Plasters Don’t Stick for Long


It’s not a bolt out the blue, all along they knew. They’ve always known. The house of god guiding the masses; a place of solace for the working classes. For some, the need was theirs. They suppressed and stole. Innocence and trust. An ungodly thrust. Don’t utter a word. Mustn’t bite the hand that feeds. But they fed off youth. Goliaths army fought the truth. Time ticked on, but it still goes on. Vultures in glass towers, asserting their powers. Towers are modern day shrines, for the likes of Bernstein.  Invited underlings, young and unprepared. No doubt scared. Some fled and the others stayed. “They’re as much to blame; they wanted the fame”. It’s not that simple. Unguarded, alone. Frozen in place with a strong man invading your space. Cloak the dirt, don’t let them dare blurt. But the word is out. There was Polanski, Cosby and Saville. Lives did unravel. Penalise. Plaster over cracks in towers. Later 100 want to free Polanski, “He’s ours.” That’s the thing with the strong. They have a hold over you. Plasters don’t stick for long. What’s the solution, other than blaming the victim? The good and strong must speak out, restrict ‘em. For there’s more good men than not. That’s what I’ve always thought.

The Lost Generation

A photo by Milada Vigerova. and friends are all zooming towards our middle aged years. We were camping at the weekends and I had a good time, although at one time I felt like I was on the outside looking in. One couple recently downsized due to debts; the others are extending and buying up and everyone is being pulled apart in all directions with family and work commitments. These were my reflections:

I watch them through the Fishbowl. See them fight for control. Complaining about work powers, who puts in the longest hours. But the pressure’s intense. Tension’s bursting at the seams.  Still they chase bigger dreams. Be worth it in the end. Or so they say. The state of the world now. Brexit, Trump – wow! Should we get off? Boomers post war blessed. Millennials status obsessed. Generation X are forgotten. Others spoiled rotten. Where’s our generation headed? Their parents begin to decline; and kids, man, they can whine! Women guzzle wine and listen to 90’s songs. They dance away life’s wrongs. Talk up their sex lives again, but ignore the strain. Wonder why she wants him – with a marriage so grim? And they keep on dancing. But the last dance is spent. Twenty years just – went. Slaves to ambition, was it the wrong mission? The party must go on. They all drink a few, forgetting what’s true. “Come on men, how’dya get your kicks?” “Tell us the same chicks!” And I wonder how they do. Did they forget as they grew? Manicured lawns and mortgaged to the hilt. Reputations built. Elevated in stature, they found a dream catcher. Worked hard and they’ll get there – they will.

B u t   i t ‘ s    a l l    s o    b l o o d y    d u l l .

Back to School Blues



Sharpening his pencils;
ironing his clothes.
Wishing it would slow down –
how fast the time all goes.

Packing up his schoolbag;
new shoes up a size.
Seeing that he’s growing –
mammy wipes her eyes.

Every year he’s moving,
another step away.
Feels his hands in hers now –
he’s still a child today.

Trousers getting longer;
time can’t be ignored.
Although she wants him closer –
life’s there to be explored.

Today my boy returned to school today after an “awesome summer” (in his own words).  He is a home buddy and was terribly sad on the walk this morning. He’s also quite lazy so the thought of school work and homework and having to do any type of work depressed him. Fair enough; I get it.  He probably takes after me.

Why was I so sad though? He’s eight and going into primary five. I’ve been through the back to school ritual a few times before. I think it’s the realisation that the clothes are getting bigger, the work is getting harder and my little boy is taking another step further away from me.  If I’m honest though, I’ve enjoyed the peace and quiet today and managed a personal best on my run. It’s not all doom and gloom 🙂


Luv u

Warning: some may find distressing

“Luv u much. Turn up.”
“Such spurn! Cut up ☹”
“Unjust! But just strut up?”
“Just us?”
“Yup. Mum’s suburb stuck.”
“Luv u much.”

“Nup. Luv u.”
“Such luck 😊”

“Fun. Much lust.”
“Pull plug!”
“Shut up.”
Bump. Thump.
“Nup! Hurts!”

“s’up hun?”

“U hurt.”
“U turn up. U push luv. U strut stuff. Ur push-up bust; u suck up. But duck? Pluck up! Unjust!”

NO (and any variation such as STOP, NOT NOW etc) means NO whether in a relationship or not. Doesn’t matter how much a person wears, if they drank or flirted or started something and changed their minds. NO means NO.

In 2002 the UK Home Office published the findings of a British Crime Survey to which 6,944 women had responded. Nearly half (45%) of rapes reported to the survey were committed by perpetrators who were victims’ partners at the time of the attack. Strangers were responsible for only 8% of rapes reported to the survey.


The Love Affair

Wants a mate –

thinks she’s found

one that’s great.

Get him round,

offer bait –

common ground.

Make a date.

Gaining ground –

Eyes dilate.

Words profound.

Fast heart rate –

they’re spell bound.

Gain some weight.

Tightly wound.

Much debate.

Heads will pound.

Must berate.

Fights compound


Fool around.

Feeling hate.

Come unbound.

Clean the slate.

Apologies for the punctuation or any errors. I’m writing this on my phone as I travel from Glasgow to London on the train. Things have been quiet on my blog because I’ve been on a couple of short breaks. Was near London with my mum last week for the Hampton Court Flower Show. It’s beautiful there and the palace is where Henry VIII lived. A couple of days later I went through to Edinburgh with my son for his first hostelling experience –  a cheap break away. My husband and son joining me on this trip and we’ll be exploring some of the South Coast of England.

In other news, I’ve taken up walk/jogging again. Most folk call it running but it’s more of a walk/jog that I do. My son is joining me once or twice a week too. I reckoned I could use him as an excuse not to jog (because I’m looking after him) or I could take him with me. He complains for the first km but then he’s racing ahead for the rest of the four km. Might even try some walk/jogging during this holiday. Or maybe not!






My First Lipogram


noun: lipogram; plural noun: lipograms
a composition from which the writer systematically omits a certain letter or certain letters of the alphabet.

For my poetry class I had to write a Lipogram by using only one vowel throughout the whole poem. Not only that, but I had to ensure every word included this vowel. It was so much fun writing this but know it’s far from perfect.  There are different sounding “E’s” there but I was going for the visual effect in the poem, more than the sound. I will experiment more with Lipogram’s though – I like them.

Let’s meet the herd:
Enter the tense celebs
Best never blend
Secret temples preferred

Bereft nesters settle
Stress festers there
A clench then she trembles

The wretched teens shelter
They’re web-fed led
Lepers self-rejected

Weed seeped belted Freshmen
Seek fermented brew
The rebel’s pester spree

Keen newlywed greed
He feeds her sex
She feels he’s erect

Elders check the scene
Newness never emerges
Let them revel free
Let them seek the essence
Let them be

Plastic Friend

  You don’t want to be here Eyelashes don’t lie they’re ready to fly You can’t be trusted Joker lips are badass Words not worth a brass You can’t be read Spray tan hides your face Emotions lost – no trace You’re somewhere else Posing on a phone Whilst I’m here alone You’re playing with me I’m […]