for the lovely warm french women
dans ma vie
who were all in love with yves montand
ma grandmere... adele alexandrine ludivine
ma grande tante...eugenie henriette
ma mere...marguerite eugenie florimonde
the sun lost a little of its shine when you all departed
requiescat in pace mes bijoux precieux
you are missed
more than you could ever imagine
the sun sits pretty
over the flower strewn beach
pic lifted
from his f b page
he will never know
he never visits
jonquils were your favourite flowers
so i left a basket of them
on your doorstep
i see you
hiding behind the curtain
pretending you are not at home
i can read your mind
i can read your mind
i can read your mind
just as well
spring and flounce memories of madrigal choir practice
in a time when you could folderol all day and disco all night'
when a man could make a ricotta cheese cake, visit his mother, tell you about his dogwood blooming without keeping it a secret
when footy socks were not an essential wardrobe item and affection - was -
with a lot of silliness, cavorting, fun and porpoise kissing thrown into the mix
Great gifts are guiles and look for gifts again; My trifles come as treasures from my mind. It is a precious jewel to be plain. Sometimes in shell the orient'st pearl we find. Of others take a sheaf, of me a grain. Of me a grain.
Writers' Pantry # 88 PSU
Earthweal Open Link # 84
i see you
standing at the water's edge
blissful and beautiful
my love for you
overwhelms me
like the huge wave
crashing on the shore
yet i know
i'm not the one in your thoughts
nor will ever be
still
life goes on
the tides keep rolling in
the sun also rises and sets
reason is music to a jaded heart
as i watch the broken pieces
slip away and float out to sea
Weekly Scribblings # 88 PSU
11: 37
let me go mad
from 11: 37 onwards
cathartic and exhilirating
releasing the demons
even better than smashing plates
sorry sophocles spiro socrates
the silken ladder
is an ordeal for an oboist
it has no appeal
if your nerve falls apart
for the sake of your art
you keep it together with steel
listening to this
huddled under a fur rug
with marmalade boy
on a cold spring night
