Blog Archives

Lavender sheep audio

WIP Like Cartharrt! Work in progress. I blame the lack of lavender smelling sheep for this.

Filly, mare,stallion -acrostic


My 7-year-old daughter’s version

H ow the horses smell like a barn

Our horses like to trot

Realise something, where a horse comes into your house

Sour horses get sick

Elephant came to talk to Mrs Horse

Sour horses run for water after drinking sour juice


My husband’s version

Heavy is the head that wears the mane

Over hedges, one did ride

Rivers & Meadows one did trot

Sugar cubes are such delight

Ever a field an old man strolled

Such is the life of a horse so old.


My version

Have you ever fled from a nightmare?

Or realised that your slumber is your living yoke?

Rode more knights than kings or Queens?

Evade the question. hoping to secure your pedigree

Signed off with a neighbours kiss.

All Words Matter -Part 2


FR or Fer real (if you’ve not yet reached your word Fitbit counter that you’ve challenged yourself to use for the day & you want to ‘feel the burn’ in brain gym) is the most annoying add on slang suffix -ahem like totally not needed to complete a sentence unless you use it in a sarcastic context.

When you use the phrase your face mustn’t match your enthusiasm to hear yourself say it out loud. A contagious phrase needs sterilising. Yes, words matter.

No words don’t have actual feelings.



The point is that there are rules about using buzzwords, you know? Cos All rules matter (to someone) Pay no attention to context to confuse tf( a form of complacent swearing)out of everyone. Or don’t. This is just a post from a weedy fleur with a bad tendency to write utter rubble.

Fake news! We do it every day. Don’t worry. I’m not using Newspeak. Doublethink what you may. I’m saying the source of these words are from one mind who you will probably never meet.

CANCELLED before I went airborne.

What’s the use of being a fallen angel if I can’t fly?

Metamorphoses as our remarkable earthlings/species Darwiniate?

Adapt that’s all -respectfully.

One word that takes us further from our humanity reducing our entire mass to mere a pile of bone and cartilage.

What was once feet and arms and action is soulless. Less kinetic.

If you are still getting ghosted in 2020. You have levelled up. You must be aware know there are others far worse off than you.

Ghosting? There is something much more disconnected happening. Why bother being ethereal honouring that we are living first life all the time. Don’t delude yourself.

Second life is just autopilot for first life – we can never leave our mortal bodies entirely. We can lose ourselves until we realise its easier to love species who display human traits -We are taking lessons about humanity from other species.

You’ve seen the monkeys (they went viral), in India, a couple tried saving their mate while every itty human watched with their mobile phones on record mode.

our closest ancestor nearly drowns after being electrocuted from out of his tree, maybe. He was screaming out for help. All he wanted was to not die today.

A reasonable request for this non-quitter of Life.

Why have become murder loving google-eyed hunters?

Because we are too busy uploading this on to social media. We are so eager to share so much. How come we’re still so selfish? That is the true paradox.

It takes a gorilla in a forest on some continent (filmed fubu )to stand in front of her family in one last effort to ask for mercy.

It takes a gorilla to show us how crazy we have become -how lost we are – terrorism doesn’t end with humans. It becomes another word with the same meaning-Deforestation.

It’s only a bit of de-weeding.

Acts of terrorism to other nations home or another species home is terrorism.

You may have been ghosted but most folk these days get cancelled. Practice those block, unfollow moves.

Cancelled. Deleted.

No more spirits stuck in limbo. It can be hazardous to a person’s spine or moral fibre all that hovering about.

In the age of technology, people can be considered non-entities. We click-clack mindless selfies & images- over-processed.

We Sold out to filters-to get away from the inevitable process of mortality reality.

One final slang word I have to try out for entertainment purposes.

There is a new word for people who can’t get over shit.

You know your mate who’s Moms uncle died of chlamydia ( it could happen)? And then his best friend -a German Sheppard died. She went on to marry your mother’s sister. But he didn’t actually die. He went travelling around the globe to find an engagement ring to propose to your mate’s mom but your mate ended up with your mother’s sister. I mean its been 3 years since it happened, He is so .. salty.


He should be past all 5 stages of grief, fer real.

My final top word that everyone should use is self-absorbed. We’re too busy wondering what others think, what we look like, how successful we are, how we come across on social media.

The list of examples is unfolding on sheets of paper as I type (saving the trees.)

Words can have power or they can just sound good in theory

These are simply a pretty cluster of words I wrote if we don’t understand the ‘ins and outs’ of practising life’s manifesto

While you are validating yourself remember to pay it forward & validate others too. Paying it forward costs nothing. The results are are priceless

Daisy does time


High on life- no light of artificial sight.
I know what I will do if I ever get mugged.
I will look my mugger right in the forehead and say I can see the emergence of his third eye.
His monobrow will wriggle in confusion.
Then, I will 1970’s kung fu him in the balls – He will be blubbering.
This is my first chance to demonstrate my self-choreographed, self-defence, dance class, get fit for life infusion.
I’ll grab my bag and wallop him once or twice.
I’m not condoning violence, but I get the feel for it, I’m grooving, putting my own spin on it. So he rolls with the punches and I carry on rolling my dice.
Then when I feel we are on an even keel I’ll stretch out my arm, give him a hand up. Hell, I will even get down on one bended knee.
The score will be settled and even.
That is what you get, mate, for attempted thieving.
Panic alert flashes across my eyes. I didn’t know Mr potential mugger had another job. He’s a rather talented actor – he is making me believe he is actually bleeding.
Wait a few seconds – look left -look right -look left again. Got to keep my wits about me. Road safety training might seem elementary but it can be a lifesaver.
Seconds turn into the longest minute ever documented. I don’t think he is an amateur. In fact, I’m checking for signs of a well-known face; not some chip off the old block. I can hear the other stars calling out for their missing, celebrity neighbour.
Things are starting to turn grave. I’m the one who was in true danger.
Superheroes, do they exist?
I need one pronto – bring a carpet -we have a John Doe to roll up and we need a couple of spades and all of the aces. I need a super professional with a zany twist.
Moments pass. My superhero hasn’t pitched up, he must have run out of gas.
I’m on the run with an imaginary gun – this is not fun. He started it. What an ass!
“Oh why hello, officer, I know what this looks like. Yes, I am running” mentally exercising my train of thought.
“Hit and run?”
“I don’t drive officer. So can we skip the walk in a straight line, touch my nose and rub my belly and get to the part where we both laugh about this situation.”
We may end up in a quaint bar.
The one that sells all the good rum.
My mind is working overtime. Think! Think! What would any civil, well to do, ordinary, civilian lady do in my circumstance?
“Now, officer. I think we can have a bit more fun with those cuffs. Got any fur? oh, how I love to purr.” I’ll lean over just so he can clock my cleavage. Hey, this could work! Have you got any better ideas?
This may be my only chance.
“Ma am , Are you trying to poodle face with me?”
“Me? I don’t even own a dog. Are you trying to call me a bitch? Now that is offensive.”
I was merely using my right to freedom of expression.
My wits tell me to back the fuck down. He is jangling what sounds like more than one key.
He reads me my rights. I tell I’m Catholic.
I ring God daily, no messing with Angel administration. I have him on speed dial to atone for my sins.
Now, this-this is unjust. All this fuss. What happened to the good cop, bad cop scenario?
All I’m seeing is the end of his boot and my own reflection in his riot helmet gear. Have I been transported into some retro game and swallowed a mushroom and turned into super -uber Mario?
Granted, he is a shitty plumber. But, he does get to collect plenty of coins. Maybe I can bail me out.I don’t need no man to rescue me. I am the victim and the surviving princess.
I get the feeling the only jangling I am going to do is when I walk the line. Stub my toe. I think my entitled title just got ripped off me.
It was that mugger that’s got me in this stitch. I’ve been demoted to a rather fatigued and distressed seamstress.
Moral of the story?
Don’t go acting like those sensational media heroes.
Just let your entire shit go-
And tomorrow you will wake up not in a cell but smiling into your favourite stripy bowl of cheerios.

*inspired by absolute nonsense. Stream of consciousness

Another heathen

Write to recover is what I always say.

I’ve discovered,

Is  few of my words  leave me whirling with  – I’m proud to park,  pay and display.

Deals are made,

devils I summon.

People are abused,

Charity leaps to a new order of Coven.

I write this way, with careless affray

to not lose a sense that words are tangible,

if  I work my fingers to imprint my genetic copyright

Confirming my DNA.


Some might say,

I try too hard

To write for better days .

Left to my own devices. I would live in clouds wrapped up in  grey hues-

a cemetery for all the left over  fillings

Thrown away, because of corrosive mouth decay.


In yer face!

Borderline – on the rocks.

I write to prove I’m far removed from serving  more time, in a straight jacket in New  Jack City.

Gangsters running around with silver bullet signed glocks.


I’ve spent my better days basking in  previous glory .

Like butter it melts away the fear  of sleeping dormant .

One wrong box and I’d have been mistaken for a Tory.

Liberal with my words, eager to serve and love all my friends with creative pulses .


Tic tacs, I guzzle-colours textured in obscure.

I fight these escapism ,  inauthentic, paradise bomber  impulses;

To get high with — to lose track of time.


To think

I need a  potion of artificial wired, chemistry alternatives.

Usually these act as a placebo.


Serve to knock off my crown of  free willed determinism.


Courage lives in a mane,

a city  near Massachusetts

Puritans might discover I’m Freud in a ghostly slip.


I’ll be hung ,

Hands lie limp by my side.

Bled feathers  will tickle  the crowd-

Show I  bluffed my way into the inner circle of creatives who have a grasp of the






Heads up!


Forever chasing  the dragon of stream  of consciousness .


My thoughts fail me,

I’m beginning to think,

I’ve become presumptuous.

The kindness in others  words — to allay my anxieties,

Overwhelms me .


I tie my own tubes.


I refuse to give birth to a dancer  with stubs for toes, phalanges pimped out to strike a  quivering echo-like ,   Margot  Fontaine pose.


Inner fear corroborate with the sinner without a legitimate C.V.

Write nonsense-

The Lakers swan to the crowd

I’m a nutter.

I’d   crack a prince just to see a picture  of  a colourful scene.



Mindful – in  the lines.

It’s not important.

Just a visual spray of shamanic chakras to impregnate the rainbow-I foresee.

Leprechaun leave my latin beats to breathe.

Mouth the words of soft brie , camembert and  wild boar.

Grant me a baguette —    riddle away, and I’ll gather my thoughts to satisfy thee.


Goddess Luna grants a cycle to merge with my  rites in fertility.

Thoughts exiled to Siberia-paid to be alone.


My government  saves me.

My soul

I will put down-

Though I know I won’t gamble it all away.


I win back my losses

Trust me, I know there is always another day.

Write, write , write.

Each word is a  middle finger at the writers academia  establishment .


I don’t want to be even  almost famous.

I don’t need a book with my name on it.

I blog merely to pour my inner most thoughts out — free up my world.

It’s about as poetic as I can get.


How about I insert the word fragrant?

I’m not academic.

My passion is not systemic .


Always in a position to sky dive.

Risks thought about

After I land in the hornets hive.

Stings heal .


It reminds me I feel.


I live by my words ‘cos I’m irksome and caustic within.

I was born walking into  webs of contradiction

and, now,

All I beg is for  is a hint  of credit

For expressing myself in this audacious fashion.


I’m not here to chat ’bout literary success.-

I’m already thinking about my post party dressed as myself-

the bodacious writer ,

Who is in fact a sycophantic heathen.