Handmade Monday. http://www.1stuniquegifts.co.uk/blog

Follow the link and enjoy the many varied blogs involved.  Take the opportunity of seeing some beautiful hand made items, reading such interesting articles and generally embracing the whole idea of Handmade Monday.  You won't regret it.
We have entertained three 6 year olds and one just 7 year old for the weekend and have had such fun.  There was no agro at all, everyone had a wonderful time.  My lounge was taken over as a 'camp' with sheets and quilts spread over clothes horses, chair backs and anything else that would prop them up,  All the household cushions found themselves in the camp doubling up as beds plus a couple of pillows. Clothes pegs too.  It all hung together on a wing and a prayer but, oh boy, did they have fun.  I will remember it for a long time, I hope they will too.  I think they will, things like that they end up relating to their own children don't they.
. 

So young, so clean, so pure,

So innocent unto the core.

Eyes clear and trouble free,

Just how they should be.

How can we protect,

The already perfect

In every way

This child of today.

How soon will it fade

Or the innocence jade

In the name of maturity

To loose so much purity.

Thursday blog hop.

http://Caroleecrafts.blogspot.com.  Please pop along and look at all the other contributors.

It is my youngest sons 35th birthday today and I have been reflecting on his life.  The happy go-lucky child and teenager who was mad keen on music and football, not as a spectator but taking part. The many friends who always seemed to be at the house at mealtimes.  The fun, the laughter.   When did it all begin to go wrong? When did the loves of his life cease to be football, music, family, friends and when did heroine become his mistress?
Eventually he became homeless and lived among the many, many homeless on the city streets. I became a familiar figure as I travelled to Coventry to walk the streets asking Big Issue sellers, buskers and other homeless if they knew where he was.  I heard so many sad stories from so many, young and old alike. 
Socks.  Always buy them woolly socks.  Remembering that they live 24/7 in their socks and only take them off when they rot so they are grateful for a continual supply.  I used to beg them off the markets for 6 pair for £1 and take them along to Jesus Army who distributed them.
This was one particular young lady....

She sat on the step,
Cold and wet,
but couldn't let
Anyone know her plight.

With brave face,
And luck makes haste,
 To a place
With a roof and a bed for one night.

Anger and strife,
This is her life
Poverty is rife
At the end of the tunnel, no light.

A sad truth,
Positive proof,
Humanity's goofed
These souls have lost the fight.

As a postscript.  He did survive it, we were so lucky.  So many others were not.

I have very recently heard of two occasions of Fraud.

We see the words Fraud, Theft, Robbery, Mugging, but how many of us look behind the words at the ripple effect each one brings to family and friends of the victim.  It is fairly obvious that the perpetrators have no conscience of this.

They’ve been defrauded, what does it mean?
That evil beings have been on the scene.
And taken something they've no right to,
Things most likely treasured by you.

The pain and the loss cannot be born,
The rest of the family are violently torn.

They hate, want revenge, then some.

The ripples on the surface have begun.

Hardships and stress have now been caused,
A direct result of this defraud.

What type of person do we breed,

That take great pleasure in this deed.

Villainy is grossly out of hand,
Some make a living very grand.
Why doesn’t  society take firmer control
And bring these wicked ones back to the fold?

That’s another pebble on a much bigger lake,

Those at the top should make branches shake.
This tree of life must bring things in line,
The punishments must fit the crime.

This entry is for Thursdays blog hop via www.Caroleecrafts.com  May I respectfully suggest you pop along there and have a look at all the other blogs.  Some lovely things.

Thursday Blog Hop.

I notice on the Craft Forum someone was asking for a poem to put in their card for their one year old Granddaughter.  I remembered on one of the twins birthdays I wrote a ditty.  It went something like this. 

Beautiful children

Of beautiful children
We count our blessings
That God has willed them.

There’s never a day

That passes by
That we don’t think
Or wonder why.

We should be

The lucky ones
But we are,
We have Grandsons.

It wasn't my intention to offer that as Thursday Hop offering but the following one. I was a bit maudlin when I wrote it so apologise for its dourness.

How precious is this life
Every minute, every day
Should we waste not a second
Or create no more fray

Do we get second chances,
Or do a backtrack some way?
Of life, of romances?
Can one call back a day?

How to use this time we're given,
How to leave your mark on life
How to make it great to live in,
Obliterate the need for strife.

On a much lighter note why don't you go to www.Caroleecrafts.com and visit all the other blogs taking part.

The Tree of many colours.

Thursday blog hope has come round again and we are experiencing an Indian summer.  Enough to make one wax lyrical isnt it.  Check out all the  lovely crafty objects via Caroleecrafts.blogspot.com

Oh Tree of many colours,

Long shadows towards night.

Time for casting off the worn,

And keeping loved ones tight.

The solemn rituals of life,

The need to store and nest.

To gather winter fuel and food,

Put stamina to the test.

Maybe we think, as humans,

We are above the rest.

Our instincts are still animal,

Who says they’re not the best?

Sunday night sky over Rugby

It can't be measured by man

The span

Twix heaven and land

The hand

Of the Almighty

With his pallet and brush

A hush

As his touch

Creates such

That makes us what we are.

Handmade Monday comes round again.

Unreality 

It’s all so wonderful because of the dreams,

But in reality, not as it seems.

Our eyes deceive us whilst looking at this,

Nothing is seen that our minds want to miss.

When your heart is involved and holds hard to that dream,

It’s rose tinted glasses that scan the scene.

If only all truths were so easy to hide,

And the less salubrious side be denied.

Would ignorance make life more palatable?

Could we really be so gullible?

Please follow this link and look at all the other Handmade Monday Offerings.   http://www.1stuniquegifts.co.uk/blog

Thursday Blog Hop -

Follow Thursday Blog Hop http://caroleecrafts.blogspot.com/

MyBest Pal.

My little dog is 14 now and is showing all the signs that an old lady of her years does.  Her memory is atrocious and her heart is a bit dickie.  This is a ditty I wrote about her around 4 years ago after one of our vigorous romps across the common with 2 year old twins in tow trying to keep up with her.
Now she struggles to keep up with them and they are looking after her.


Quiet, unobtrusive,
But mine exclusive.
So therapeutic,
Can't bottle it.

God help those
Who try to impose,
She's natures alarm,
Keeps me from harm.

The bond we share,
Such a powerful affair.
My love for her will be,
Equalled only by her devotion to me.

She asks nothing for herself,
So who needs wealth.
She gives her love freely,
Honest and truly.

Now she is ten, seventy of our years,
Am I prepared for the tears?

http://caroleecrafts.blogspot.com Handmade by me Thursday.

Please pop along and have a look at the lovely crafted goodies.

Life is so unknown

A baby takes first steps and wobbles,

Launching hesitantly into unknown

troubles.

Young child faces first day of scholastic life

Leaving safe haven for playground strife.

When a teenager, life’s molehills become

mountains

Disproportionate to reality and doubting.

Coming of age, you’re a man my son,

But still need to indulge in pleasure and fun.

Responsibility increasing when becoming a couple.

Financial pressure and stress prick that bubble.

Procreation creates baby number one

And the cycle once again has begun.

As loving parents you shelter and protect,

Minimise, reduce and reject

Hardship, disappointments and faults

That life throws at our future adults.

Handmade Monday. http://blog: http://www.1stuniquegifts.co.uk/blog

I’ve said my Hail Mary
On my knees in the Dairy
There was no ‘udder
To hear me utter

My request to the Lord
For his absolute word
And I can get on
With my life and have fun.

Then I can go back
Renew my attack
For request to forgive
The life that I live.

 I am not Catholic, in fact, I am not religious but do respect and admre others that believe and live their life accordingly so obviously I  intend no offence.

And yet another silly one...

The glories of our English summer holidays

We’re on our hols. It’s raining,

We’re watching through the door.
It’s coming down like stair rods,
Then bouncing on the floor.

There’s not a lot to do in here

Except to watch the storm.
Played whist and snap and rummy,
Wrapped up to keep us warm.

We crawl round on hands and knees,
Or move around all bent
And if we touch to top or sides
Water comes in the tent.

Made By Me Thursday

I have joined a Thursday Made by me blog and this is my contribution.                                          

As aging summer spreads her hands

To catch the falling leaves,

She turns them into wondrous shades,

The  autumn patterns she weaves.

,

To make them whisper and to shake

She  gently blows them round

Allowing sun to glint on gold

As they flutter to the ground.

 The floor is now a carpet of bronze

An amazing sight to behold

The artists pallet could not improve

As onward the season rolls.

Life is so unknown

A baby takes first steps and wobbles,
Launching hesitantly into unknown troubles.
Child faces first day of its scholastic life
Leaving safe haven for playground strife.

Teenager, life’s molehills become mountains

Disproportionate to reality and doubting.
Coming of age, you’re a man my son,
But still need to indulge in pleasure and fun.

Responsibility increasing when becoming a couple.

Financial pressure and stress prick that bubble.
Procreation creates baby number one
And the cycle once again has begun.

As loving parents you shelter and protect,

Minimise, reduce and reject
Hardship, disappointments and faults
That life throws at our future adults.

Is the grass greener..

A friends other half has told her he is leaving at Christmas.  I asked why not till Christmas.  She didn’t know but agreed that he could stay till then. 

Now is it me?  Am I so very intolerant?  I not only would have wanted to know why but he would have been packed and gone that same day but my friend is a kind soul and has spoiled her other half rotten which begs another question – what is he looking for and is the grass greener on the other side of the street?

I share my hearth

I share my home
I’m always nice, I never moan.
I defer to you
Refer to you
With lots of love and caring too.

A lot of years

Under the belt
A lot of tears and laughter felt.
The good things
And the bad ones
The promises,  the marriage bonds

And yet you’ve gone
To some other
This obviously was not for ever.
You should worry.
I might find
I’ll do better without your kind.

A quickie cos I have nothing else ready.

 

Our Version of TheThinker.   

Handmade Monday
Starts on Sunday.
Wendy’s the gell
Who does it so well.

I’ve nowt this week

Life needs a tweak,
Back to the swing
Of making something

Need to deduce

How to produce,
And turn into cash
Instead of stash.

Must use the brain

To make a gain
Then maybe we eat
Till the end of the week.

.

Vanity Hurts

Don't forget, next to Wendy at 1st Unique Gifts for handmade Monday.  Worth a look

When I was a child we had either metal curlers or rags in the hair to provide one with a coiffeur for the following day.  We did have curling tongues but these were inserted in a fire until red hot prior to curling hair around it.  Risky?  Yes, definitely.  If one wasn’t careful one could end up with very short hair indeed.

The reason I mention these tortures is that I recall one of my Mothers favourite sayings as she dragged a comb through my long and often knotted hair.  “Vanity hurts my girl, vanity hurts”.

When I think of what some people do today all in the name of beauty.

I’ve suffered agonies over the years

I’ve cried and cried so many tears.

The surgeons knife, always so sharp

Has now created this work of art.

My face would launch a thousand ships,

My legs now rise to slender hips

My boobs are pointed and erect

There’s not much left to now dissect.

The double chin I had has gone

The neck is wrinkle free and long.

What varicose veins, how dare you ask

Comfortable flab - a thing of the past.

The trouble is I’m still inside

Struggling to get out of this well honed hide

I look in the mirror and what do I see

The same fat, frumpy, dowdy me.

A touch of peace

The ripple of water in the sun

The twinkle of light on wet stone,

Soft whisper as the ripples run

Where ever they want to roam.

Be it brook or stream or rill,

Thro woodland or open weald

And paddles of an old water mill

Such peace you could ever feel.

This peace remains intact

Till the seasons turn a page

And Winter performs its act

Causing angry waters to rage.

It is a cleansing process

The frost, the ice and the snow

Ready to don the new green dress

For the start of the Spring time show.

I have resurected this ditty for a virtual friend who has just visited our capitol. (See http://bitsandblobsbyamy.blogspot.com  ) She has some lovely pics on there, well worth a look and a read.

HOME SWEET HOME
(or the day we got the wedding dress)

We’ve had a day in London,
The great metropolis,
Not sight seeing you understand,
But with a shopping list.

Both ways along Oxford Street.
Then Regent Street as well.
Back down the tube for Knightsbridge,
And Harrods just for the hell.

A corner shop beyond our dreams,
Our pockets too I fear.
But just to get a carrier bag,
We must buy something here.

The tube again, the moving stairs
To take us back to town.
Our weary feet and aching arms,
Wish we were homeward bound.

We’ve still to queue for food and drink,
Alas no tables free.
The queue for loos is two miles long,
I’m desperate for a pee.

I have been banged and kicked and pushed
From pillar to post all day.
The pavements are full of milling crowds,
All going the opposite way.

When next you are planning another trip,
To our capitol city for fun.
Remind me of my pleasures today,
It’s unlikely that I’ll come!!!

Visit to Bletchley Park.

We are members of a club and it was our summer outing yesterday.  Above us a picture of part of the grounds of Bletchley Park.  It was so tranquil.

We went to visit Bletchley Park

I wasn’t too keen on this,

Thought it would be all gloomy and dark,

Things like that I could miss.

We finally arrived in our charabanc

To a lovely countryside view.

Gathered together our little gang

And off to find what to do.

Well, talk about stepping back in time,

To imagine eight thousand odd folk

Milling around these grounds so fine,

Where work was definitely no joke.

Studied the early computer,

Watched The Colossus still at work.

Learnt their affect on the future;

Then around the canteen did lurk.

We found that a wartime price

Was not in evidence there.

A crumb and cuppa sufficed

As we didn’t have a millionair.

The evening pub delightful.

The food was scrummy and good.

The hosts were very mindful

Of us and did what they could.

I won't tell you what incident prompted my latest little dittie but, rest assured, one of the protagonists is still blowing steam out of her ears. lol.

Three score years and ten

The life span for men

Ladies live longer

Because they are stronger.

 Man disagrees,

They work hard felling trees
More likely in the gym
Building muscle cos they’re thin.

Gentle sex, or what?

Abuse their bodies a lot
Bear and care for young
And exercise their tongue.

Provide and cook meals.

When sick or ail she heals
DIY a  cinch
All without a flinch.

Now a man…….

I rest my case.

We have a house guest.

His name is Tom.  He joins our small family quite often as he belongs to my Daughter.  It works quite well as Rosie has grown up being ruled by cats so he is just another in a long line of things to be tollerated.  Bless her.

Daughter’s gone on holiday

So we have got the cat.

We also have our Rosiedog
Who doesn’t care for that.

Tom’s an independent soul,

And stalks his pad defiant.
He disappears for hours on end
But mealtimes are reliant.

Our garden birds have taken flight

The squirrel’s very cautious.
The half devoured gift he leaves
Is really, grossly, nauseous.

And yet at night he snuggles up

Taking half the covers.
Dreaming of his wild exploits
Hoping for some others.