On Elephanta, we traipsed from our tottery tour boats onto venerable dust. Led single file up hardened clay trail to Hindu temples buried beyond time and grime, the temporal length of an entity's existence. Jungle encroaching, we were warned, "Do not feed the monkeys." We had no plans to, but we soon learned the monkeys had their own plans. Pronto, ******, and Scratch very quickly pinched, plundered and ransacked the box lunches we brought. Cheeky monkeys, ha! Toothy fanged gang-bangers more like it. Still, we escaped without the drawing of any blood, so we were grateful for that. Though my friend had lost her scarf in the tussle, and she kept telling me to ****** it back. "Sure," I thought, giggling with no chivalrous intention of taking on any ruffian primate.

Further on we became enthralled by the alluring architecture. Cave temples carved into basalt rock with Gods and Goddesses moved us deeply with their artistic and spiritual integrity. Natural light pouring in through vantage points illuminate sculptures at different times through the day, so the tour becomes processional. Devotion is seen as many offer prayers and flower garlands to the idols. Learning the history of Portuguese sailors using the temples as target practice is saddening and evident in the pitted carvings and reliefs.

We had been graced with a brilliant bright day to take in the sights, but this was not to last. It was monsoon season and scuttles of rain came dowsing our boat. Upon our return to the Gateway of India, we were blown off course, forcing us to land in an unfamiliar area in Mumbai where tourists were not seen regularly. We had to leap frog a dozen or more vessels all blown to port at once trying to escape the storm. There was a huge panic of tour boats and fishermen. The disgusting quagmire splashing in our faces from the harbor was mix of gas and oil spilled from boats, dead fish and likely other unnameable mammalian debris, plus general ******* of full gamut. All in all, we survived only to be encircled by knife wielding street urchins when we lost our way back to Whorli Seaface where we were staying.

"Street urchins," was the local term of endearment for the orphaned adolescent gangs known for robbing tourists. No one told us about the knives though, so we were taken a bit off guard. In any case, feeling less threatened than by the band of monkeys we just encountered on Elephanta, my chivalry kicked in. I picked one up, dangling him over the dockside. This show of brute force seemed enough to convince the others to withdrawal and I immediately freed my runty captive ****. He seemed grateful, though a language barrier was not resolved. I gave him some rupees for the newly acquired souvenir, namely the knife. He skipped off quickly with his bitty buddies. They turned and waved goodbye with bright beautiful smiles.

This story has no moral other than, when traveling without a compass, always keep a moral one.

"Put a feather on it!" someone whispered.
"Roundabouts!"
The tank was full of fuel by now.
"Well, that's pretty strange!" he thought.
"If you think you can manage, it's fine with me!"
He appreciated her.
"Here's something for you!"
"Rushing sounds."
He ate an apple.
No flowers in the sun.
Woodlands as far as the eye could see, but what lay behind them was just out of view.
"Hoy!"
Magnificent, they were, but they barely would compare to a field of steel watchmen riding the mists of time.
"Cheeky!"
Here were monsters.
Cheeky.
Trust is oftend tried at the most inconvenient of times.
"Friday is a great day to go out, everyone does it!" seemed the only reasonable reply.
"Crisp fries on a platter!"
The people gathered in the streets.
She had a couple of drinks.
Monica likes Waltzes.
He appreciated the night sky for a moment.
A rough bundle of ropes lay scattered around on the floor of the empty appartment.
Rifles were loaded, hats were donned, it was a chaotic display of things.
Heavy traffic slithered trough the steamy morning.
Water rushed into the bathroom, a fish drowned.
Monica was made of different pieces of wood.
Tumbling bumblebees were far from here.
Water.
A gothic arch reaching high and wide.
Howitzers blazed loudly.
Effectively, he got kind of good at it.
Water rushed.
What he was waiting for, he couldn't say, but he was definitely waiting.
Jerry sells plaster.
Commercialising industries seemed like a good plan back then.
Jerry spoke to his female friend, who was unnamed for no specific reason.
Hounds.
Crisp fries on platter.
Radiant mushrooms spoiled the darkness.
Towering high above the the misty clouds, the collection of Eiffel towers spend their time bending to the wind.
I am a narrative voice.
"I am fishing here!"
"Howdy, clowns!"
Maybe it wasn't such a good idea to go all the way.
"Hey now, don't watch that, that's a terrible show!" she said.
Pianos were thrown.
"He shook his head." she said.
What they were looking at, no one could tell.
Very chaotic indeed.

I love that cheeky and sassy smile on your face,
and the way you hold me within your embrace.
I love the way your eyes are the colour of earth kissed
by spring falls and how the feel of your touch throws me into the midst.
I love the passion that spills from within you
and the way we connect on many different levels too.
I love that you're the only person I truly trust
with all my darkest secrets; you make things better like magic fairy dust.
I love how you support me in all my endeavours and dreams
and how you're the one who helps me face my demons by all means.

I am undeniably, deeply, irrationally and pathetically in love with you,
and the idea that one day you might fall in love with me too is something I cling onto.

goodbye, Mickey
gone to the great big
Boystown in the sky

you were my saturday
afternoons.
you, Spencer Tracey
and 20cents of mixed lollies
in front of the old b&w;,T.V.

your angelic smile
and cheeky bad boy ways.
one day i was going to
marry you.

but then life changed.

today, when i heard
the news
i went back to that time
so thank you Mr Rooney
for those simple days
vale, vale.

When I close my eyes hard
I can feel it again,
Your cheeks against my eyelids
And I’m blinded by your skin.

Once again we’re riding that waves
On our way back from the island of women
Where a woman like me was loved
By your playful smiles, cheeky laugh
And your sweet soft stares.

I miss your warmth, your puffy fingers
Swolen and big against mine
I want those fingers to touch my face and hold me,
Watch my tears and wipe them dry.

But I watched you bring those fingers
thousands of miles away
On that plane with a red maple leaf
I shed my tears and let them dry.

She was gooey like maple syrup

     & marshmallow s'mores,

stronger than  a mountain lion

    protecting her cubs,

wore prescription rose-tinted

     sunglasses with GPS,

she'd been around long enough

   to see through most of the

         flimflam and negativity,

was agile enough to laugh at

      her own cheeky caricature,

wouldn't put up with the travesty

   'neath debauchery's cunning

still, she wondered as most do,

  what was to become of a world

so engrossed in the overthrow

    & disparaging mockery of others

she bade her time waiting to grow

    older and wiser in hopes

she'd be around long enough

      to experience a sunrise view

            in universal accordance

      before her own last sunset

                  ultimately bit the dust,  

         burning in all-inclusive ashes

Her bright beautiful blue eyes have finally lost there glimmer.

Her cheeky smile has finally broke under the pressure.

Her exotic attitude has washed away like seashells rippling into the soft sand.

Her heart has been splintered and lurched like a childs rag toy.

Her who has lost everything but the will to survive.

Wee cosy, tranquil Gatehouse Library
Ah come in quite a lot tay see yi,
Tay read yir books and use yir wifi
                An' chat tay Joannie,
Sae noo Ah'm goannie sing yir praises,
                Ah'm pure dead goannie.

Ye're sic' a cultural oasis,
Wan o' ma favourite learnin' places,
Yir books can form the verra basis
                O' Scottish brain power,
Enrichin' minds an' cheeky faces
                O' Scottish wean power.

So let us pray they never close yi
Tay those who would, we will oppose yi.
We'll be the storm an ill wind blows yi
                At sic' a crunch time.
The only closin' we'll allow
                Is Joannie's lunch time.

Warm toes, cream floating in the coffee
A sweet red apple encased in rich toffee.
Cheesy mashed potatoes and bangers
Cheeky whistles of the old clangers.
The comforting tune to Watch With Mother
The antics they get up to in Big Brother.
The two adorable children in Chitty Chitty Bang Bang
The all time favourites that Mary Poppins sang.
Gob Stoppers that used to change colour in the mouth
The warmth of the sun as you travel south.
The cotton wool smoke in Camberwick Green
Rainbows with crushed apricot colours in-between.
Sunsets sunrises who could ask for more
A true gentleman opening the door.
All these things I would not mind doing twice
if not more because they are all things nice.

1
she’s the delicate head of a young woman
in Agnolo Bronzino’s drawing;
she says, ‘Look. You can look;
look, I don’t really mind;
and if you feel shy,
I’ll have my eyes and face
down all the while’
and in her charm she says:
‘We’ll leave repressed debaters
about lust and propriety far behind;
I want you to look and you want to;
that’s all that matters between us’
a man can look all the while
as she has eyes down forever;
a beauty unreachable
just a piece of paper maybe
and mostly bits of dots and pixels
in cyberspace




2
could we have lived
darling,
in the same space and time
I might have followed
where you beckoned;
I might have beaten
Agnolo Bronzino
with a Michelangelo skill;
but now perhaps I’ll
copy and paste
and post
my image beside yours somewhere in cyberspace
and perhaps when I’m not watching
my image will walk over to yours
and you might look up at my avatar
and you’d say:
'Sweetheart, what took you so long?'
And the two of you might just run away
like cheeky teenagers
and run through various sites and
run across everyone’s screen;
and as the two of you get along
and chat about times and love
and the arts of love and such matters
I might be asleep or be at a meeting
and I’ll have a strange feeling
a cool sensation all over my body
and I’d say to whoever is beside me:
*'You know, something’s happened in cyberspace…
a strange love thing between an image of me
and the delicate head of a young woman…'

Symphonic
My fist was first five fingers
Flowing Favonian into the palm of my radiant mother
As cheeky as a sprite, soon I revelled in the
Crisp light of the fridge and all its chilled visitors,

A skin-deep draft last week, a raging harmattan yesterday,
Barren among the fruitless lands of Mesopotamia.
Crawling, my sergeants and I led the way through our childhood fantasies.
Ali Baba's fortress, the ruins of Babylon, and up to the lately perturbed Euphrates.
I dropped my automatic rifle,
hurriedly snatched it up in the unforgiving desolate,
just in time to
narrowly dodge the absent onslaught of enemy gunfire
Only to witness a serpentine strike and an explosive splash
Of metal violating my infantile hand, a hand that was trusted and was caressed
Now merely a bludgeon to satisfy the steel-clawed slash of the shrapnel
A buffer to the skin of my wide-eyed physiognomy.

Waking up in the loose sheets of a completely unremarkable beige bed,
With the deoxygenated breath of the novice surgeon liquidizing in my veins,
It was almost too much to handle (if you'll pardon my pun).

These days it is
The good hand with which I
Uncork, pour, and serve.
It's with the utilizable limb with which I
Ignite, shift, and steer.
It's with my brain that I
seethe
And it's with my stump
That I knock.

Today tastes like
Satisfied saturday lie ins
and accompanied sleepy yawns
Tea in bed
toast crumbs

Today tastes like
Washing pegs I hold in my mouth
while ******* things
out on the line

Today tastes like
Saturday sweetie day
peanut m n m's
and other sugary
treats hooray!

Today tastes like a trip to the zoo
animal antics
fruit bats
meerkats
and tamarin tantrics

Today tastes like
My son's hearty hugs
he's been away all week
with the scouts
a hearty dinner
whilst he recounts
his trip's losers and winners

Today tastes like
brightly coloured family
television shows
of sofa time and
cheesey toes
(before i put the boys
in the bath)

Today tastes like
relaxation
tea and more tea
Maybe I'll allow
myself a
cheeky glass of wine
to further relax
and unwind!

i have a little kitten a cheeky chap is he

he climbs upon my chair and sits up on my knee

lies upon his back for me to stroke his fur

happy and content as he begins to purr.



gives a loud meow when its time to eat

jumps down to the floor waiting for a treat

then he as a play for a little while

he is very funny and always makes me smile.



then when he gets tired back upon knee

shuts his little eyes then falls asleep on me

such a cheeky chap but i just love him so

he makes me feel so happy and gives my heart a glow.

Dear fifteen year old self,
I know you have never met me.
And you never will, for I took over...
Grew from your essence.
But I just wanted to let you know a few things.
See that face of yours? The one you cry in front of in the mirror? You're beautiful. You're changing from a cute awkward little kid into a strong wonderful, inspiringly beautiful woman. Trust nature. Wipe your tears, and believe that it's okay. You're 15. Relax. You're pretty. Those big brown eyes will get you anything you wish for. Trust me. I know.

Next, see that boy? The cute one who knows how to talk a little bit too smoothly... Who's a little bit too cheeky.... There's no point in me telling you to stay away because we both know that doesn't work. We are the same person after all... Just be careful...... And whatever you do, DO NOT sleep with him. You're too young. You're gonna have your first kiss, and he's gonna make you feel like you're flying and falling and being caught all at the one time.... But you're not. You're going to kiss people 1000 times better than that, you'll realise it was sloppy and kind of a waste of eight months.
But the heartbreak. When he leaves you for your best friend.. When you're left without anyone beside you. That will honestly almost **** you. But you'll be okay. The fact that you feel this way makes you become the strong beautiful woman you are today. You can get through it, all of it, even the **** that's not about the guy. The **** that is going on inside your head, inside your home.... You'll survive. And you'll write.

One last thing, I'm sure I'm missing a few things, maybe I'll realise them when I'm a little bit older...... But that musical talent you've got, it's there.... It's in your ears... And possibly your voice. That's a grey area at the moment. You're going to find your way. And musicians should come with warning signs..... danger sheer drop ahead like at the end of the road in a cartoon where the path turns into a cliff....... Because you'll fall, when you're around my age. And they are very good pretenders. Be careful sweetheart.

It's never too late.
You're growing up so beautifully.
Be proud.
And try not to be too sad........

Love,
18 year old you...

To the average working stiff
the mouth feel of Saturday
always popped and fizzed

a day to get on with the business
of being
without being defined by your business
(shout out to all in retail and shift work
your heartache is saved for other verse)

This Saturday has come
with revised terms and conditions
that seem to have rather stunted
the former purpose
like a PC revision
gutting all the cheeky dirt
for contemporary sensibilities

Fine, but understand
that from behind closed doors
a million folk are figuring
how to **** about in a myriad
of new ways

Ye can take our pubs,
but ye cannae take
our shenanigans!

Underneath the ironically dim light
of the neon-inspired bar,
you line up for a picture
and struggle to disguise
a misshapen smile—
perfect, I call it
and you call me insane.

But your mirror can’t show
how my skin tingles
when your cheeky grin
catches me across the room,
or the perfect fit of your lips
pressed against mine.

Sighing, I look
at your close-lipped smile
and think of the gap
you painfully hide,
a small space just big enough
to be perfection redefined.

Mine’s a sort of light, musical, dancing
tread, a never-ending thread of notes
on a string, a slight ring upon the ears,
I like to think of it as:
cheeky, small, charming.

An underground solo orchestra
the music of my footsteps,
only I can play
and we’ll never be able to play each other’s tunes.

When your knees crack real good
you’re locked in a skin of sound.

Every bone in my spine cracks
crystalising form in bubbling molten blood,
Can you hear?
Breath is a knife to dissect unsynchronized rhythms.

In an empty house, we miss each other by seconds.
The sound of doors banging.

Footsteps on hollow floorboards.

Great news Marjorie!

I have had tasar treatment on my eyes, so I am finding my keyboard much easier to abuse.

What a week I have had!  Since you sent my letter to the local paper, I have had several people contact me. I had no idea the scribbles of an old woman like me could generate such interest. A young reporter  even called round, and I thought I was going to have to call an ambulance, the poor boy went red and laughing all the time. In fact I was certain he needed medical attention but he assured me he would be fine in a minute. He did not tell me what it was he found so amusing, but young people can be quite strange, don't you find?  He may have needed the toilet but was too shy to ask.

Despite this we did get on well, and he even said he wished I was his Grandma, which I thought was very sweet of him, while making odd gestures with his hands.

After we had enjoyed a mice cup of tea together I showed the young man around the garden and he seemed very interested in the greenhouse, remarking on its spaciousness. I asked if he had green fingers and rather enigmatically he replied  'sometimes'.  He enquired if I would be interested in renting it out to him, an idea I found rather appealing. I think he wants to grow salad plants for his family.  My faith in the younger generation is restored.

His mobile telephone rang while we were in the garden, and feeling it was rude to eavesdrop I went back into the kitchen, but I did overhear him say that he hadn't had so much fun since his granny died,  so I suppose they must have given her a good send-off.

I am rather enjoying my position as a minor celebrity in the village. Even the bus driver was more cheerful than usual today, so I smiled and gave him a cheeky little w*nk as I got off, and I'm sure he noticed it.


                                        Ever your devoted fiend,           Dottie  **

I can't offer you the Earth,
but I can give you my love.
You came into this world expecting the best
that life can bring. With hope and no fear.
And your cheeky grin.

Your pale blue eyes looking up at me and your
tiny fingers clutching at my shoulder.

Wisdom & reason I wish to impart
And I'll read you stories about greedy caterpillars
and the tiger who came to tea.
I'll watch you grow into the great little
man, I know you'll turn out to be.
You've always got a friend in me.

I can't offer you the Earth,
but I can give you my love.
I can protect you
from
monsters under your bed
hope you'll never let them
inside your head.
Teach you
the ways of the world
even if I don't know that yet.

Your big blue eyes looking up at me
and your tiny fingers wrapped round mine.

I'll buy you lego,
play hide and seek,
help you climb that tree
patch you up, when you scrape
your knee.

Happiness and empathy I wish to impart
We'll build sandcastles on the beach
and I'll read you stories about a wolf
in Grandma's pyjamas and
James and the giant peach.
             'cause when you're smiling I'm smiling too
I wanna bring out the best in you.

             I may not be able to offer you the Earth
but you can have my love
and I'll watch you grow up
into the great little man
I knew you'd be.
You've always got a friend in me.

the love that gets you excited just thinking about the very fact that you might actually get to spend the rest of your life with him

the love that makes you stomach feel funny and your heart flutter every time he says something about your smile, or the way he talks about your laugh

the love that makes your knees weak just at the thought of his name, the kind that makes your bones tremble when you see him for the very first time

the love that makes you want to fly when he holds you in his arms, and the kind that makes you forget what home was before you met him

the love that drives you up the wall, but the very kind of love he fills your heart with, when you're up that ****** wall

the love that makes you look forward to waking up each morning, the love that makes you want to achieve goals your heart didn't even know you had

the love that fills your eyes with tears with each I love you, the same love that turns your tears into cheeky smiles with each I love you

the love that frees you

the love that makes you feel like you're walking on the ******* moon as you stroll down the street,

but mostly, *the love that keeps you alive

I watch, I smile, I wonder
At this cheeky little minx.
She leaps and runs and skips
Stands on her hands and laughs.
She reads and writes and draws,
She hums and sings and shouts.
She is lithe and lively
Full of raw energy.
In my mind, she sparkles
Like a  glistening star,
Each day, each week, twinkling
With humour and surprise.
Even with juvenile words
Her fresh spirit shines forth.
Her love, her guile, her resolve,
Her  mischief eyes, her pout,
Her charm, her warmth, her joy,
They enrich my daily life.
Soon sleepy,  she snuggles close.
Her matchstick arms give mighty hugs.
Her fine flowing fair hair
Settles against my chin.
Eyes closed,  her dark lashes
Brush her rose petal cheeks.
I watch, I smile, I give thanks.

Every night, I lie in bed and think of her, her lost eyes

My heart cries as I see her sitting alone
   Staring vacantly out the window at the bird feeder
   The bitter truth is
   The things she forgets are the banal moments
   Her days have become groundhog, so is it so bad to not realise that she is in that cycle?
   The things that matter she still remembers
The time when she was 8 and had laughter with passing soldiers

Playing pranks on those same soldiers with the cheeky grin that’s never left her
When she nearly ended up in Canada to stay safe
Sharing sweets with the best friend she loved and lost

She remembers mum when she was just a foot tall
She remembers me when I could only utter the odd word
She remembers my brother when he had the cheekiest grin, and the brightest laugh
She may even remember better than we all do
Its funny how that works
Laughter is the best medicine she tells me
This is something I now believe wholeheartedly
As every time I see her I see it in action
She makes me laugh
She helps me understand life
She respects me
She builds me up

Strength, endless strength
Smile, the smile it never leaves her
Leaving her breaks me,
But seeing her break, hurts me.
Reality, she isn’t broken
Just stuck on the rewind button
She’s still here
She’s still with me
She’s one of the lucky ones
I’m one of the lucky ones
We’re one of the lucky ones


People ask how is she doing?
I simply answer she is in a battle against groundhog day, And get this she is winning.