Sunday Muse # 166 / Earthweal # 72

 

this is not the wolf

that swallowed little red riding hood's grandmother

this is the wolf  that belongs to wildwoman

a lover of nature

who roams the sea shore and forests

 

in love with the beauty of the natural world

and on a dedicated mission to protect the planet

she pens poetry  in the quiet of  night

and inspires others from all over the world

to join her in her cause

 

very occasionally she indulges herself

in a tipple of sweet sherry 

keeping warm

under her big cosy fur bedspread (synthetic)

a birthday gift from her sister 

while wolf boy one eye open

lies by her side 

her constant guardian and protector

star dreaming  wolf  dreams

Good Advice from Grandma - Writers Pantry # 76

In difficult times, you move forward in small steps.
Do what you have to do, but little by little.
Don't think about the future, or what may happen tomorrow.

Wash the dishes.

Remove the dust.

Write a poem

Chat to Polly

Put the kettle on

Make a soup.

Bake a cake

Take joy in all the small things

Move slowly in  small steps

Rest a little.

Praise yourself.

Take another step.

Then another.

You won't notice, but your steps will grow more and more.

And the time will come when you can think about the future without crying.

 

Mostly Elena Mikhalkova ( with inclusions and exclusions by Rall)

 

Shadorma

domestic

banalities can

save the day

a coffee

can be a well deserved treat

post chopping onions

 

 

(Sydney is in lockdown again..Soldier on everyone... )

Weekly Scribblings # 75

 dark times lie ahead of us

mammon dazzles  us

with promises of wealth and power

we prioritise comfort and self interest

above all

everything

 must be easy

everything

must come easy

 

 as a result

we have destroyed

our souls

our minds

and

our world 

 

we sow the wind

we reap the whirlwind

Wordle # 246 MLMM / Writers' Pantry # 75

it was improper

 to observe how well endowed he was

or comment on his vast wealth

 his farewell speech was not impressive

however she had no intention of maiming his ego

by alluding to it

there was a frisson of electricity  between them 

weary of contrivance

immune to flattery

no longer believing in everlasting love

she refreshed her makeup 

and proceeded to reel in the catch

 refresh vast electricity everlasting contrivance speech

maim endow improper impressive weary immune

 

 

 

Weekly Scribblings # 74 - Painted Tales

 Renoir

 

 she's all smiles

you'd never guess

her new shoes are killing her

 her corsets too tight

her patience tested

she's counting on a proposal

this night

(Renoir marries her )

Botticelli

 

never again

 had no idea

this portrait would take so long

i need a drink

vino please

my limp feathers need a 

little boost

The Sunday Muse # 164

 

\

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

these old hands

tell a story of

struggle and toil 

heartache and determination

 

give it a miss they said

use coconut shells and banana leaves

no effort required

save yourself all this work

but that was the problem

too easy

comes at a cost as well

Writers' Pantry # 74

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

a hermit poet ponders

 two worlds on sunday afternoon

in winter 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

hot chocolate

with a frenchman

 marais in winter 

happy days

 

  

 

 

 

 

 magic childhood

hours of fun

making homes for little fairies

in the old tree roots

sadly most have  gone

 

 

 

 

Weekly Scribblings # 73

 ten years ago

he took her to

the butterfly farm

 

t'was a wonderful day

of 

beaming smiles

holding hands

warm kisses

scented flowers and vines

 

she wore an orange shirt 

hoping

the multi coloured wing'd beauties

might think she was a marigold

they weren't fooled

 

sadly 

she was

The Sunday Muse # 163 / Writers Pantry # 73

 

it would never let her down

no one could take it away from her

it would be a source of solace and comfort

for her whole life

a buffer against a cruel world

an escape into another realm

she was only fourteen

i don't know how she knew 

Weekly Scribblings #72

uncanny unusual uncommon 

 

  she had an uncanny knack for attracting disaster

 yet her unusual approach to life always seemed to protect her

 it was not uncommon for her to confront an intruder

 with shrieks of manic laughter yelling

for one moment there i thought you were a burglar

who of course fled in terror

 nothing more frightening than insanity