A Poem For Friday

Tights

Tights. Now there’s a word,

Which is quite absurd,

Panty hose is just as bad,

And pop socks are a daft fad,

The men all like stockings best,

But those straps are such a pest,

Knee highs seem to be knee lows,

Falling right down to my toes.

---

But tights take the crown,

For making me frown,

Whatever the size, it’s wrong,

Sometimes they are far too long,

Other times they are too short,

And between my thighs get caught,

Medium would do, I think,

But all that’s left is bright pink.

---

For legs that are wan,

There’s American tan,

Though the rest of me’s a sight,

White arms, brown legs doesn’t look right,

Ivory makes my legs glow,

Even in the pitch black though,

Barely black are a nice hue,

But by mistake, I buy blue.

---

Now and then it all works out,

A perfect pair, there’s no doubt,

Alas, there’s always a hole,

Sometimes starting at the sole,

Spreading into a ladder,

Right up, making me madder,

So now I really don’t care,

My legs can always go bare.

***

Can You Tell A Story In…

It’s Thursday and your new five-word challenge is here. This week, your prompt is MISTAKES. So can you tell a story in five words, using the word MISTAKES in it somewhere?

Here are your SECRET stories from last week:

Sarian Lady:

Secret Seven books childhood bliss.

Keith Channing:

Always secrete your secret secretions!

Trent’s World:

A secret in five words?

Secret path to hidden world…

Tell me all your secrets…

Ritu:

It’s no secret. I think…

Can you keep my secret?

Secret stash of chocolate – FOUND!

Annette Rochelle Aben:

She was Mother’s shameful secret.

Christine Mallaband-Brown:

My secret recipe for chaos!

Secret service seals special storage?

They secretly brewed Gin here!

My secret? Wear no makeup.

Kim Smyth:

Poison was her deadly secret.

I can’t keep a secret.

Don’t secret your talents away!

Joy Smith:

Aunt’s my Mother, Birth Secrets.

Secret comes out of closet.

Inter-Continental Adoption-State Secret.

Secret Seven, favourite childhood reads.

Victoria’s half secrets, that’s pants.

Secret lover whispers sweet nothings.

Covid annihilated influenza, Top Secret.

Quilts hold secret freedom message.

EDC Writing:

Talked easy, spilled secret, unwise.

Paul Mastaglio:

The recipe is a secret.

Can’t tell you the secret.

It’s not a secret anymore!

Lance Greenfield:

This week’s word is secret.

Dover cliffs rise: cretaceous rocks.

The monstrous secret of Loch Ness.

Stonehenge stones harbour ancient secrets.

Priest hole: Roman Catholic secret.

Gran’s diaries revealed family secrets.

The Home Secretary played away.

Her secret lover prefers secrecy.

Natural secrets of personal grooming.

Your secret’s safe with me.

Magic Circle won’t disclose secrets.

Discrete secretaries keep your secrets.

Everyone heard the secretary’s screams.

Thirty year rule: Cabinet secrets.

The secret of immortality is . . .

Escape down the secret tunnel.

Social media holds no secrets.

James Bond: charismatic secret agent.

Linking People 2003:

Secret kept by office secretary!

Silence keeps a secret untold.

Sharing secret with faithful friends.

Revealed secret can create unrest.

Roberta Writes:

Her face revealed her secret.

She shared her success secrets.

Sharon Tingle:

Unsurprisingly, secrets have many secrets.

Sharon Harvey:

You don’t give secrets away.

There’s a secret I know.

What a very big secret.

Secrets can tear families apart.

Secrets always come out.

***

Coming Home – Part Two

For part one, click here

She looked at the front door key in her hand and closed her fist round it. She couldn’t do it. She couldn’t pluck up the courage to go in.

“Something moved! There are tigers in there,” Gemma screamed and clung to Sarah’s leg.

A black cat sauntered out of the undergrowth. He paused to look up at them with his wide green eyes, and then stuck his tail in the air before walking nonchalantly off in the opposite direction.   

Sarah laughed.

“Sarah! Gemma! Abigail!”

Sarah swung round at the sound of their names. A face was beaming at them from over the fence.

“My dears, you’re back. How wonderful.”

Sarah smiled. Mrs Minchin. There was no finer neighbour than Mrs Minchin.

“Come in, come in. You must be gasping for a cup of tea and I know there’s nothing in that larder of yours. I thought you were coming back tomorrow. I’d got it all planned. Tea bags, milk, bread. You name it, it was all going to be there, lined up just so on the larder shelves. Never mind. And don’t you screw up that nose of yours, Miss Abigail, I know you don’t like tea. I’ve plenty of Ribena for you girls,” Mrs Minchin said, already half-way through her front door.

“I don’t like Ribena. Ribena is for babies,” Abigail said as Sarah ushered them in the direction of Mrs Minchin’s.

Sarah rolled her eyes up to the sky. Eight-going-on-eighteen, that was her Abigail.

“What’s Ribena?” Gemma asked.

Sarah looked at her youngest daughter. Gemma had only been three-and-a-half when they had left for Spain. Eighteen months. That was a long time to a child. Gemma couldn’t remember much about England. All she really knew was Spain. And Sarah had forced them to come back. She chewed her lip. She had been so sure she was doing the right thing. What on earth had she done?

Sarah helped Mrs Minchin with plates of biscuits, cakes and sandwiches, an enormous pot of tea and gigantic glasses of Ribena. Her mood couldn’t stay sombre for long. Mrs Minchin hadn’t changed and neither had her house, with its beautiful antique furniture and quaint knick-knacks collected over the years.

Something soggy splashed her leg. Sarah looked down.

“Amy!” she cried, bending down to hug the Westie who was ferociously licking her leg. She buried her face in the dog’s wiry white coat.

No, some things never changed. But her home had. Would it ever be the same again?

“Now, I know just what you’re going to say,” Mrs Minchin said, as they all sat down in the lounge, “you’re going to say what a state your lovely home is in.”

Sarah’s head snapped up.

“Before I start my tale about your house, how’s that Duncan? How rude of me not to ask about him,” Mrs Minchin said, handing round the biscuits.

Sarah watched two pairs of eyes hungrily hover over the delights being offered and two pairs of equally hungry hands taking those delights and filling their plates with them. At least the girls seemed happier now.

Duncan had loved Spain. He had taken to it from the moment they set foot in the country. They’d been abroad before, on holidays to Corfu, Greece, Majorca and Cyprus. But this was different. It wasn’t just for a week or two. She had hated it. She had longed for England, for her garden full of flowers, for the charm of the changing seasons, for walks in the woods, feeding the ducks at the lakes with the girls, for her job at the school. Her list was endless. Deep down, she knew the children hadn’t settled either. Perhaps Gemma had more than Abigail, but Duncan was the reason they had stayed. And then she had ruined everything.

Part three next week

***

Funny Of The Week

A bit of a mixed message here…

Laughing Along With A Limerick

Here’s your Monday smile – it’s limerick time. Send in your own or here’s a prompt for you –

MOP

Here are a few limericks to make you smile this Monday. The prompt last week was CASH.

Keith Channing:

A singer called something like Donny;

Was cute, and his voice was quite bonny.

He wasn’t so flash

But made loads of cash.

I’m wrong! His real name was Johnny.

Kim Smyth:

They threw me a party at age fifty

Now the old girl’s nearing sixty

No party this year

Cause ‘Rona is here

I’ll just have to do something thrifty.

Christine Mallaband-Brown:

Win cash with our lottery

Or second prize pottery

The leaflet came

With a bingo game

No chance its just flummery!

Paul Mastaglio:

Cash, it rings a bell

I believe it did very well

It went round and round

Did that dear old pound

Until Covid sounded its death knell.

Trent’s World:

There once was a mobster named Fred

“Always pay in cash,” he said

But he used a card

Alerting Scotland Yard

And the villain wound up dead.

The Hidden Edge:

Frank, the financial adviser,

Was often seen as a miser,

He was never that flash,

With his good client’s cash,

And they were always the wiser!

Ritu:

I want to grow my stash

But I just ain’t got the cash

My book pile’s so tall

Yet I still want em all

Too many books? Balderdash!

Lance Greenfield:

Mum always told me that “Cash is Queen”

But that too much money is seen as obscene.

My Gran had other ideas of what makes wealth.

“Be happy and look after your health.”

A great lesson to learn while still a mere teen.

Sharon Tingle:

Cowboy Frank fingered his curled moustache

As he rode into the town of Nash.

His one aim: to collect a saddle-full bounty

For capturing gunslinger one-eyed Monty.

Dang! He grinned, “Dert’ll be a load a cash.”

Linking People 2003:

CASH crops like coffee, tea and cotton,

Bring cash from market unforgotten!

Since cash crops are not consumed at home,

Cash inflow is handsome,

Sure to be gotten!

***

A Poem For Friday

When Will It End?

Branches stab at me,

Fingers uncoiling, reaching out,

I push past them, panting,

When will it end?

---

Voices fill the air,

Guttural, gathering momentum,

Someone sees me, I shiver,

When will it end?

---

Lights fill the forest,

Footsteps thunder, coming closer,

Shouts shoot through me, I scream,

When will it end?

---

Chanting commences,

Wild eyes are everywhere,

“We have the wicked witch!”

When will it end?

---

Many hands claim me,

Pushing, forcing me forwards to my fate,

Sobs catch in my throat, I am no witch,

But at least it will end.

***

Can You Tell A Story In…

It’s Thursday and your new five-word challenge is here. This week, your prompt is SECRET – as suggested by Lance Greenfield. Thank you, Lance! So can you tell a story in five words, using the word SECRET in it somewhere?

Here are your EYEBROWS stories from last week:

Sarian Lady:

Eyebrows show surprises or disappointments

Keith Channing:

Eyebrows and lashes precipitate crashes!

Trent’s World:

Her eyebrows raised at that!

Ransom note used eyebrow pencil….

Ritu:

My eyebrows need threading, urgently!

Wild eyebrows, looking like caterpillars!

Lockdown – not good for eyebrows.

Eyebrow raised, she smiled, knowingly.

Expressive eyebrows tell stories, well.

Christine Mallaband-Brown:

Don’t raise your eyebrows here!

His eyebrows furled in anger.

My eyebrow pencil is blunt.

Poker tell…Raised right eyebrow!

That cats fur has eyebrows!!!

My eyebrows are very grey.

Kim Smyth:

No tweezers for these eyebrows!

Flawless Touch shapes eyebrows precisely!

Flirting with one’s eyebrows; scandalous!

Joy Smith:

Raised my eyebrows at this!

Nigel budgeted for his eyebrows.

Skirt length raised mothers’ eyebrows.

Sweat band victoriously usurps eyebrows.

Eyebrows meet secretly at bridge.

Above the mask, eyebrows dance.

Caterpillar eyebrows cocooned his face.

Plucky beautician seeks hirsute eyebrows.

EDC Writing:

Eyebrows? Misplaced to catch tears.

Paul Mastaglio:

It’s all in the eyebrows.

Eyebrows moving up and down.

A twitch of the eyebrows.

Sharon Tingle:

Eyebrows looking like blackened blocks.

New look: rainbow coloured eyebrows.

No eyebrows; alien look alike.

Lance Greenfield:

Caterpillar eyebrows become beautiful butterflies.

Stencil with an eyebrow pencil.

Bond arch-eyebrowed his arch enemy.

Bushy eyebrows imply bushy bush.

Eyebrows: hair of bare? Hair!

Barbie and Ken are eyebrowless.

Fingernails and eyebrows comprise keratin.

Helena Bonham Carter: highbrow eyebrows.

Her eyebrows are Cupid’s arrows.

Saucy, smooth, sensual, suggestive eyebrows.

Dirty Bertie had flirty eyebrows.

I’ve a thing about eyebrows.

Baron Denis Winston Eyebrows Healey.

Racy eyebrows light my fire.

Linking People 2003:

Raising eyebrows of native rivals!

Eyebrows threading done for beauty.

Dying eyebrows can harm eyes.

Thin, hairy, even fallen eyebrows.

Chemotherapy can cause eyebrows loss.

***

Coming Home – Part One

“I’m not going in there. Not if there are great, big, ferocious tigers,” Gemma cried.

Eight-year-old Abigail tutted at her younger sister and shook her head.

“Tigers, indeed. Of course there aren’t any tigers. It’s a garden, not a jungle,” she said, folding her arms.

Sarah tried not to laugh. Despite her bravado, Abigail didn’t exactly look keen to set forth into the garden and lead the way.

She sighed. But then, neither did she. She looked from the overgrown garden to the house. Each time she looked at the building, she noticed something else wrong. First she had spotted the chipped paintwork. Then she noticed a tile had fallen from the roof and been left smashed to smithereens on the path. And now she could see that the number two on the door was hanging listlessly, as if it were making up its mind whether to stay put or to leap into the tangled mass of moss, earth, weeds and grass beyond.

Sarah pushed at her eyes with the back of her hand. The tears weren’t going to come. She wouldn’t let them. But it wasn’t supposed to be like this.

“I want to go home to Spain. It’s cold here and there isn’t a swimming pool. I want to go home,” Gemma said, stamping her feet.

“This is home,” Sarah said, feeling the anguish building inside, “this is our house. We lived here before we went to Spain. Our house has been looked after while we were away and now we’re back home.”

“Well, whoever looked after it hasn’t done a very good job,” Abigail moaned.

Sarah shook her head. She couldn’t argue with that. She closed her eyes and eighteen months fell away.

The four of them were standing there: Sarah, Abigail, Gemma and Duncan. Oh, how she needed Duncan now, right now. They were looking up at the house – the house they had cared for and loved for the past ten years. It was perfect. They had worked so hard to get it just as they wanted. And there they were leaving it behind.

“Are you sure about this?” Duncan had said, wrapping his arms around Sarah.

She had looked into her husband’s eyes. She hadn’t been. No, she hadn’t been sure at all when he’d first come home from work and told her he was being transferred to the Spanish office.

But she had seen the fire in his eyes, the passion and the love for his work. She didn’t want to stand in his way. And she loved him. She couldn’t imagine being anywhere other than by his side. She had smiled that day, standing there, staring up at the house.

“It’s only for two years. Then we’ll be back home. Our home. It’ll be just as we left it, you’ll see,” Duncan assured her.

But it wasn’t. Not at all. And she hadn’t even been inside yet. Goodness knows what state that would be in.

She knew they shouldn’t have agreed to let it. She should have stayed here. Everything would be all right if they hadn’t gone to Spain.

Part two next week

***

Funny Of The Week

I think I’ll go for the full-fat version…

Laughing Along With A Limerick

Here’s your Monday smile – it’s limerick time. Send in your own or here’s a prompt for you –

CASH

Here are a few limericks to make you smile this Monday. The prompt last week was FIFTY.

Keith Channing:

For a while, I believed my friend Trevor;

I thought I could go on for ever.

For years it felt nifty

To stop work at fifty

You did it? I wasn’t that clever.

Kim Smyth:

They threw me a party at age fifty

Now the old girl’s nearing sixty

No party this year

Cause ‘Rona is here

I’ll just have to do something thrifty.

Christine Mallaband-Brown:

Fifty is the new thirty they say?

I don’t believe in that today!

My hair is getting greyer

And heavier on the weigher

And I don’t have the energy to play!

Paul Mastaglio:

To shower someone with praise

Is a wonderful craze

Make them feel great

And they could be your mate

Perhaps until the end of days.

Trent’s World:

I just bought fifty new books

I couldn’t resist the blurbs’ hooks!

But shelves are dear

And space is rare

So now they fill the crannies and nooks

The Hidden Edge:

Everyone knows a suave gent, called Dwight,

Who sees all things in black or in white,

He might well want to play

With fifty shades of grey,

Relax; and be not (quite so) uptight!

Ritu:

Young Gina was nearing fifty

And her age had made her more thrifty

Upcycling junk

Giving old things some funk

Her friends thought her quite nifty!

Linking People 2003:

SECOND puberty happens at fifty,

Youthfulness makes shifty.

Fifty fifty probability of toss,

No more remains for boss,

To take decisions with maturity!

Valerie Fish:

Whilst reading Fifty Shades of Grey

On your morning commute, you may

Turn fifty shades of red

At their antics in bed

It was never like that in my day!

Lance Greenfield:

I set sail for fifty degrees East

In search of the wise purple priest

I found him in Baku

Where he cooked me a stew

Sharing his knowledge: a huge feast.

Geoff Le Pard:

You have to be rather nifty

When you reach the age of fifty

To play at being cool

While looking neither a fool

Nor more than a touch shifty.

Sharon Tingle:

Fifty ants marched along our gate

Carrying carcass bits fifty times their weight.

Rushed I indoor to end their work-day

But returned the can without a spray.

Such determination, I could not fumigate.

***