Here’s another inspiration from Cheryl , though I’m not sure if her mind was going in quite the same direction. Perhaps I should put the inspirations aside and shut up for another few months ….

Oh! Such bliss there is in food

Made to elevate the mood

When the world seems most defeating

What sanctuary I find in eating

When with a sense selfless of luvvin’

I see you bent over the oven

Forgive me for incessant staring

Beyond the apron you are wearing

You see my legs begin to tremble

As I watch the meal assemble

Awaiting nervously the hour

When your creation I’ll devour

You’re doing fine, please pour the wine

Please sit beside me as we dine

Raise a toast! A glass of red

Darling, shall we eat in bed?

 

Today’s ‘inspiration’ (do not make any assumptions about another ‘inspiration‘ tomorrow – such is highly unlikely) comes from Meg who reports to me that her cat murdered a mouse in her upstairs bedroom overnight (though the cat probably views it as more akin to a political assassination) and left her with the task of disposing of the body.

This was my helpful advise.

******

When a mouse’s systems fail

Take the rodent by the tail

Show respect for the deceased

Sadly farewell this tiny beast

Show regret. Display some tears

For final moments. Earthly fears

A final night of earthly cares

A final journey down the stairs

Out the door, towards the street

Such tiny hands. Such tiny feet

Towards the neighbour’s house, and hence

Throw the rat over the fence.

Only up to a point. Eventually it’s just too late.

I decided to look at some posts this morning and find one fairly randomly and respond. The winner (a fairly dubious honour, to be sure) was Cheryl who drew attention to the various choices of clothing that one may be confronted with on any particular day – though her chosen models all seemed to be preparing for the beach. I think her premise is that there comes a time when comfort is the only real consideration.

But one cannot help but reminisce about days when it wasn’t so.

******

This sack of skin. This walking curse

That clothing makes look somehow worse

It limps around. It shuns the light

It keeps the truth withheld from sight

It breaks the mirror, looks away

Within your view it cannot stay

Within your reach it shall not be

You cannot feel what you can’t see

 

For what is clothing, but a mask?

That hides the question you won’t  ask

And makes of which you cannot see

A poorly hidden mystery

A camouflage from foot to neck

To decorate this hulking wreck

I wear a cloak till daylight fades

I hide inside. I pull the shades

 

My aching back. My shaking knees

My life. This inescapable disease

My body. Shoddy. Wasted breath

Stranded between birth and death

A place where lovers used to dance

No longer worth a second glance

No more tempting to your taste

Where once you lay, now laid to waste

 

The moles, the holes, the battle scars

From nights it stayed and played in bars

To laugh and love. To lie. Pretend

That the day would never end

So now this sack, these shaking knees

Are carrying the memories

But there tis no mask, no cape, no clothes

With which I’d ever cover those.

www.instagram.com/p/CQZ293SDLhf/

This one won’t mean much to non-Oz people, but I post it to give some contrast to my usual national bias.

Our country is far less than perfect, especially when it comes to leadership