I figure now is the time
If you like my rhymes
To offer to you
A whole collection
Of my reflections
what socks (argyle)
lack in style
they atone for with panache
they look like trash
but to golfers
‘tween you and me,
they fit golfers
to a tee
If the brain’s a tree
I must concede
Mine is less an oak
Than a puny weed
More a trunk
As in full of junk
I confess, the hair on my lip is not
so bad as the hair on my chest,
which leaves me quite distraught.
Then there’s the mammogram,
which some claim is the foulest invention
for women, by man.
Some women hate that man so hard they’d like to clutch
his nuts and test him in what should be named
I found it not too bad, because of my tiny breasts,
but I pity big girls who obey our NHS
diktat-by-post – I wouldn’t like their test.
Yes, it’s that time again.
Ladies, I urge you to get tested, uncomfortable/painful as it is.
Gentlemen, urge your ladies. Or ladies, urge your ladies.
I found the cartoon on an interesting post, complaining like me about this being a woman-only adventure; it’s well worth a read.
Fish are delish
Sometimes I drool
And thank my God
For flavoursome pods
Then see a pic
Of a pretty shoal
So – not to be a contrarian –
Consider becoming vegetarian
How can I eat
What counts as meat
When I see them
All in school?
I do my due diligence 9-5 as chief cook and bottle washer
plus a bang for the buck if I’m up for it and not dragging ass.
His juju is such that first touch, he shoots, he scores, lifts the silverware then hits the sack while I’m left to Bill Murray and I’m insomniate.
My sweat equity’s out the wazoo so I sometimes go AWOL
and his bitchin’s shockley but I don’t take no sassitude –
I show him the red card and take an early bath
before I nutmeg his tackle.
IIRC my BFF has the same probs (obvs)
and when I give her a bell and her second half yells
while he’s lay in the cut with his FAQs
she hits back with FUs so I LOL
and say CYA, I CBA with his chunter. TTYL, TTFN
and I bust open a red and think, HTH.
I wrote this three years ago, to a prompt requiring the use of slang in ordinary life, and I have no idea what half of these words and phrases mean! I’m pretty sure some of them are already obsolete. Language really is a living, growing thing.
an overhead maiden
a drowsy mangle
a veteran bucket
sixties’ washing day
My Nan lived in a dreary block of flats in Liverpool when I was a child. Her kitchen was cold and dark and dank and she kept her milk in water in a metal bucket on her shadowed concrete balcony. She didn’t own a fridge until she was in her sixties (in the 1970s).
I have a strong memory of her putting washing through a mangle in her kitchen, then hanging it on an overhead wooden, slatted maiden. It must have dripped onto the solid wooden table beneath, but I don’t remember that.
My current favourite genre is Young Adult Fantasy: vampires/angels/werewolves/fairies
(the Fae, I ought to say).
I am immersed in non-reality.
These books have me entrapped, spellbound.
It’s a craving I cannot seem to quell.
I’m fifty-three – this has to be some sort of anomaly.
Please, I beg you, please:
throw me a chick lit text, a comic, a cartoon strip,
literature not covered in any degree
and set me free.
I feel honour-bound to tell you that, actually, I feel no shame in reading any of the above-mentioned genres. I completed a degree in Literature and didn’t read for pleasure for years afterwards, so tired as I was of reading for study. So called ‘lowbrow’ books restored the joy; and I receive eight cartoons in my inbox every day, because I like to start the day with a laugh.
My timid boy licks my nose –
I hate what you are doing to me
but I trust you,
is what his kiss shows.
I love my man
(I’m his biggest fan)
But he wears a beard
And that’s just weird
Then he shaved it off
Which made me pout
He looked too soft
So I threw him out
I do declare
I do not do bare
So men beware
How you treat your hair
‘Cause we ladies care
And can be unfair