M for Me, the Manipulator

A quick post. Just to show that I’m still about. Well …. not really about, anymore. Isolated, in fact. It’s for the good of everyone.

I did some more eavesdropping on Ms Matthews again and borrowed her M.


There’s an M in manipulate

Can’t you see?

And that is what I’m doing

The M stands for me

I saw you at the party

You saw me too

So I had no choice

But to manipulate you

I wanted you to like me

I wanted you to see

M stands for motivation

And you motivate me

I can sense your hesitation

I can see you try to hide

But M is just a moment

So spend this moment by my side.


Then gee (G) …. looking at it again, I also thought (feared), that …

C is for creepy

I don’t know mean to B

A’s an apology

For U from me

If this doesn’t make you sick, then nothing will.

I will never achieve solidarity when it comes to questions regarding ‘the worst television ever’ – and there is certainly some dreadful stuff out there. But I’d like to put a vote in for ‘The Love Boat’. Most of you are too young to have seen it, perhaps, or too proud to admit it, but I did spend a few rainy Sunday afternoons on the couch with my sister – and the experience has scarred me for life.

Chelsea’s Terrible Poetry prompt this week relates to the Covid 19 situation, and whilst I do not wish to make light of the subject I could not help but be reminded of this truly nauseating TV show.

Forgive me.


Love. Exciting and new

Come aboard. We’re infecting you.

Love. Let’s all get in close.

It’s an onboard romance. Can I give you a dose?

The love boat, with passengers old and vague

The love boat. Soon we’ll be spreading another plague

Set a course for the hospital

Your mind on rewriting your will

And if I don’t survive this then

I sure as heck won’t pay the bill.

Love. That won’t go away.

The cabin next door

Didn’t wake up today

Love. That we can all share

And finish our cruise in intensive care

The love boat, we’ll soon have the world on its knees

The love boat. Let’s incubate love and disease

Now please step away

‘Cause I think I am going to sneeze.

Love. What a wonderful cruise

When life becomes cheap

Just like the booze

Love. A ménage a trois?

Let’s cough on each other, down at the bar

The love boat. Don’t ever pay them in cash

The love boat. More than an embarrassing rash

And if we don’t find safe harbour

They’ll be throwing us out with the trash


F is for Frank

So let me be Frank. It’s a name I’ve always liked. My grandfather’s name was Frank and we were good friends. He was only my ‘sort of’ grandfather. My ‘actual’ grandfather was a mysterious Austrian (Austrian, not Australian, I stress) violinist who I never met and of whom my mother never spoke. Frank was my grandmother’s third husband – so that tells you something about my grandmother. I hope it goes without saying that I was very close friends with her, too. I used to sleep at her house every Friday night and she would quietly put sweet biscuits under my pillow after I had dozed off, for me to eat when I awoke in the morning. My mother would not have approved.

I have no recollection or information about my second grandfather, either, but my mother chose to keep his name. I should have her asked why. Too late now.

So, as I say, let me be Frank, and state, quite frankly, that I am lazy. I planned to scan all the F ideas from people to seek inspiration but, in the end, I couldn’t be F’d.

So I fell into the arms, once again, of Ms Matthews. I promise, frankly, to leave her in peace until at least L, or thereabouts …


F is for Frankenstein

Saw it on tellie

Based on a book by some chick

Mary Shelley

Just one look I could see

He was crook.

He was smelly

He was cruel. He was kind

He was so Machiavelli


Another E

Further to my previous ‘E’ post. Judy chose ‘everlasting’ … and it’s such a beautiful concept that I could not let it get passed without comment. She’s a much better poet than me, by the way.

Not that anyone would likely boast about that ….


E – everlasting.

Never ending – our bond

From here to eternity

And from there far beyond

E is for ever

What we’ll never forget

E is for everything

We’ll not regret

E’s not for everyone

… just you and me

E is our letter

So much better

Than D.


Sweet Isolation

I’m not taking part in the A to Z challenge. Doing anything 26 times in a row is too great a challenge for me.

But I thought I might use other people’s ideas for an occasional input of my own. This one comes from Ms Matthews, and I thank her for that.


E is for eggshells

I’m treading on those

As I creep ‘round the bedroom

And you gently repose

I’ll make you some breakfast

As so sweetly you dose

Then I’ll  blow wave your hair

And I’ll  powder your nose

I’ll  brew you a coffee

I’ll wash all your clothes

For the next day or two

You’ll have no need of those.


I hope California’s Dreaming

Chelsea created another terrible poetry competition and I’m onboard again. Her theme this week concerns the turn of seasons. And haven’t we all felt a nasty change in the wind lately?

So far my poetry has been universally praised as being consistently dreadful but has fallen just short of the ‘inexcusably terrible’ benchmark that Chelsea sets. This is a further dive for the bottom of the barrel. I expect extra points deducted for the blatant theft of lyrics at the end.

It’s also an opportunity to give a little wave to all my Northern Hemisphere friends. Spring must seem a bit out of place up there at the moment but rest assured that whilst we might all be in isolation we are not isolated. We are in this together and the end of it will bring a new Spring for all of us. In the meantime I wish upon you nothing but beautiful dreams.


The mercury is falling

I hope it’s just a cold

Is it destiny that’s calling?

Or part of getting old?

Is it just a shiver?

Or might it be a curse?

That Autumn will deliver

Could Winter be much worse?

A month of isolation

Social distance getting broad

I’m here for the duration

Already getting bored

There’s bad news in the paper

The TV’s on the blink

I fear the isolator

Might turn this man to drink

My Mama and my Papa

They left here just in time

I cough. I sneeze. I splutter

Cut down in my prime

So all the sky is grey

And all the leaves are brown

There’s nothing left to say

There’s no one left in town


The Poet’s Lips

Possibly a little out of my usual space (comfort zone?) here, but in the interests of locking down I perhaps should take a few chances behind closed doors. I’m a daring risk taker when people aren’t around.

A poetry challenge from the good people pouring coffee at the Cafe caught my attention.

The very thought of ‘poet’s lips’ is a rather enchanting one, don’t you think?

One is only supposed to commit about 10-15 minutes to a submission. That’s my sort of attention span.

I don’t know much about poetry. I thought perhaps if I just put a couple of words on each line and mixed up the pattern a bit that it might create the illusion of modern sophistication. That, as I say, was a risk.


The poet’s heart

It beats in time

Rhythm. Rhyme.

Anger. Art

And wonder

Echoes of

Distant thunder

A message heard

The poet’s word

A subtle reflection


Of the unseen

A vaccine

For blindness

Sweet kindness

In each line

In each thought a shrine

A light. A spark

Shelter from the dark and such

A torch in the eclipse

A chance to touch

The poet’s lips


P.S. I actually tried to find some lips (not necessarily those belonging to poets)as an accompanying photo for this. But, in isolation, they all seemed to look a bit pornographic. Or is that just me?