians celebrate the birth
of the Christ-child come to earth
so, for all with faith sublime,
Blessings at this Christmas time!

If by faith you are a Jew
Happy Hannukah to you!
Menorah candles gaily glow
in memory of long ago.

Agnostics also deck the halls -
Season's Greetings to you all -
and if you live by Wicca's rule,
Merry meet, my friends.  Good Yule!

CS



An alternative 12 Days for these days of austerity:

On the 12th day of Christmas my lover sent to me:

Twelve plumbers plumbing
Eleven gripers griping
Ten ladies weeping
Nine chancers chancing
Eight traders sinking
Seven dealers skimming
Six fleeces fraying
Five old things.
Four plastic turds
Three cheap pens
Two rubber gloves
And a cartridge for my HP

CS


Bah, Humbug!

Christmas comes but once a year
and when it comes it brings good cheer
cheer to all the girls and boys
with their stockings full of toys.

Stockings? Nowadays it’s sacks!
Christmas Greetings sent by fax
fathers boast of what they’ve bought
mothers just get very fraught
go on endless shopping trips
fret about expanding hips
shopping trolleys overflowing
where is all the money going?
Have we got enough to drink?
God! the TV’s on the blink!
So much food it’s going rotten
presents bought so soon forgotten
decorations thrown away
that’s it - end of holiday.

When you really work it out
what is Christmas all about?
Buy and sell and wads of cash
generating tons of trash.

CS


Sonnet

It’s Christmastime and snow is all around.
The moon is shining brightly up above
and, listening quietly, I can hear the sound
of carollers, proclaiming God’s great love.
In almost every home there stands a tree
bedecked with tinsel, baubles, fairy-lights.
With all this going on it’s plain to see
that this must be the merriest of nights.
And yet, it must be said, there’s something wrong
with merriment that’s only now and then;
Despite the loud festivity and song
where is the peace on earth, goodwill to men?
For Jesus did not come to earth for this.
Is Christmastime the modern Judas kiss?

 CS


 12 Drunken Days


On the first day of Christmas my hubby put away
a gallon of home made beer.

On the second day of Christmas my hubby put away
2 whisky sours  and a gallon of home made beer.

On the third day of Christmas my hubby put away
3 gin slings, 2 whisky sours and a gallon of home made beer.

On the fourth day of Christmas my hubby put away
4 rum and cokes, 3 gin slings, 2 whisky sours and a gallon of home made beer.

On the fifth day of Christmas my hubby put away
5 single malts
4 rum and cokes, 3 gin slings, 2 whisky sours and a gallon of home made beer.

On the sixth day of Christmas my hubby put away 6 gin and tonics,
5 single malts
 4 rum and cokes, 3 gin slings, 2 whisky sours and a gallon of home made beer.

On the seventh day of Christmas my hubby put away 7 small sherries, 6 gin and tonics,
5 single malts,
4 rum and cokes, 3 gin slings, 2 whisky sours and a gallon of home made beer.

On the eighth day of Christmas my hubby put away 8 port and lemons, 7 small sherries, 6 gin and tonics,
5 single malts
4 rum and cokes, 3 gin slings, 2 whisky sours and a gallon of home made beer.

On the ninth day of Christmas my hubby put away
9 brandy cobblers, 8 port and lemons,  7 small sherries, 6 gin and tonics,
5 single malts
4 rum and cokes, 3 gin slings, 2 whisky sours and a gallon of home made beer.

On the tenth day of Christmas my hubby put away10 Bloody Marys, 9  brandy cobblers 
8 port and lemons, 7 small sherries, 6 gin and tonics,
5 single malts
4 rum and cokes, 3 gin slings, 2 whisky sours and a gallon of home made beer.

On the eleventh day of Christmas my hubby put away 11 prairie oysters, 10 bloody marys,
9 brandy cobblers, 8 port and lemons, 7 small sherries, 6 gin and tonics,
5 single malts
4 rum and cokes, 3 gin slings, 2 whisky sours and a gallon of home made beer.

On the twelfth day of Christmas my hubby put away 12 Alka Seltzas, 11 prairie oysters,
10 Bloody Marys, 9 brandy cobblers,  8 port and lemons, 7 small sherries, 6 gin and tonics,
5 single malts
4 rum and cokes, 3 gin slings, 2 whisky sours and a gallon of home made beer.

CS

SMITH and MARIAH : An Allegory

 SMITH and MARIAH

Smith 3661(a Single Minded Individually Tasked Humanoid) was going about his business in his usual competent way. This is what he was programmed to do. This particular task and no other. At any point he could reprogram of course and would then carry out that task with equal efficiency. People like him, that's what they were there for. To just get on with the job at hand.  Nothing would distract him, or interfere with his single minded devotion to his set task.  He was hard wired that way and nothing anyone said would change it. 

Back at home  Mariah 2750 (a Multi-tasking Auto-Response Inter Active Humanoid) was also doing her job.  Smith didn't understand people like her at all.  Why she was constantly thinking about so many things at once was a mystery to him.  How she did it was even more of a mystery.  He simply couldn't see that this is how she was intended to function.

Unfortunately this did mean that occasionally she would suffer from an extension overload, and then would freeze up or even crash, but on the whole she functioned very well, carrying out many jobs simultaneously. Smith, however, was frequently impatient with her inability to concentrate fully on the task at hand. Especially if that task involved pleasing him.  Why couldn't she just tune out the kids for a while? Was it too much to ask? He was sometimes heard to say that the M in her name stood for Muddle-headed and the I for Incompetent.

She for her part, didn't understand people like Smith.  Being hard wired the way she was meant that she was sometimes impatient with his inability to think about more than one thing at a time. It irritated her when she left him alone with their progeny and he failed to notice what they got up to, being totally engrossed in whatever he had chosen to do.  Why couldn't he just take his mind off the damn game for a few minutes; keep one ear open? She laughed with her friends that S stood for Stupid and the I for Inefficient.

It may appear to the casual observer that both of these types of people had design flaws but no, they were each well designed for their respective purposes. It just seems a shame that no one had thought to integrate understanding of the other's strengths and weaknesses into their intelligence banks so that misunderstandings would not arise so often.

The designer could have explained to interested parties that Smith's mental processes were somewhat akin to that marvel of natural engineering, the honeycomb. Every part of Smith's life was neatly compartmentalised, filed away under its own heading, and although there were obviously some fringe connections, nothing really affected anything else in a serious way.  So when he came home and Mariah asked him how his day had been, he had already switched programmes and had nothing to say on the subject.

Mariah's mind, on the other hand, more closely resembled that other bit of ingenious natural design, a spider's web. Each thread or strand was equally important, and all were closely intertwined to make a coherent whole.  What affected one part would affect the whole design, and that's just the way it was.  Nothing he could say would affect her inability to see things as he did. Which was why, when Smith became interested in a programme involving another Mariah, it was fairly predictable that Mariah 2750 was likely to be less than understanding. 

Smith had the two Mariahs neatly filed away under different headings. One under "Home" and one under "Outside Interests" and this worked fine for him. Neither impinged on the other, so he couldn't see why it should worry anyone else. 

Mariah 2750, however, could not be expected to see it that way.  Her life with Smith 3661 was a kind of mini-universe.  Everything involved everything else in some way, large or small. If one bit went out of kilter, eventually the whole thing would collapse.  Extensions would conflict big time in the background until her circuits just crashed and burned. And then, you can be sure,  Smith would pay in some way for his inability to see things her way.

Sooner or later, Smith was going to have to deal with this, but in the meantime all he could do was make darn sure that Mariah 2750 never discovered the new game he was playing.  He would have to make sure his files were securely locked at all times. 

And what of the other Mariah? She of course saw things as her type do. It was hard for her to be just a part of Smith's life. A game. His outside interest. But her involvement was total, She was committed to this game for good or ill.

Mother Nature.

We speak of Mother Nature
but if nature is a mother
she’s remarkably uncaring.
What mother is so sparing
when it comes to being kind?

The world turns, lightening flashes
forests burn, thunder crashes,
sea floods the land,
vegetation and sand
and the creatures within
must flee for their lives or die.
Mother Nature is a lie.

The earth has no pity
yes, it can be pretty
but cruelty is rife -
from a human point of view.

Nature has no point of view
It simply gives us life.
Then live or die or getting by,
easy living or trouble and strife
a death that’s calm or gory -
that’s another story.


CS 2017

LBGTQ

Fan Dancer

Under the spotlight
she pirouettes
glistening
while the crowd forgets
listening
watching her perform

hypnotic rhythms
the pulsing beat
as music invades
the smoke-laden heat
her silken fans
like butterflies
swoop and flutter
before their eyes

applause! applause!
whistles and cheers
help to overcome
her fears

in the dressing room
she lowers a fan
looks in the mirror
sees the man

© July 2002





Mimi

Alone in the spotlight's glare
Mimi performs once more before
an anticipatory crowd.

Bejewelled, bewigged and corseted
dressed in sequins and feather boa
he stands and delivers the risqué jokes
mimes to the tracks of favourite songs
in the crippling nine inch heels he loves.

Another performance over
he smiles and waves to the cheering crowd
"my adoring public, my dear"
then whisks himself off to the dressing room
and home to the tiny top floor room
he likes to call his penthouse

where he sits and relives his performance
the cheers of the crowd, the longed-for applause
and sheds a few tears, but only a few,
over a take out meal for one
before going to bed alone.

© 2002


A Walk on the Wild Side?


Love that dared not speak its name
still dares not in many places
life becomes a guessing game
matching lifestyles to the faces
Will he, won't he, will he, won't he,
will he join the dance?
will he, won't he, will he, won't he,
won't he take a chance?

Walking on the wilder side
doesn't happen hereabouts
here the people have no Pride
here it's full of lager louts
Will they, won't they, will they, won't they
beat me up tonight?
Will they, won't they, will they, won't they
go for me on sight?

Bullied all those years at school
teachers taught the pupils how
all that crap machismo cool
nothing's any better now
Will I, won't I, will I, won't I
ever be myself?
Will I, won't I will I, won't I
wind up on the shelf?

Maybe I should leave this place
seek a living in the city
somewhere I can show my face
somewhere I can dress up pretty
Will I, won't I, will I, won't I
will I make the choice?
Do I, don't I, do I, don't I
don't I want a voice?




July 2002


Mano a Mano

two beautiful bronzed bodies
muscled yet slim
evidence clear
of time spent in the gym
toned and honed and
stripped
ready for action

looking each other up and down
smiling faces belie
the smouldering inner fire
then all attempts at decorum die
the time has come
to get down
to the business at hand.

© July 2002



Lady In Waiting

He hears the whispers, naturally.

"Do you think... No, Really?
Hmmm, she looks so...
well, you know"

Same scenario every day
"It's the Adams' apple gives it away."

True, but whaddya gonna do?
Smile the professional smile
"Yes ladies, what'll it be?"


Sept 2002



While We Wait

So many different backgrounds
rich or poor, black or white.
Different inclinations
straight or queer, left or right.

All that really separates
the good ones from the rest
is how we treat each other
that's the only valid test.

We all have fads and fancies
and lifestyles that seem strange
but when you think it over
it's ourselves we need to change.

To be more understanding
more accepting, more mature.
We all live in glass houses
and none of us is pure.

Live and let live - Oh I know
it's all been said before.
If only we could do it
there would be no need for war.

Everyone could try to make
a difference while we're here
by being more magnanimous
to people far and near.

Good will is contagious
but so is fear and hate.
The world may never change
but can't we try it while we wait?

Sept 2002



A Good Day

Today was a good day all in all
Nothing interfered with
the smooth running of my life
it ran uneventfully
like well precisioned cogs
in a really expensive watch
tick tick tick tick

The weather was pleasant too
neither too hot nor too cold
No wind hassled garbage
around the yard
no rain shed its tears
down my windows
no prima donna
impassioned rays
invaded my room
to dazzle and daze

No one called round
nobody phoned
to interrupt in any way
my unremarkable orderly day
It was all so very peaceful

God but it was boring.


Nov 2002


What I Wouldn't Do

Is there anything I‘d not do for you?
Well, I wouldn't break the law;
I wouldn't murder or steal or such
or break somebody's jaw.
I probably wouldn't lie for you,
I don't think I'd have the flair,
but anything legal or moral, hon,
call me and I'll be there!

© Feb.2003



First Contact


Eye to eye across a room
a fleeting, flirty, glance
then a longer, lingering, look,
a raw yet rhythmic dance.

Up and down, and round and round,
our gazes mix and mingle,
then sudden swift awareness
of that old familiar tingle.

I watch his lips, a subtle smile,
and instantly respond.
The body language says it all
as strangers seek to bond.


© 2004



Sting In the Tail

1 First Contact

Eye to eye across a room
a fleeting, flirty, glance
then a longer, lingering, look,
a raw yet rhythmic dance.

Up and down, and round and round,
our gazes mix and mingle,
then sudden swift awareness
of that old familiar tingle.

I watch his lips, a subtle smile,
and instantly respond.
The body language says it all
as strangers seek to bond.

2  Laying Foundations

Preliminaries over now
we down a drink or two
insinuating, subtle hints
of what we'd like to do.

His face is truly beautiful,
his body firm and hard.
His words bewitch as much as any
written by the bard.

We come to a decision but
back to his or mine?
Suspecting he has more than me
I modestly decline.

3 The Sting

We ride the elevator up
in his apartment block.
My heart is pounding harder
as his key turns in the lock

and then the door is open
and I see the stuff inside.
If he wasn't so desirable
I think I'd run and hide.

The horns of this dilemma were
the feelings and the sight.
But some things come with penalties
and he's worth every bite!

© 2004

Animals On My Mind.

 Leave Them Alone

Ivory is simply teeth
something elephants need
they’re used for many things you know:
to dig stuff up to feed,
to fight for mating rights as well
so that they can breed,
digging wells for water,
and so I humbly plead
just let elephants keep their tusks
they weren’t made for your greed.

Rhino horn is keratin,
the same as hair and nails
The thought that it’s a medicine
is simply old wives’ tales.
Any benefit derived
from that, though none is known,
could be got - and free of charge -
from munching on your own!

Tiger bones and body parts
aren’t medicine, at least
they’re no different from the bones
of any other beast.
Superstition tells you that
the tiger makes you strong.
Please, leave the tiger’s bones
and parts where they belong.

Stealing bile from bears is such
a dreadful thing to do.
it causes so much suffering
but not of course to you.
Don’t you know that you have bile?
Your body makes it’s own.
Doing things like this tells me
your heart is made of stone.

All these ancient myths we see
are leading to extinction
Please spread the message
and make clear this distinction:
Animals of every kind
are made like every other.
So think before you cause the death
or suffering of another.

CS 2017


Pity the Poor Pangolin.

Pangolins are beautiful, though you may not agree,
they wear a suit of armour, as you can plainly see.
Their tongues are long and sticky for catching what they eat:
insects, lots and lots of them, not vegetables or meat.

Their coats are made of keratin, like talons, nails or hair
they need them for protection, so predators beware!
But some misguided people seem to think they’re magic
They kill the poor things for their scales, it’s stupid and it’s tragic.

If you tried using nails or hair as medicine instead
those would heal you just as much. Really, use your head!
Instead of paying all that cash for something that is fake
Think about the animals whose lives the smugglers take.

A hundred thousand pangolins are captured every year
and now they face extinction. Can you not shed a tear?
The smugglers don’t care at all, they do it for the money
as gullible consumers pay and lap it up like honey.

CS 2017


Crying For the Dying

So many creatures used and abused
so many stupid reasons given for their deaths;
whales and dolphins, sharks and rays, turtles too and more,
end up as a meal after taking their last breaths.

Some though end up suffering, performing for their keep
stolen from their families and locked up for life -
restricted lives cut short just to entertain the masses,
and reports of unsuitable conditions are rife.

Some tiny creatures - seahorses and turtles -
are caught and imprisoned live in plastic keyring fobs.
what sort of person can think that this is ethical?
How poor do you have to be to do these kinds of jobs?

Baby seals slaughtered, brutally, cruelly,
apparently to save the fish - to have with chips and peas -
totally ignoring the reason for the low stocks
is man’s over fishing and pollution of the seas.

Don’t get me started with what is done to primates -
So many slaughtered to steal a single child
Many die in transit which makes it more distressing
Let the poor things live their lives out there in the wild.

Birds shot or captured to grace somebody’s living room -
honestly the list goes on, there really is no end
to wickedness visited on all our fellow creatures,
each one we could otherwise regard as a friend.

CS 2017


Get it Right!

Do you remember the dodo,
the bird that went extinct?
People ate the very last one.
Clever, don’t you think?
We’re supposed to be intelligent.
Out brains are bigger, albeit
what do we use this intelligence for?
Frankly I don’t see it. 

It’s like the man on the branch of a tree
whilst cutting it from the trunk;
we’re destroying all that lives and breathes
and replacing it with junk.
People, take a look at yourselves,
ask yourself: is it wise
to kill every creature and habitat
from forest to sea to skies?

The planet of course will renew itself
it’s done it so many times
but humans are digging a grave for themselves.
Is this the crime of crimes?
Whether or not you believe in a god
who is watching over all
it’s in our hands to get it right
or prepare ourselves for a fall.

CS 2017


Canned Hunts

Canned hunts:  barbaric,
cowardly, obscene;
hand reared animals
drugged, confined, and shot
by men with guns but no balls,
the young die when the mother falls
and the "hunter" ups and walks.
Animals without a choice
crying without a voice
but oh! how money talks.

© Jan 2003



The Colossal Squid

The colossal squid is a fearsome beast
with parrot's beak and enormous eyes.
It has arms so strong it strives with whales
and grows to an unbelievable size.

It's tentacles are armed with hooks,
swiveling claws that are razor sharp.
Once a legend, now a fact;
no more will listeners laugh or carp.

In Antarctic waters it has its home,
eating whatever swims its way;
it takes exceptional strength and size
to avoid becoming this creature's prey.

If you dream of a life on the Southern Seas
midst howling gales and cliffs of ice,
just think about the colossal squid
and stay away, is my advice.

CS
©2006



Bug Poo I and II


1
Ants on a fig tree
farming bugs.

Diligent, they watch for
the moment of emergence,

greedily relishing
bug poo, honeydew.


II

Dust mites, invisible,
skin scales their bread;
irritate intensely
pooing in your bed.

CS
© 2007


Mostly Fish

Why are dolphins drawn to us?
Hmm, let me think...

A creature of high intelligence
with mostly fish for company...

Yep. That would do it.

© 2005


On Dogs

If I should ever have a dog
give me a quintessential dog,
a dog that doesn't yip or yap
or trip me up or snip and snap.

An honest dog who shows respect
not fawning, but with head erect;
submissive and obedient, yes,
but proud of bearing nonetheless.

A dog of stature, large and strong
who knows that she and I belong
to times more primitive than these
when shelter was in caves and trees.

A dog much like her ancestor
with wolf-like cast and character,
a dog with whom I can commune
and howl beneath the moon.


© 2004


Perfidy

Daughters plot behind their father's back, sister slays sister and steals her lover, and a family are torn asunder - not Shakespeare but everyday stories from the world's largest wolf pack living in Yellowstone National Park.



The dark queen was beautiful but merciless and violent,
her first love was shot but she soon was re-allied.
Now she is dead and her new lover heartlessly
rules in her stead with her sister by his side.

It's a story of infamy, unscrupulous conspiracy,
of backbiting treachery and family intrigue;
where sister slays sister and takes on her family
and worse yet, the dead sister's lover was in league.

His headship is challenged, he fights off his enemy.
Now, it would seem, his position is secure
but a stranger appears and attracts the leader's daughters;
he's big and he's handsome, his intentions far from pure.

Caught in flagrante, the daughters go back home again
the stranger then vanishes, for a while at least
but always his presence is there in the memory
like a nasty smell, or the spectre at the feast.

One day he's back there, seeking to consolidate.
The daughters are tempted and go with him once more
along with some others, deserters from the family;
they form a rival faction. This could lead to war.

This isn't history, nor is it Shakespearian;
it happens quite frequently, it could be last week.
A family is torn apart, mercilessly severed,
in a Yellowstone wolf pack, up at Druid Peak.

CS © 2004



 Fox

The fox is often hunted
which leaves some folk affronted.
The handsome inspiration
for so much altercation,
is either loved or hated,
its nature much debated.
Often it is thought to be
just out on a killing spree,
indiscriminate in its slaughter
slaying far more than it oughta.
No, my friend, not so.

It's rep has been corrupted;
if not interrupted
it buries all it slays,
a store for leaner days.
We fail to understand
it has its future planned;
with little ones to raise and feed
such behaviour isn't greed.
Necessity drives every creature,
avarice is a human feature
as our waistlines show.

CS
© 2003



A Basic Need

No matter who or what we are
we all need someone to love
It's a basic need like food or drink
like the air we breathe
or the thoughts we think
all of us long to belong to another
it's what life's all about

A lioness adopting a calf
or a monkey adopting a puppy
cats with rats or rabbits with dogs
donkeys with goats or sheep or hogs
they all have a craving
for close encounters
of this there is no doubt. 

No matter what or who we are
we all need someone to love
someone to share a warm embrace
to acknowledge the look upon one's face
whether furred or feathered
it's fundamental
the solitary life is out.

CS
08/ 2002




Philosophical Ramblings.

Does the butterfly know courage
when first it leaves the cocoon?
Having left it's earthbound pedestrian life
of eating, eating, and yet more eating
to hibernate for many days
on the underside of a leaf
to break down into genetic soup
it now has to start all over again
struggle free, out into the light
stretch its wings and soar on high.
How brave is the butterfly?

Does the lioness know courage
when she faces the male who comes along
and wants to mate and sees her young as
a threat to his own genetic line;
when she drives him away with tooth and claw
to defend her young ones sired elsewhere
does she stop to think "Oh, this is scary"
or just act purely on instinct?
What courage she shows in human terms
but a mother's desire to defend her young
is pretty instinctive under duress.
How brave is the lioness?

A baby bird has to leave the nest
learn to fly and fend for itself
and we put it down to instinct
but is it afraid of the cat and the owl
the predators all around?
Does it have to pluck up courage
to launch itself off that bough?
To struggle at length with its very first worm
which must be a little daunting
and we call it nature, take it for granted
that's just what creatures do.
Is talk of courage absurd?
How brave is the little bird?

I ask because I'm human,
and humans like to know.
We want to know what makes us tick
why we do the things we do
or why we sometimes don't.
Is courage merely an instinct
born of the need to survive?
or is it something we can control
by an act of will, determination?
We like to think we're so brave
ripping our fears assunder
but are we really? I wonder.

CS  © July2002





The Rat


Of all the things that I could praise
this, this the most heroic:
the noble rat, oft much maligned,
is, of all beasts, most stoic

survivor of millennia
despite man's cunning ruses
rats will always be around
and have so many uses!

so many creatures feed on them
the owl and fox and cat
and yet they thrive despite it all
and multiply at that!

Oh noble rat, I sing your praise
Oh oft disparaged rodent
it seems when asked to soldier on
you didn't know what "no" meant

when tamed and kept within a cage
or used for awful testing
we do not then despise your kind
but find you quite arresting

a friendly and most loyal pet
intelligent and and clever
you survive where other creatures
cease from their endeavour

so, noble rat, my work is done.
Although your name is blighted
I for one think well of you
indeed, you should be knighted!

© July 2002

Political Ponderings

Look Up

You fly in your jet plane, you sail in your yacht,
but others have paid for the things that you’ve got -
your mansion, your penthouse, your country estate
were built with the blood of the people you hate.

Look up from your table, look up from your plate,
changes are coming and changes won’t wait.
You think we are stupid, you think we don’t see
the way you despise all the people like me.

You think you’re so clever, you think you’re so grand,
you think we don’t notice the whip in your hand.
You try to control us with guns and with tanks,
with tear gas and tasers but mostly with banks.

Look up from your riches, look up from your wealth,
we’re sick of the way that you ruin our health
by keeping us hungry and homeless and poor.
You think that we’re stupid but don’t be too sure.

Changes must happen, the worm it must turn,
the people in power must finally learn
the masses won’t simply roll over and die,
we’ve seen through the fiction, we’ve seen through the lie.

Look up from your scheming, look up from your ploys,
we’re no longer willing to live as your toys,
Changes must happen, we’ve waited too long,
anger is spreading and anger is strong.

© CS 2016



Privileged

The privileged will never understand.
They’ve never been in dire need;
never had to stand in line,
never been abused because of
race, religion, gender.
The privileged will never understand.

The privileged will never understand.
They know the world belongs to them;
they won’t go hungry to their beds,
or wonder where they’ll sleep tonight
unless it’s just to choose which home,
the city one, the country one, or
maybe one abroad.

The privileged can smile,
can look down on the “others”
with a laugh, a joke, a snide remark.
They’ll never understand.
They’ll never know despair.
Their worries are a million miles
away from those that most of us
are prone to day by day.

No, the privileged will never understand.
But still there’s something we can have
that maybe they don’t know about:
a thankful heart, a helping hand,
the love that can’t be bought.
These are things the privileged
may never understand.


© CS 2016

A Turn To The Right

I’m watching the world take a turn to the right
and I sit here wondering why.
When I think of what the right can be
it makes me want to cry.
Very few people alive today
can remember World War Two:
the horrors of right wing politics,
what this shift to the right can do.

I watched as America voted for Trump,
that arrogant bloated greedy lump.
I see how France now flirts with Le Pen,
so will they flirt with Nazis again?
And here in Britain people want May
which worries me more than I can say.

Right wing politics play on fear
but fear leads to anger and hate.
Fear of poverty, fear of “them”,
I suppose are something innate.
But what it becomes can be horrible.
Couldn’t we overcome?
Be better than that? Be kind? Be loving?
Stop the me first pushing and shoving?
Or are we all too dumb?

© CS 2017



Right or Wrong?

The future isn’t looking bright:
as countries increasingly turn to the right.
War and hunger lead to migration;
people fear for their population.
Immigration is seen as a curse;
global warming will make it worse.
Voices calling for understanding
are drowned by fearful ones demanding
walls and barriers, “Keep them out!”
worried folk increasingly shout.
“Arm yourself for the conflicts to come!”
It might sound cruel, it might sound dumb
but many don’t see beyond their fears
and sadly it will end in tears.

CS 2017


Dangerous

What kind of a man lacks charm and grace
as he struts around with a sulky face;
a popinjay with a petulant air,
an orange face and ridiculous hair;
whose diatribes lack wisdom or wit,
whose lies prove him a hypocrite?
whose every utterance proves his lack
of intelligence? Just yack yack yack.
And yet this man has many fans:
those of his ilk who like his plans
without ever seeing where it could lead.
This man is dangerous indeed.

CS
October 2016


The Orange Man

I do not like the orange man
I don’t know how a person can.
I do not like the way he lies,
I do not like what he implies.
I do not like his silly hair,
his  vulgar, disrespectful air.
I do not like his “me me me”,
I do not like his history.
I do not like his stupid talk,
I do not like his pompous walk,
I do not like his lack of sense
or how he gives so much offence.
There’s not one thing of him I like.
I think that he should take a hike.

 CS


Man of Straw

A man of no substance,
a man of straw,
is put in charge of
the country, the law.
But life isn't simply
a panel game show
and it's anyone's guess
how things will go.

9/11/16


People

If people were just people
how great the world could be
If there was no more “them and us”
but only “you and me”
no labels,
no boxes
no pigeonholes
no hate,
no clichés
no stereotypes
no politics
no state.
If people were just people
with no more condemnation
how wonderful the world could be;
just peace and integration.

© CS 2016

Evil

Evil has a human face,
it has a human heart,
one devoid of compassion,
cold in every part.

It makes the mind it inhabits
completely deaf and blind
to the suffering of others,
refusing to be kind.

No need to look for horns and tail
no need for cloven hooves;
evil is what humans do
as watching some folk proves.

No other species acts this way,
they follow natural law.
So can we say humanity
is evil to the core?

No indeed, for many
show kindness every day.
Is it that evil people
have simply lost their way?

A sick mind can lead astray
and lead to evil deeds
but we may modify the thoughts
on which the sickness feeds.

No, evil doesn’t just happen;
it’s a choice that people make
and starts with that first decision
that ego decides to take.

Slowly, but deliberately,
they follow a downward turn,
descending into darkness
from which there’s no return.

© CS 2016


Points of View

Once a person has made up their mind,
established their point of view,
the door is shut, the boat has sailed,
there’s nothing that you can do.

Beliefs are essential to who we are
and change is exceedingly slow;
like a drowning man in a sea of change
we cling to what we know.

Our minds aren’t like a series of files
with elements easily changed;
they’re more of a network, each thought intertwined,
not easily rearranged.

To give up our core beliefs is hard,
but that’s what we seem to expect
when we ask folk to look at the way think
or tell them they’re incorrect.

No matter how good the intention
it’s a waste of time and breath
to try to change any mind made up;
they’ll argue the toss to the death!

© CS 2016


Politicians

They primp and preen and posture,
smile their smiles and lie,
convincing the people to vote for them.
Well, anyway they try.

But are we taken in by them?
Do we believe their claims?
Some clearly do, while others
are sickened by their games.

Who can we afford to trust?
Very few it seems.
Millionaires don’t care about us,
not in their wildest dreams.

Who will win, come election day
and wear the victor’s crown?
The tide of opprobrium escalates
as we watch integrity drown.

© CS 2016


 Strength

Two clenched fists don’t make you strong.
Weapons don’t make you a man.
Shouting and pointing have shown how weak
folks are, since time began.

For strength lies in patience, humility,
the support you give to another:
the women, the children, the dissposessed,
the homeless, the single mother.

Crushing people is not respect,
Insulting them isn’t smart.
Strength is shown in giving hope
and comes from a grateful heart.

© Oct 2016

The Capitalist
Sung to the tune of The Sewing Machine.

Oh, the capitalist, the capitalist, his own best friend.
If we didn’t have the capitalist this way of life would end.
For the money the money a dollar a buck
they say it trickles down
but as far as anyone here can see
it just goes round and round.

CS


The Privileged Few.

They sit in their decadent ivory towers
ignoring humanity's woes;
preened from the tops of their coiffured heads
to the tips of their pedicured toes.
Most care nothing for you or I.
Just imagine what they could do!
There's plenty of money to go around
but it's owned by the privileged few.

CS

They Tried

Yesterday they tried,

tried to bring terror to our shores 

and, briefly, they achieved it.

Today the flag flies at half mast

to honour those who died but

life goes on, as usual.
We will not arm ourselves with guns

 we will not hide behind a wall

we will not hate the foreigner

or walk in fear of strangers.
We manifest that wartime spirit,

demonstrated in the Blitz,

for that's how we behave.

Britons, as the anthem says,

never shall be slaves.

CS 23/03/17



Travesty

 There’s a lesson to be learned from
the emerging butterfly;
the struggle to escape
from its hard encasing shell
give form and definition to
the wings that will enable it
to fly.

Well meaning but mistaken hands
attempt to help the creature;
its wings do not develop.
Crippled, it will never fly,
a travesty of a butterfly.

So too the baby chick must fight
to work its way into the light
becoming strong and worthy
of the life tit has to lead.

When parents who have prospered
by the work of their own hands
decide to make it easy for
their offspring to succeed
they too create a travesty
which lacks a strength of purpose,
who has no understanding of
what life is all about.

CS 2017

Truth


It's a tricky thing, the truth.
We sometimes avoid it, step aside,
withdraw, becoming guarded.

At other times we launch an attack,
lunge and parry, feint and riposte.

We dance around it, disengage,
use rapier wit, deception.

But often, in a wider sense,
truth is what we choose to believe,
a variable, our raison d'etre.

One man's truth is another's myth
but he'll fight to the death to defend it.


Words

Sometimes people seem so blind,
they look but do not see.
Other folk appear unkind,
or so it seems to me.

They see a thing and just react,
they do not stop to think,
then words pour out, devoid of tact,
as quick as they can blink.

Hasty words, malicious words,
like bullets from a gun
or like a flock of pecking birds;
they stupefy and stun.

Don’t these people realise
the harm that words can do?
Do they never empathise
or see another’s view?

Some, I know, act wilfully
intending to distress,
wielding words most skilfully
to agitate and stress.

However, most are not like that,
just thoughtless and unwise.
Perhaps they need to pause a while
and open up their eyes.

© CS 2016


Rights

Letters, marches, demonstrations,
voices raised in protest,
“Give us our rights,” they say,
“I want” …  this  … or that
“I want”
“I”

But what of those who have no voice:
the animals, the unborn or the old?
They must suffer silently
give up their rights
and die.

Can we excuse the inexcusable?
Selfishness almost beyond belief.
Your rights or mine?
The hunter or the hunted?
The mother or the unborn child?
The feeble aged parent or
the relatives who have no time?

This is how the world will be destroyed;
life wiped out by “me” and “mine”.

CS 1990

Poems on Aging

Mirrors.

Mirror, mirror, on the wall
who’s the fairest of them all?
Pretty sure it isn’t me,
tell me, mirror, what you see.
Baggy eyes and saggy neck.
Goodness! I’ve become a wreck!

Mirror, mirror, on the floor
look again and tell me more.
Ankles which were once so slender
need to be returned to sender.
Legs like pit props, solid lumps,
don’t belong on me, but frumps.

Mirror, mirror, can’t you lie?
Try to be a little sly?
Give me back what I had once:
thicker hair to hide my bonce.
No? I don’t know why I look.
Out with mirrors. Where’s my book?

CS 2016

My Eyes

My eyes don’t look right, never did.
they’re not on the level you see.
One’s higher than the other but
that’s not the worst for me.

Myopia, astigmatism,
strabismus, vertical, too
then presbyopia came along
just to enhance the view.

They don’t see far, they don’t see close,
or look in the same direction.
I do have spectacles of course
to offer some correction.

But when I’m tired and take those off
my eyes have a mind of their own;
they flatly refuse to cooperate.
I’m in a twilight zone.

Usually I crack the whip
and they line up nice and neatly
but clearly sometimes it’s too much work;
they deviate completely.

I must admit it’s quite a lark,
seeing in two directions.
How boring life must be for those
with no such imperfections.

CS 2016


Old Hands

Why do these old hands ache so much
to reach, to stroke, to hold, to touch?
Why must they make my needs so plain?
My hands are driving me insane.

Though now adorned with jewelled rings
they long for old familiar things:
for flesh and muscle, firm and hard,
across which, once, they'd promenade.

I can, of course, caress the cat
although there's not much fun in that.
She isn't keen on being squeezed;
my hands just wind up feeling teased.

They yearn to feel again the thrill
of using, once again, their skill
to make a lover so inflamed
that one might almost feel ashamed.

Such skills I've had and have them yet
though currently they pose no threat;
and so I dream as here I nap,
my hands, frustrated, in my lap.


CS © 2005


Aging

I'm aging now, or so I'm told
but they're selling me a pup!
How can I be growing old
when I haven't yet grown up?

I refuse to be a "wrinkly",
a boring sad old fart.
Age is just a state of mind;
I'm still a kid at heart:

Open minded, curious,
shy but keen to learn,
impatient to see what lies
round every twist and turn.

And what about maturity?
Is it to do with years
or dealing with relationships,
handling hopes and fears?

I am happy to mature then
if that's what it's about,
as long as they let me have some fun
and run around and shout,

make fervent love in the afternoon
and dance to the radio.
I'm quite prepared to be old one day
but I've still a long way to go.


CS
© 2004


I laugh at my condition,
it's the only thing to do;
there's no point getting morbid.
I've spent enough time blue.

But sometimes - only sometimes -
it gets a little scary;
I wonder what the future holds,
what traps for the unwary.

Will it get so bad that I
can't manage all alone
and end up vegetating in some
dreadful old folk's home?

I guess it has some perks though:
all those lonely men!
Just think of all the fun I'd have
attracting lovers then.

Can you just imagine them
fighting lovers duels
(on canes d'you think or zimmer frames?)
and showering me with jewels?

Of course it could be single sex
Oh God! please spare me that!
I wouldn't last a week surrounded
by the endless chat.

I'd have to have some visitors
and sneak them in to this:
the only red light old folks home.
Just knock and ask for Chris.


C S
© 2003

Aging Dancers

Aging dancers don't retire
they simply dance much slower.
I haven't lost that inner fire
it's there, but burning lower.
I don't "do" frantic any more
I'm best at slow and sensual;
just clear a space there on the floor,
I'll show you I'm accentual.
Rock for me has had it's day
along with twist and shout;
I'll show you in a different way
just what it's all about.
Put on a mean and moody song
a beat that's slow and steady
then lead me out where I belong
and just make sure you're ready!

© CS 2002

Faeriefolk at Imbolc

February now is looming, Imbolc has arrived;
time for trial marriages, time to look ahead.
Faeries gather for this feast, from Celtic rites derived
to make sure fields are fertile and provide their daily bread.

Frozen ground, snow covered, hides harbingers of Spring,
snowdrops, winter aconites, hellebores and such.
In the bare and leafless tress robins dance and sing
most performing solo - they rarely mingle much.

The sacred flame once more is lit to purify the land,
encouraging the sun once more to leave its winter sleep.
Faeries, elves and pixies meet and take anothers hand,
perhaps a year, or maybe more, their promises to keep.

Every ancient Celt and Gael would know the custom well
for everyone had equal rights in matters of the heart.
To make or break such marriages requires no faery spell,
to marry they just meet and kiss,; to end it - walk apart.

As for prognostication, the Druid's skill is sought.
Shamans, as in ancient time, who practise secret rites
look into the future, a skill they have been taught,
handed down by ancient teachers to their acolytes.

Foxes leave their earthen lair to watch these strange events.
Badgers are still fast asleep within their cozy sett.
The sun, though dim and distant, momentarily relents
and sends a wintry blessing down upon this etiquette.

© 2004

Faeriefolk at Samhain

Samnhain is here now and all's gathered in,
the fruits are in store for the dark days ahead.
It's time now to celebrate all that is given
and thank Mother Nature for keeping us fed.

Faeries bring offerings, berries and grain,
offer them up to the spirits of earth.
This is the start of the Celtic New Year,
awaiting the Spring and a time of rebirth.

All must bring something, no matter how small.
Pixies and elven, goblins and gnomes
have all been collecting and gathering food
and cleaning the rooms in their small woodland homes.

For humans and faeriefolk have this in common:
all must remember to open their hearts,
filling the world with a spirit of thankfulness,
sharing the bounty before winter starts.

The first of November is when it all happens,
days are now shorter and getting quite dark;
no more is heard the quaint call of the cuckoo
but still we are thrilled by the song of the lark.

Watch with me now as the faeriefolk gather,
bringing their offerings into the glade.
Keep yourself hidden, these things are a secret,
humans must stay very much in the shade.

There stands the wizard, ancient and noble,
here come the faeriefolk, hear them intone,
each of them making their annual pilgrimage,
each of them making their gratitude known.

Thanksgiving over they'll stay for festitities,
wishing each other a Happy Samhain,
drinking a toast to the spirits of ancestors,
those who have brought them success once again.

© 2002

Faeriefolk at Lugnasadh.


Faerie folk are out in force; it's time for celebration;
the summer festival is here for every Celtic nation.

Chariots no longer race with horses charging madly;
very few remember all the ancient customs, sadly.

Humans rarely keep them now, but faerie folk remember 
Beltane on the first of May and Samhain in November.

Imbolc comes in February encouraging the sun
and summertime has Lugnasadh with frolicking and fun.

Deep within the tangled woods the faerie folk assemble;
waiting for their day of sport they chatter all a-tremble

Woodland creatures standing by will also play their part
they know the seasons and the days- know them off by heart.

Pixies quickly saddle up  their willing warty toads,
- those who've made it safely 'cross the busy human roads.

An elf is scrambling up onto a cricket for his steed
to enter the Grasshopper Chase: a wondrous sight indeed!

Elsewhere fairies sit astride the humble bumble bees;
flying races test the nerves, but no-one misses these.

Older folk are not forgot, nor any feeling frail,
for they can take part gently: each one mounted on a snail.

Truly this will be a day to make the pulses race
To stir the blood and stiffen sinews, flush each faerie face

Before they drop exhaustedin the glorious aftermath
the faeryfolk will have a ball for this is Lugnasadh!

Lugnasadh! The very name conjures up the past.
This may be the latest one but it won't be the last.

As long as faeries live and breathe and guard the woodland way
merriment will always be the order of the day.

© Christine Stromberg
May 2002

Faeriefolks at Beltane


Deep within the tangled woods,' midst the bluebell-scented air,
shadows lengthen 'neath the trees; who knows what is lurking there?

Elves and pixies, goblins, gnomes, sprites and peris, kelpies, imps
sylphs and brownies, boggarts, bogles , undines, elementals, nymphs

Faery creatures, all unseen,  gather for a night of play
far from prying human eyes in this merry month of May

Humans had their share of sport dancing round the Beltane fire
celebrating with abandon as the flames leapt ever higher

Lusty human passions sated homeward now they wend their way;
time to put this night behind them time to face another day

Now the faeries take their pleasure under cover of the night,
singing, dancing, leaping, prancing, truly an enchanting sight

Little people, tiny folk,  flying o'er the scenes below
tiny wings are all aflutter tiny faces all aglow

Wearing negligible garments,  scintillating, many-hued
sheer and light as gossamer, all with faerie dust imbued

Incandescent tiny bodies hover in the sky above
radiant rainbow-tinted auras emanate as they make love

Though no human ear can hear them tiny voices fill the dells
uttering their faerie magick, casting all their faerie spells

This is more than purely pleasure;w ith these mystical delights
faeries work to make things better, putting all the world to rights

There is power in their playing; life force flowing pure and strong
keeping evil at a distance; making right what we make wrong

You shall never see them work unless your heart is truly pure
and your mind is truly open and your nature is demure

You must have a sense of wonder, innocence, naivety
and a special inborn gift; a kind of sensitivity

Babes and children sometimes see them,
old folk, too, when life grows short
but for most folk they are hidden;
merely a delightful thought.



©Christine Stromberg
May2002

Guess Who : Riddles in Rhyme

Charlie, Charlie, likes to parley
talks to oats and beans and barley.
What he tells them nobody knows
but that's the way his garden grows.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
The King of Babylon ruled his land
with an iron glove on an iron hand.
He made the country shiver and shake
and kept the bushes wide awake.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
A rich young man who lived in the east
became a fierce and cunning beast.
He left his home and lived in a cave
because he didn't know how to behave.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
An iron lady came to town
and turned the country upside down.
Some said hang her, some said burn,
but no one could make the lady turn.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
One two three, what do I see?
four five six, who's playing tricks?
seven eight nine, spin me a line.
number ten, messed up again.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~

~ ~ ~ ~ ~
A Scotsman who wasn’t, flew very high;
he wanted to rule both earth and sky
but things went wrong when a brook went astray.
His empire collapsed but he went on his way.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
The Queen of Hearts she topped the charts,
her own heart it was torn.
She took a ride and sadly died
which made the people mourn.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
They called him a king, he was really a child
loved by the millions he thrilled and beguiled.
His fame has outlived him, his magic lives on;
the man in the mirror, untimely gone.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Such a dear person, a star shining bright
with looks so amazing, can this be right?
It would appear she can turn back time.
But unlike Jesse James she commits no crime.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
A thistle, a rose and a daffodil,
united in space if not in will.
What shall become of them do you suppose,
the thistle, the daffodil, and the rose?
~ ~ ~ ~ ~

~ ~ ~ ~ ~
 A farmer’s boy became a king;
the earth was rocked when he started to sing.
From land of cotton to land of grace
everyone came to know his face.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
From rebel to president this man rose
a man of vision as everyone knows.
Jailed for treason yet prized for peace
his struggle for justice would never cease.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
She tops the bill and what a top!
Where do her enhancements stop?
Her coat of many colours shows
her love of life where’er she goes.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
He silently played many parts in his day,
the idol in many an old matinée.
Named for a reindeer or maybe a saint,
was he the first to make young women faint?
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Was he a monster, a creature of night
or just a cruel Romanian fright?
Dragons define him, as Romans might say. 
An insufferable man for sure, anyway.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~

~ ~ ~ ~ ~
He flies through the air with the greatest of ease
but isn’t the man on the flying trapeze.
His colourful costume might give you a clue.
Who is this fine fellow, and what does he do?
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
This beautiful woman reigned so long ago
she rarely saw rain, and never saw snow.
She’s said to have had a strange beauty regime
and her use of eye liner was pretty extreme.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Was he a man or was he a myth
this man who was outlawed along with his kith?
And did he wear scarlet or did he wear green?
There are legends a-plenty in print and on screen.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
With auburn wig and whitened face,
embroidered gowns bedecked with lace,
this lady never shirked her duty
but wasn’t famous for her beauty.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
An outlaw down under may make some folk groan.
Though famous in Oz he’s not more widely known.
Was he a hero or was he a thug?
He finally lies in a grave newly dug.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~

~ ~ ~ ~ ~
A dancer of note, one of many fine males,
who sported a top hat, a white tie and tails.
He partnered some pretty girls; picture it now
as they whirl round the floor before taking a bow.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
The tramp became famous by being a clown.
British by birth he found fame overseas.
Regrettably, politics then brought him down
but his genius survives and continues to please.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
His books have sold millions, I have them myself
but so long to read that they sit on the shelf.
One day I’ll learn what the fuss is about
or just watch the films and try not to pass out.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
A painter, inventor, a scientist too.
Was there anything he couldn’t do?
He wrote with both hands, even backwards at times,
but I don’t know if he ever wrote any rhymes.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Ask yourself when is a ring not a ring:
a question that’s most apposite.
This man became famous in just such a thing,
but was equally known for his wit.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Lust: A Short Story.

It was dark as Liz walked down the narrow street that night, the only faint light coming from a crescent moon and the myriad of twinkling stars whose light had traveled across countless aeons.  In this out of the way place, street lights seem to have been considered unnecessary, a luxury.  She  pulled her scarf tighter around her neck, as winter was fast approaching and the air had a distinct chill to it.

There were few people around at this hour and the sound of her own  footsteps sounded sharp and clear on the pavement as she hurried homewards. Liz wouldn't normally be out so late in a strange area, totally unknown to her, but her car had decided that this was a good day to die, and she couldn't call a cab as the battery on her mobile phone had also given up.  If she'd seen a pay phone that was actually working you can bet she'd have used it to get help,  but no such luck.  Isn't that always the way? she thought.

She wasn't afraid; being out alone had never worried her but it was late, and cold, and she just wanted to get home. So when she sensed someone behind her it didn't worry her unduly; actually, she hoped it might be an offer of help, a lift perhaps, the use of a phone, something like that.

As the footsteps drew level she half turned to see who it might be and was quite taken aback.  A young man, or apparently so, long hair, but dressed very snazzily all in black.  Pale yes, but not your usual goth, no, much more dramatic, bohemian one might say. A wide brimmed hat, tilted over one eye, and a cloak of all things!  Who wears a cloak in this day and age? she mused.  An actor perhaps? On his way home from the theatre?  An artist possibly. A poser or eccentric? And is there a difference? Liz chuckled to herself at the thought.

Whoever he was, he was looking at her, quite obviously interested.  Liz was unsure whether or not to speak and so just gave a small smile, friendly but not overly so. Easy does it, she told herself, don't go overboard.

"Ma'am," he intoned, raising his hat with a flourish and bowing low.

Ohhh that voice!  Did she detect a slight trace of an accent?  European, perhaps. And the tone was low, husky, warm. She shivered, briefly. 

"Um, hello," she replied, feeling somewhat tongue-tied.  Awkwardness was radiating from her in waves.  She was not usually shy but this man was different from the usual pathetic creatures she tended to meet.  Romantic without a doubt. And lord knows, she admitted to herself, I'm a sucker for romantics.

"Can I help you in some way?" she went on, hoping against hope that he would say yes.

His face lit up as a lazy smile spread across it, making his eyes crinkle at the corners, and a humorous twinkle positively shone out of them.

Liz's knees were now feeling quite weak.  Yes, no prizes for guessing. She wanted this man. Oh, how she wanted him.


"It is late for you to be out alone, ma'am. May I walk you to your home or wherever you are going? Just to keep away unwanted attention. No strings,"
he assured her, smiling again.

"Why!" she positively simpered, "Yes, you may!"

It was still a good distance to her home and she was unusually impatient.  Not prepared to wait so long, her desire rising by the minute, she halted at the first hotel they came to and, beckoning with her head, invited him to enter with her.

His eyes were now smouldering with desire. She could feel the heat of his body and smell his masculine odour and her mouth was becoming dry as her breathing deepened.

She booked a room from the bored looking desk clerk, took the key he proffered and almost ran up the stairs to the room on the floor above.  Taking  the key from her hand, her handsome would-be defender opened the door. 

Trembling now with anticipation, and licking her dry thirsting lips, Liz entered behind him and looked briefly around the room.  It was simply furnished, but clean.  A bed, a dressing table. a small en suite bathroom.  Good. 

The two stood for a few moments just looking at each other, taking in every detail, then moved closer, mouths meeting, hot, hungry. Breath coming harder now, desire taking over entirely.

After a short time Liz pulled herself away from his lips and ran her hands lightly up his back, then entwined her fingers in his long hair and pulled gently but determinedly downwards until he sank to his knees. He gasped in anticipation, ragged breaths making his chest heave.

Wasting no more time, she bent down, pulled his head back, closed her eyes, and sank her teeth into his now prominent jugular vein....


© 2009
Christine Stromberg

What Are You Doing?

What are you doing to me, my son,
what are you doing, what have you done?
I’m sure you didn’t intend at the start
to break my spirit, break my heart.
To waste your life the way you’ve done,
the life I struggled to give you, son.
Which do I talk to, whom do I mean?
Why either of them, from what I’ve seen.

It’s a tragedy to lose a son,
or so they tell me. At least it’s done.
This daily heartache, this daily pain
goes on too long, again and again.
It’s more than a mother can contemplate.
Was this really always their fate?
They walk in their father’s shoes, it seems,
echo his values, follow his dreams.

To see the way they’ve treated their wives,
to see them living criminal lives,
incarcerated for years and years -
theirs the punishment; mine the tears.
I have no answers, I have no hope.
It’s gone too far, I’ve run out of rope.
Perhaps when I’m dead, when my race is run,
they’ll stop and consider the things they’ve done.


© CS 2015


A Mother's Prayer

My boys, my boys, my lovely boys,
so innocent and sweet,
their whole lives ahead of them,
the world lay at their feet.

All I can do is weep for them,
weep for them and pray:
Oh god take these my copious tears
and use them in some way

to heal their bodies and their minds,
refresh their tainted souls.
May they know once more what life
was like with purer goals.

These tears are now my sacrifice,
they’re all I have to give
to do what nothing else can do
as long as I shall live.

© CS 08/2015

Punctuation Part 4

Dash it all!

 

This time we're looking at dashes, hyphens, parentheses (round brackets) and anything else that doesn't have dots or hasn't already been covered.

Right, now I want you to become a dash hound.

What him? Well of course, although some people call him a dash hound in fact he couldn't dash too quickly if his life depended on it. With those little legs? Oh come on! 

And anyway it's a dachshund (pronounced daks-hundt  - it means badger-dog, bred to unearth badgers). 
But - I'm waffling again. Back to business.  You know very well the kind of dash I'm talking about.

Dashes for Separating.

When two phrases have "and", "or", "but" between them but you also want to indicate a break, you use a dash. It's sharper than the ellipsis (see Part 2). Eg:

Police said the  jogger could be just a friend - or the  murderer himself.
We have to finish the job - and I think we can do it.

It can be used without "and, but, or" as well:

There wasn't anything glamorous about her - she was just a typist in Charlie's office.

Once again this could be two sentences, or you might think of using a semi-colon here, but it has a slightly different effect. A sense of suspense, expectation.

The dash is also used to indicate broken or interrupted speech:

 "I wonder if you could -"
"Anything for you, my dear."

"I don't know what's happened to - I mean, I don't know why he isn't back."

"I - I'm not sure.  He c-could be."

"Lets' just say - " she paused, closing her eyes for a moment. "Let's just say I need him."

Another use is in dates and such like: 1955-1960; March-April 1999; verses 3-6; pages 19-22.

And of course, for replacing letters in words you don't want to write in full:

Those f-ing dogs barked all night. One often sees asterisks or other symbols used in place of the dash in cases like this of course.

Dashes for enclosing

Dashes can be used to enclose a phrase within a sentence in much the same way commas sometimes are, but again, with a sharper break. Eg:

It's embarassing at the moment because everyone in the street - and I do mean everyone - has painted their house.

Did she know - or suspect - more than she was saying?

Again, as with the semi-colon, where there are already commas in the central phrase, use a dash instead of commas to separate it:

I don't believe we can change - overnight, over time, ever - our basic instincts.

Where the second dash comes at the end of a sentence, it is replaced by a period, question mark or some such:

It was lovely to hear from you - when I finally got it open!
When did you last see a doctor - any of you?

Hyphens

A hyphen is a short dash. Now most if us have used a short dash at times. No, not to catch a bus, but to join words.  Words like: tax-free, ex-husband, first-class, and so on.

1) One thing to remember here is that this is only done if the description comes before the noun it's describing. If they come after the noun it isn't neccssary:

It was a first-class performance.
The perfomance was first class.

He's a well-known author.
The artist was well known.

2) Where the two words are (-ed) type adjectives:

middle-aged, simple-minded, and so on, the rule is that it always occurs, whether before or after the noun.

Many of these are now written as one word in any case, eg: kingsized, but not if the words have two vowels in between them, eg: middleaged. That's just too confusing.

3) Most adjectives of the (-ing) type: easy-going, good-looking, etc, and many (-ed) ones :
far-fetched, home-grown, can be written as one word, or have the hyphen.

4) words whuch are made of a verb with -er or -ing,  plus an adverb, are hyphenated:

passer-by, summing-up, but if the verb doesn't end in -er or -ing, the word can be hyphenated:

break-in, follow-up, follow-through, stand-in,
but many are all one word:
breakdown, breakthrough, breakup.

5) compounds which suggest "and". Eg:

bitter-sweet, Anglo-American,  socio-economic.

6) number compounds and suchlike:

twenty-two,  four-fifths, (but note: two thousand, three million).
thirty-odd members,  a two-week-old baby, the seventy-mile-an-hour speed limit.

7) Where the first word is a single letter:

T-shirt, U-turn, X-rated, F-word, X-ray (or x-ray).

8) Some prefixes normally take a hyphen:

ex-wife,  self-appointed, half-truth, quasi-mystical, etc.

It is usual when the prefix precedes a capital letter:
un-American, anti-English, etc  (although these are increasingly being spelled without a hyphen, as all one word)
and to avoid confusion with another word. Eg:
re-form (form again) as opposed to reform ( improve)

Another difference between American and British English has been the use of hyphens to aid in pronunciation:  co-operative, pre-eminent.
This is not used in the US and is becoming less common in the UK now.

9) Two or more hyphenated words may be linked:

pro- and anti-war demonstrators, middle- or old-aged parents, mothers- or fathers-in-law.

Hyphens for word division in poetry.

Hyphens sometimes occur at the ends of lines when a word is broken up across two lines to make the lines of more equal length. This applies to prose rather than poetry of course.  Here are some general rules for doing this:

1) Where there is already a hyphen : self-perpetuating

or where a compound word is joined: micro - analysis (not microan-alysis)

2) After a prefix:

over-simplify
dis-interested

3) Avoid breaking a word where it would lead to confusion:

manu-script (not man-uscript)

shorter words: flower, woman, offer, are best left whole

4) In general, break beween consonants if possible:

elec-tron,  terres-trial, mas-sacre,  pros-perity, etc.

5) Before the ending  "ing"

writ-ing, show-ing, fall-ing, etc
unless there is a doubled consonant before the "ing""
begin-ning, permit-ting, plug-ging, etc.
However, if the word had an "le" before the "ing" was added ( chuckle, wriggle) then break before the l or even one letter before that:

chuck-ling, fond-ling, ramb-ling. puz-zling, etc.

6) Do not divide these groups of letters when they make one syllable:

-ceous,   -geous,
-cious,   -gious,   -tious,  
-cial,     -tial, 
-cian,  -cion,   -gion,   -sion,  -tion.
     

Parentheses or brackets.

These are often called brackets in British English, or round brackets.  They are used to enclose a note that would otherwise ruin the flow of the sentence.  It can be an explanation, an elaboration, an example, identification, justification, or concession, etc. Eg:

Send two observers (who can also vote) to the meeting.
Sprinkle the flour over the meat and add the garlic (cut in half), soy sauce and rosemary.
We (I assume you are with me on this) need to get things moving.
Either that or my (admittedly naive) approach was the problem.


The parentheses can contain an entire sentence with its own punctuation:

Eg: He was hanging out in Greenwich village, in an area populated by jugglers, magicians and other good-natured hustlers.  (It was obviously not real life: no drugs, no beggars, no-one living in a cardboard box.)

Minor uses of parentheses:

1) To mention an abbreviated form of something to be used later in the text:

 The gross national product (GNP) of the country...

2) to give a translation:

It cost about 11 million yen ($77,000)
A typical one weighed about 4600 lb (2086 kg)

3) References to another place in the text:

(p368), (above), (see ch 3) etc.

4) Bibliographical references or details:

In "Dear Me" (Penguin Books, 1977) Peter Ustinov has produced a controversial autobiography, crammed with uproarious stories.

5) References to location etc:

You will find this in reception (inside main entrance) and in the office (third floor).
Contact me (on 0993928) for further details.

6) In references to other works or sections of text:  (cf. Genesis, 9.26)

7) In mathematical formulas, to show groupings:
(a+b) - (c) (x-y)

Other types of bracketing

Brackets [ ] - called square brackets in the UK - are usually used to insert an editorial note to clarify a passage, add missing words, or to replace an unfamiliar expression. Sometimes when the author puts a word or phrase into italics it's useful to point that out by saying: [my italic].

Occasionally you will see [sic] in a text, which is the author's way of saying (in Latin) that it may look odd but it's a direct quote and not a misprint.

There are other types of brackets but they needn't concern us here.