My blog’s a big old mess right now

What to do, what to do?

nearly 4 years, and almost 2000 posts ago, I started this blog. I have written books, short stories, limericks, haiku and poems. There were photos and tanka, posts on comic artwork, collectables and 3D modelling – and more recently more and more on dogs, diet and lifestyle.

I really have no idea what my blog is about anymore. I certainly post less than I used to, and there are many excuses I console myself with, but am currently trying to decide just what to do with this thing and how to do it. I continue to write outside of my blog (with my second book due as soon as I can get the editing done) but I still love opening up WordPress and seeing what ends up on the page…

Anyone else have this conundrum and what have you done about it?

This Great Field

words. mostly…

I remember it quite clearly

Pale sun painting frosted fields

And you at peace, to sadness yields

So many, loved so dearly

Butterscotch sweets in kilner jars

Full house, late nights, your Sunday roast

Full ashtrays I recall the most

What was, now framed like painted flowers

And years go by, the memories stronger

Each twisted branch still skyward growing

The things you handed down not knowing

That they would linger, loving, longer

And so the sequels spring to life

A library of stories new

And every one because of you

Mother, grandma, sister, wife

When time runs short

words. mostly…

When silver threads creak with first frost

And summer thought in mists are lost

I wonder if you’ll count the cost

Or blindly hide from reason

When nights bleed into shortened days

And stars no longer light your way

So willingly you choose to stray

and blindly protest treason

No one to watch, no one to keep

Your candle burning while you sleep

And memories sink into the deep

Lost in the cold, dark freezing

Your stories ink washed from the page

And meekly without pain or rage

The curtain falls on empty stage

At closing of your season

Forever

Dirty. But if you read it out loud in a posh english voice it could almost be poetic I guess…

What once were endless summer days, and tender nights not counted

Sweetest whispers, love unbridled, days drift by embraced

And 69 more ways your soft pink flesh was nightly mounted

And your skin glowed with the blush of love’s seed spilled upon your face

The heart quickened, loins wet, thickened, hair pulled, lost souls intertwined

Gimp mask, red room, 12 inch pseudo love meat, I am yours and you are mine.

So spent, we lay in sheets soiled with the remnants of our love

we fit like trains into a tunnel, like large hand into small glove

And when no lube can dampen, when blue pills can not revive

Will we shuffle from this mortal coil, our passions still alive

Somewhere far beyond these night time stars that we once watched together,

Shall our memories drift slowly into inky black forever

________________________

Oh come on, it’s saturday, why not do something a little different.

The first 2 lines and the last two are kind of sweet I think.

Happy weekend you cheeky monkeys!

Passing

All a bit rhymey but meh, it’ll do

He watches from his window, rain like tears runs down it’s face

Petals fall as summer fades, once golden face now stark and bare

To this cold earth, beneath the sun, they seep into the earth

Beauty lost, like memories, life’s end to once bright birth

From green to gold and amber his life turns with passing seasons

All alone, he waits for something lost, his mind forgets the reasons

Of what was and is no more, faces blur as time slips by

And in a blink like flowers turn to dust, and skies do cry

They mourn for him, the things he once held dear, like him are lost

Like petals, cold, beneath the earth, embraced by winter’s frost

He slips away and fades from thought like breath in winter’s air

When flowers bloom once more nobody knows he is not there.

Stars

A kinda poem thingy but not about anything wholly inappropriate

I made for you a garden

From the stars I stole from cloudless skies

And deep within earth’s warm embrace

Sprung forth as tears streamed down your face

And quiet you sat in this place

And waited patiently

Each passing day under the skies

With hope, new shoots turned into bloom

And brightly shine when sunset falls

Until the light like beacon calls

These shards of nightfall, heart enthrals

From shadows setting free

And with the seasons turning, living

Pass full circle, gold to green

Hearts warmed by light unwavering

And beauty bright, sweet savouring

Sweet tears of heaven favouring

Forever comforts thee

Each day

Think this could have been better but I need to get the eldest out of bed and go to the tip…Happy Monday!

I tore the pages from the book

that holds the story of our lives

of darker times that might have been

and in their place I wrote these words

my promises to you.

Not to forget each day to live

and love and laugh and treasures mine

to hold most dear and know their worth

and thanks with grateful heart I give

all that I have to you.

When sunset paints with flames of red

the words we wrote on pristine page

We loved though time will pass us by

as stories gather dust upon

life’s shelf where now we lay.

Time and time again, no more

Words and more words and more words still…

Silver wisps of memories

The things that once so brightly shone

Now gone but one alone remains

Which fight the pull of time, refrains

From slipping through soft fingers

Clasped in prayer, in silence lingers

On that vision of her beauty, sweet

Her countenance so kind and meek

And one last time her forehead kisses

Always misses all they were and sunset burns

Like furnace flames

He smiles

And says goodbye

June

Words and more words and more words still…

Time steals the sweetest memories

Those moments where we wished that she’d

Halt in her tracks and carve emotions into stone

Forever monuments to love

Where, in later days we’d celebrate

That which was and now still is

But cruel she marches unrelenting

And halo slips, becomes a noose around the neck

As envy’s eye looks greedily on summers long ago

These barren lands, unfertile soil where only sadness grow

And dreams they whither on the vine as winter steals

The very breath that spoke you name

These lips once red now bare the pale of death’s caress

Eyes closed I fall to his embrace

and beg he take these memories

And cast them into the abyss

Sunset

Words and more words and more words still…

Memories in monochrome, sweet youth now seems so far away

and slowly memories ebb and flow, sandcastles crumbling in the tide

And walls fall down she cannot hide

Heart’s windows closed, doors locked, inside

She waits, so frail, her mind to long lost days does stray

Remembering, those rainbow days

Grey swept away, bright lights so shine

And lovers limbs do sweet entwine

Once more taste embrace divine

And hand in hand he finds her there in summer’s perfumed haze.

And so he leads her, barefoot, laughing, youth restored

Down paths familiar painted through the years

In love and joy, devoid of fears

And through the door, there no more tears

At last she rests, home, much loved and adored

Some Writing Prompts – August 2019

So for those of you who like a writing prompt or two here are some for August.  Three fairly obvious themes I think.  Make sure you add a pingback and I will attempt to pull them all together at the end of the month.  Let’s see what you got. 

  1. The day the skies burned
  2. Monorail
  3. Tomorrow, today.
  4. Dead satellites
  5. Orbital lockdown
  6. Binary lovers
  7. Apocalypse 2029
  8. Turbo
  9. Above the clouds
  10. Born to the stars
  11. Gravity
  12. Roses and bullets
  13. Darkest valentine
  14. Broken Mirror
  15. A lover’s touch
  16. Lips, blood red.
  17. My tomorrow, my yesterday.
  18. Summer no more.
  19. Innocence
  20. Love’s call
  21. Between the sheets
  22. The longest night
  23. Fangs
  24. A voice from beyond
  25. Our darkness
  26. Necrodancer
  27. Putrid
  28. The things inside
  29. Swarm
  30. The Awakened
  31. Sunrise no more

Things I would not place inside myself – A poem

it’s somethign I guess…well actually not really…meh…

It seems that there are those that will, and I think it’s a farce,

but people (per the internet) do hide things in their arse.

I’m told (though not seen it myself for I share my PC

with kids) so cant research it but if I did I would see

 

Ripe marrows place in darkest holes, and veges by the barrow

inserted, lubed and with great force, pushed into bottoms narrow.

Digits, midgets, varied widgets placed where sun shines not

a friend of mine vanished a vase when on it she did squat.

 

This bloke from Scotland, cavernous, spread wide, bent to receive

the contents of Old Nick’s full sack when drunk on Christmas eve.

And I did read a tale of woe of one lad who took pleasure

dressed as a pirate placed gold coins inside like hidden treasure.

 

A story told of one young chap one night when feeling fruity

filed down a tooth bruch, electric type, to place inside his booty.

But not outdone a lass invited several chaps to sample

her gaping hole but it turned out that just the two were ample…

 

Things stuck inside, spread open wide, or isides falling out

each to their own, and when at home, I really have no doubt

that there are those who cant recall, have lost things, or forgotten

I might suggest they might just be lodged inside your bottom.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Still processing this…

They say confession is good for the soul but bad for the reputation.

I wrote here about things I am not good at.  Mostly to do with towels.

Anyway, turns out I dont know one superfood from the other either.

It is school holidays at the moment so I’m mostly spending time with the boys, not doing a lot but enjoying it nonetheless.  So we sit down and we are watching something on netflix and for whatever reason they serve up a serving of quinoa.  I believe it is pronounced Keen-wah.

Well I believe it now but until yesterday I had no bloody idea that is the same as that quinoa (Kwinoah?) stuff I force down my face when I am feeling particularly fat.

I honestly had no idea.  I mean one look at me abnd you’ll understand that I am don’t have a heavy keenwah intake but for whatever reason the fact just avoided me and I thought they were seperate things.

I told the family and they all laughed their arses off at me.  Even the 14 year old who’s brain only works between 11 and 2 each day and who is currently obsessed with knives and fire.

They then reminded me that until perhaps 8 years ago I had no idea that the spike in the end of an ointment cap is used to pierce the film lid.  Up until then I tended to use the outer prong of a fork though this did often result in something of a premature ointment explosion.

I reminded them that they were all garbage human beings and the 11 year old blonde one, fond of his facts and a bit of a know it all, ceased laughing most heartlily when I reminded him that he still couldn’t ride a bike and he better hope his hair darkens before he gets older because blonde haired male adults are just weird and creepy.

I wanted to say he would look like like a kiddy fiddler but showed some restraint when Mrs Afterwards gave me the look.

The even came to an abrupt end and we all had an early night after I suggested they eat my backside.  I know, wrong on so many levels and I know I ought to be ashamed of myself.

I blame it on the lack of keenwah in my diet…

 

 

 

 

Waking

These battles played out on the streets….

These battles played out on the streets

For heart and soul, beneath the sheets

And words they spill, lips full of rage

And like blood spill onto the page.

 

My now

Your then

Our what might be

 

And blinded, clambering to see

The path not taken, setting free

And time will tell, and roads will wind

As shrouded pasts are left behind

 

This evermore

That what could be

Those sweetest of tomorrow’s

Stars

Like stars beyond my reach …

Like stars beyond my reach those thoughts of you

slip through my fingers to my feet

head bowed faintest recollections blown like sand

I’m left here on this precipice.

Here in the darkness looking out

and fire burns on horizon distant

blood red, golden on my face

One last time wind whispers your name

Fading

One of these?

At night he whispers sweet reminders

of how it felt, quite swept along.

Returning tides compelled, jump in,

strong currents have their way.

And beaches red at sunset burn

as she returns to land once more

and on her lips his promise lingers

salt stained on her skin.

 

Until tides turn and whispers fade,

sepia tinged her longing rests

and deep she sighs, sea at her back

and smiling turns away.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Kiss my nuts

Okay so perhaps a work in progress title but it got your attention I am sure. Just in one of those moods 🙂 Sorry. Kinda.

Were I at last to recognise the thing that we became

The thorny, bristling, spite filled rage

That spews from me onto the page

And like so many through the age,

At last I give it name.

 

My not again, my what the fuck, my who the hell was I

Quite compromised, unrecognised

And like those fools, philosophised

That I was there, just drowned by lies

And watched as life passed by.

 

And then, unshackled, this my thought

Regret no more, not turning back

And craving not the things I lack

now place your lips upon my sack

And kiss them like you ought.

 

 

 

Chilled

Come on, were all a bit too serious sometimes

In sleep I kiss your lips now cold

and miss the hand I used to hold

but god you made me feel so old

I’m kind of glad you’re dead

 

Heart’s drift apart when rent asunder

but can you blame you blame me there’s no wonder

from day one it was quite a blunder

should have listened to what friends said.

 

Mouth full of lies and legs oft parted

and that time you shit when farted

Inside I smiled when you were carted

to final slumber’s bed.

 

On and on such endless droning

pretty mouth but so much moaning

okay so I quite liked you groaning

when you were giving head.

 

But time moves on and people change

yeah yeah I know I may be strange

but jesus you were most deranged

and filled us all with dread.

 

So fare thee well, you did expire

now consumed with roaring fire

toast marshmellow on funeral pyre

I’m glad you’re gone, ’nuff said.

Debris

Just one of these things.

This cliff top wreckage of the place that once our hope protected

I stand and feel the chill of night as shadows slowly lengthen

And as my thoughts are drawn to betrayed memory of promise

Those icy fingers of regret squeeze tight and leave me gasping.

 

No night, no stars, no restless slumber

Horizon sparks and crackles

Into this tempest I will run

And scream your name one final time.

 

Lungs bursting, eyes red as the blood

That thunders through these veins

The words are lost as rising waters

Drag your ghost to inky depths.

 

And on that beach as morning comes and calm creeps with the sun

I turn , soft waves lap at my feet, and look back one last time

There in that place where love once blossomed nothing now remains

Your name now lost upon the breeze that blows upon my face.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Things I cannot do

We’re all shit in our own unique way.

There are things that I am good at which I am comfortable with.  I do a decent limerick, I”m shit hot with spreadsheets , and I make a bakewell tart so good that you’d likely let me touch you inappropriately just for a slice.  I think there are others but thise are the ones that spring to mind.

This though is not about my ability to make Microsoft Excel talk to you and tell you it wants to watch you take a pee.

This is about my inability to fold towels.

Well I can fold them but for the life of me I cannot get any of them the same bastard size.  It’s never been something I thought about much, intent as I was in the past to stack them in such a way as to make a pretty pyramid akin to the sort you get if you get a bundle as a gift.

God that’s a depressing thought in itself isn’t it.  A gift of towels.  Reminds me of the Christmas I found myself disappointed I never got any socks.  I died a bit inside that day I tell you.

I am also not talking making towels of vastly differing sizes fold to a similar footprint.  That would be stupid.  Hmm.  I think I’m still pretty crabby about it.

No, thing is Mrs Afterwards has this knack of folding all the varied towels and they all end up beign of a similar size and stack wonderfully and whilst she doesn’t admit it I know she is smug as fuck about it.  Well I would be if I had achieved such a feat.

Today I decided I would do the same and it did not go well.

Within ten minutes I happened to call a particularly tricky black bath sheet a bastard in front of the youngest, and followed that up by telling all the fluffy white ones to go screw themselves because even the ones of the same size refused to allow themselves to be folded to the same dimensions.

Eventually I rolled them all up instead like in a hotel but they didn’t fit on the stand in the bathroom so redid them just like one of those lovely stacks you get as a gift from your sister when you move into a new home.

Anyway, I imagine it is something passed down from mother to daughter but there is no way I am asking the missus.  I’d rather air dry.

That reminds me, does anyone know how to change a duvet cover.  Last time I did one I ended up with a prolapsed sphincter and a dislocated shoulder.

 

 

 

 

 

Bound

Just one of these things.

When skies turn grey, horizon’s shrouded

Compass bearing wayward, lost

I find my comfort wrapped in you

and threads that bind, knit tight.

Drawing  close such warmth I find

life’s colours woven through this cloth

though mended, frayed, it’s patched with love

and never out of reach.

This love, this life, our ever more

through storms that roar and rage,

my shelter until morning comes

and sun shines on my face.

ReD

Words perhaps? Not Rhymey ones. The other type.

Lips like fire set worlds ablaze

and reckless how they run

those crimson tongues charred ruins make

and promise they turn to ash.

In sweat soaked sheets they smoulder still

the merest spark brings it to life

and lies once more sing sweetest strain

until burnt out flame fades to black.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Someone else’s forever

Fancy one of these?

Mouth dry, full of regrets and lies

and fading dreams of what we had

they fill my mind when eyes I close

and raging ‘gainst the lovers sunset

I thrash between these sullied sheets.

 

There in the distance, silhouette,

you walk where once we lingered long

into the night and then slip softly

hand in hand

into someone else’s forever.

 

 

 

Sunday

I’ve had flu all week so not written anything and this is the best I can muster.

Backs packed and gloom descending

as the weekend nears it’s ending

‘Monday blues’ on twitter trending

and I curse that I have not yet won the lottery.

 

For Monday, it sucks balls you see

the thought of it quite bothers me

I’ve felt this way since after tea

and I curse that I have never played the lottery.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Never alone

More Sunday word vomit

One final sleep

‘neath blankets cold

of eath and clay and stone.

 

And to my end I walk at last

no evermore, or well lived past

and to the darkness wide and vast

I enter all alone.

 

And you shall be my final thought

my life, my hopes, my joy

remember me, the things I wrought,

my kind and loving boy.