Three Days, Three Quotes, Three Tags Challenge

 

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One day around the middle of last century I was nominated to run for class captain of 6B in my final year of primary school. I campaigned on a platform of NO HOMEWORK – EVER! but, in the end, was outflanked by Elizabeth Robinson, who’s proposal to replace the government sponsored supply of daily lukewarm milk with vanilla paddle-pops (FREE ICECREAM!!) was perceived by the electorate to be more fiscally responsible. I was nominated by my little football pals and I think, as a result, missed out on a large proportion of the all-important female vote.

Can it be more than a coincidence that my second nomination, which arrived only a few days ago, comes from the Bag Lady, who also goes under the name of Rugby843?

The requirements of the challenge are fairly self-explanatory. I must thank whoever nominated me (thank you My Dear, ) provide three separate quotations over the space of three days and nominate three new people to participate each day.

I have decided, on this occasion, to skip the last requirement, in memory of my first nomination way back in Miss Cleary’s class at Balgowlah Heights Primary. There will be no homework. You can read on without fear of obligation. But, by all means, feel free to join in with any quotation that may have meaning for you. I nominate no-one but I also nominate everyone.

I choose, on day one, a quotation from Henry Miller. Anyone who knows me well is aware that Mr Miller has been a strong influence in my life. He was introduced to me by my mother, but, if I must be honest, I was initially attracted to him in adolescence by his reputation for explicit sexual content. The truth is that there is more explicit sexual content in your average shampoo commercial these days but what I discovered in the likes of ‘The Tropic of Cancer’, ‘The Tropic of Capricorn’ and ‘The Rosy Crucifixion’ trilogy would alter my thinking for ever.

So here (after a little too much fanfare, perhaps) it is. Make of it what you will.

No one asks you to throw Mozart out of the window. Keep Mozart. Cherish him. Keep Moses too, and Buddha and Lao Tse and Christ. Keep them in your heart. But make room for the others, the coming ones, the ones who are already scratching on the window-panes.

HENRY MILLER, The Air-Conditioned Nightmare, 1945

Heart upon my Sleeve

Mindlovemiserysmenagerie

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another trite take on a Prompt. I actually wrote it as a response to my pal The Bag Lady but decided to give it some air of its own.

 

From the day she chose to leave
I’ve worn my heart upon my sleeve
Parading round the neighbourhood
Pretending it was looking good
I have no place for it inside
Have nowhere for it to hide
I bare my soul for all to see
Pleading for some sympathy

When first responding to the shock
I kept my heart wrapped in a sock
Then thinking that it must be dead
Left it underneath the bed
But then one night I heard its beats
So cuddled it beneath the sheets
And after it had had its way
I took it out into the day

 

So take my heart, it’s yours to steal
It’s genuine. It’s bloody real.
It does not function all alone
It needs to find a happy home
Perhaps these days it’s not the same
From being left out in the rain
I think for its protection that
I should keep it in my hat.

 

 

My Fingers through your Hair

Don’t blame me. These words were in the prompt

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My fingers through your hair, your curl
Don’t spill your drink my precious girl
You feel my touch, you spin, you scream
You wonder of my thoughts, obscene
I plant a kiss upon your lip
You’re sticky darling, I won’t slip
Let’s laugh about it and be seen
Between us there should be no screen
Excuse me whilst I make a pass
Forgive me for my lack of class
Amuse me whilst I lift your skirt
Trust me sweetheart, this won’t hurt.

Going with the Tide’’

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A Daily Post Prompt – Tide

I feel your presence by my side
Upon the turning of the tide
Tired feet upon the sand
We stand and watch it hand in hand
Nature’s slow brutality
The endless pull of gravity
The wind no longer at our back
We cannot hold the torrent back

At setting sun, the waves advance
An ancient tune, the final dance
The curtain falling, calling time
Upon our lonely pantomime
The current has its final say
And in its arms floats us away
Fading memories, fading light
We drift together into night.