EAT YOUR ALLIGATOR TILLY!

Darling daughter
refusing to eat

so, I: sea
shanty her.

"Oh what do ya think we'll have for supper?"

"Eat Tilly eat!"

"Oh maybe we'll have alligator!"

"Eat my Tilly girl...eat!"

"Oh but I couldn't eat a whole alligator!"

"Eat Tilly eat!"

"Well...eat only half and keep half for later!"

"Eat my Tilly girl...eat!"

"Eat alligator before he eats you!"

My little sailor suited girl
opens her mouth to laugh

and in pops
Mr. Spoon.

Hmmmmmm.....yum yum.

Soon alligator becomes
her word

for any eatables
whether it be ice cream or scone.

Now she sings
heartily to self

my three year old salty sea dog

'EAT YOUR ALLIGATOR TILLY!"

EAT YOUR ALLIGATOR TILLY!

Darling daughter
refusing to eat

so, I: sea
shanty her.

"Oh what do ya think we'll have for supper?"

"Eat Tilly eat!"

"Oh maybe we'll have alligator!"

"Eat my Tilly girl...eat!"

"Oh but I couldn't eat a whole alligator!"

"Eat Tilly eat!"

"Well...eat only half and keep half for later!"

"Eat my Tilly girl...eat!"

"Eat-alligator-before-alligator-eats-you!"

My little sailor suited girl
opens her mouth to laugh

and in pops
Mr. Spoon.

Hmmmmmm.....yum yum.

Soon alligator becomes
her word

for any eatables
whether it be ice cream or scone.

Now she sings
heartily to self

my three year old salty sea dog

'EAT YOUR ALLIGATOR TILLY!"

EAT YOUR ALLIGATOR TILLY!

Darling daughter
refusing to eat

so, I: sea
shanty her.

"Oh what do ya think we'll have for supper?"

"Eat Tilly eat!"

"Oh maybe we'll have alligator!"

"Eat my Tilly girl...eat!"

"Oh but I couldn't eat a whole alligator!"

"Eat Tilly eat!"

"Well...eat only half and keep half for later!"

"Eat my Tilly girl...eat!"

"Eat-alligator-before-alligator-eats-you!"

My little sailor suited girl
opens her mouth to laugh

and in pops
Mr. Spoon.

Hmmmmmm.....yum yum.

Soon alligator becomes
her word

for any eatables
whether it be ice cream or scone.

Now she sings
heartily to self

my three year old salty sea dog

'EAT YOUR ALLIGATOR TILLY!"

**** backed Tilly, was moonstruck mad and silly
Leaning on a stile with her pail upon her arm
Muttering the while; a curse, perhaps a charm?
****** backed Tilly tells of things I never knew
Of maggot pies, chocolate skies, and monkeys painted blue
She kept a nanny goat, a weasel; a long haired stoat called *****
Folks said she was moonstruck, du dilly mad and silly
She kept a bird that couldn’t sing, a battered bat without a wing
Was there ever a stranger thing, than ****** backed Tilly?
She said her humps were presents, they didn’t weigh her down
She said her humps made her special; she wore them like a crown
She didn’t have much schooling, yet she can milk a cow
She’s a wizard when the butter turns,
A healer when the sunlight burns
A sayer of the sooth; ****** back Tilly tells the truth
I’ve loved my ****** back Tilly girl, ever since I was a youth

Many daze in the rippsy tav the Nates will hiber by their Glit
'N sometime prea with the gigaslav and there zellgreth betwit.

Now once there was a Tilly Stoet who'd paineram in the dippserill
Nifty Nates would knowet and greal it's very Tips-a-Prill

A day or more had passed in tyme till one day the gigaslav broke
Now Tilly Stoets speak of brine 'n the merryjaunah they'd smoke.

Oh they'd **** there poppers 'n slop their drippers
'Till one day the pole greasemen came.

The Tilly Stoets acted like poets and that was really O.K.
But the buzzers were fuzzers and wouldn't ya knowet

They took all there pots away.

I am so smitten with my little kitten,
She's fluffy and puffy and nice.
She plays with her ball and runs up the wall,
But sometimes she's scared of mice!

Now this might seem silly for my cat named Tilly
But it happened to her one night,
While sleeping and dreaming a mouse came a creeping
And woke her with such a fright!

“What’s going on?” It’s nearly the dawn!”
Said Tilly to the mouse with a frown.
He said, ‘It’s cold outside; I just wanted to hide,
Away from the noisy town.

So Tilly jumped up and looked at the mouse.
She purred at his ears and shoved him about.
She said, “You’re not scary. You’re as small as a fairy!
You can stay for the night, and then you’re out!”


PS: Tilly doesn’t eat mice because she’s a vegetarian!

Oh she is such a little lier
is that Tilly Tell Tales
every recess or breathing space
their she is whispering into associates ears
telling her tales the long and big ones

I don't think she knows that no one listens
she's told far too many, they start to get old
but she will keep up the jabber and gabber
from one tale to another
she is such an ***, that Tilly Tell Tales

By Christos Andreas Kourtis aka NeonSolaris

LIVING THE FAIRY TALE

make her
a doll's house from
McVities Gingerbread
Cake she absolutely adores
"Yum...yum!"

*

Her dolls line up on the kitchen table. Keeping their greedy eyes on the ingredients, The Golden Syrup gleams in a bowl like a jewel. For this session of cooking with Daddy( always good for a laugh)the lights have..**** them gone...out.

We prepare ourselves by candlelight.
I swear one of the dolls winks and licks her lips in the flickering. The big doll that can wet herself...wets herself.  
Little daughter is wearing a chief's traditional hat many sizes too big for her. She wears it like a crown. She looks like a mushroom come alive.

"Tonight..." I proclaim like the showman that I am to my assembled audience of girl and dolls. "Tonight I shall create before your very own eyes...my very own Jamaican Ginger Cake." I get dolls and girl to say the magic words "Yum Yum YUM!" and hey presto we're off.

Tilly tells the dolls in a loud whisper that "Daddy isn't as good at this as Mummy is!" My pride smarts. I'll show the little blighters I swear and swear to myself.

"Just get on with it!" the dolls scream silently.

Tilly already has a finger( not her own)in the Golden Syrup. She licks the guilty finger and fibs outlandishly "Dolly wanted to taste it!"
The black treacle remains untouched. The dolls don't like it. "Only in the cake!" Tilly confesses.

Soon spices and flour are sifted. Eggs beaten to within an inch of their lives...whisking about the bowl. "Let there be light!" I invoke the Gods and the lights come back. I am indeed favoured.

Tilly falls asleep in the kitchen's fug and warmth...curled about her sleeping cat. The cat is always asleep even when awoke.

The dolls never take their eyes off of me.

Now comes the time when the cake puffs up with pride and sits on its plate like a newly crowned monarch.  It's...it's...not bad for a Dad. But looks a bit the worse for wear..bits falling off here and there...a bit eaten...just a nibble and maybe another little nibble.

"But why Mr. Dempsey..." my Indian grocer demands with amazement "...do you want thirty..THIRTY McVities  Jamaican Ginger Cakes...for why...it's not the end of the world is it...or Brexit?"

"I'm building a house!" I whisper to him as if it is our little secret.

When she awakes..the cat as ever still asleep ...she yawns "Dolls gone..where dolls goned?"

The kitchen looks as immaculate as a conception...as if man has never touched it.

"Shhh...dolls is sleep!" I say sotto voce and adopting her lingo.
"In their own house!" I add for extra measure. Her eyes go wide.

And indeed dolls are lying down with eyes shut tight inside...their newly constructed Jamaica Gingerbread House. All except for the big doll who wet herself and who I have propped up on the loo. Although she is on the loo she finds now she can't go.

"Mmm!" Tilly  mmms. "Dolls have lovely house!" eating the door and half the roof off. Cake in her curls...cake up her nose and in an ear. She eats it with all of her head. "MMMM!" she mmmms again.

"We won't tell if you don't..." the winking doll whispers (like the co-conspirator that she is) waking up in a real life fairy tale "..if you don't tell!"

The next evening... the house eaten...I pop into Mr. Patel's. "Surely not more!" he almost flinches.

"No...just the one this time Mr. Patel...just the one!"

LIVING THE FAIRY TALE

make her
a doll's house from
McVities Gingerbread


Cake she absolutely adores
"Yum...yum!"
living the fairytale

*

Her dolls line up on the kitchen table. Keeping their greedy eyes on the ingredients, The Golden Syrup gleams in a bowl like a jewel. For this session of cooking with Daddy( always good for a laugh)the lights have..**** them gone...out.

We prepare ourselves by candlelight.

I swear one of the dolls winks and licks her lips in the flickering. The big doll that can wet herself...wets herself.  

Little daughter is wearing a chief's traditional hat many sizes too big for her. She wears it like a crown. She looks like a mushroom come alive.

"Tonight..." I proclaim like the showman that I am to my assembled audience of girl and dolls. "Tonight I shall create before your very own eyes...my very own Jamaican Ginger Cake." I get dolls and girl to say the magic words "Yum Yum YUM!" and hey presto we're off.

Tilly tells the dolls in a loud whisper that "Daddy isn't as good at this as Mummy is!" My pride smarts. I'll show the little blighters I swear and swear to myself.

"Just get on with it!" the dolls scream silently.

Tilly already has a finger( not her own)in the Golden Syrup. She licks the guilty finger and fibs outlandishly "Dolly wanted to taste it!"
The black treacle remains untouched. The dolls don't like it. "Only in the cake!" Tilly confesses.

Soon spices and flour are sifted. Eggs beaten to within an inch of their lives...whisking about the bowl. "Let there be light!" I invoke the Gods and the lights come back. I am indeed favoured.

Tilly falls asleep in the kitchen's fug and warmth...curled about her sleeping cat. The cat is always asleep even when awoke.

The dolls never take their eyes off of me.

Now comes the time when the cake puffs up with pride and sits on its plate like a newly crowned monarch.  It's...it's...not bad for a Dad. But looks a bit the worse for wear..bits falling off here and there...a bit eaten...just a nibble and maybe another little nibble.

"But why Mr. Dempsey..." my Indian grocer demands with amazement "...do you want thirty..THIRTY McVities  Jamaican Ginger Cakes...for why...it's not the end of the world is it...or Brexit?"

"I'm building a house!" I whisper to him as if it is our little secret.

When she awakes..the cat as ever still asleep ...she yawns "Dolls gone..where dolls goned?"

The kitchen looks as immaculate as a conception...as if man has never touched it.

"Shhh...dolls is sleep!" I say sotto voce and adopting her lingo.
"In their own house!" I add for extra measure. Her eyes go wide.

And indeed dolls are lying down with eyes shut tight inside...their newly constructed Jamaica Gingerbread House. All except for the big doll who wet herself and who I have propped up on the loo. Although she is on the loo she finds now she can't go.

"Mmm!" Tilly  mmms. "Dolls have lovely house!" eating the door and half the roof off. Cake in her curls...cake up her nose and in an ear. She eats it with all of her head. "MMMM!" she mmmms again.

"We won't tell if you don't..." the winking doll whispers (like the co-conspirator that she is) waking up in a real life fairy tale "..if you don't tell!"

The next evening... the house eaten...I pop into Mr. Patel's. "Surely not more!" he almost flinches.

"No...just the one this time Mr. Patel...just the one!"

He travels after a winter sun,
Urging the cattle along a cold red road,
Calling to them, a voice they know,
He drives his beasts above Cabra.

The voice tells them home is warm.
They moo and make brute music with their hoofs.
He drives them with a flowering branch before him,
Smoke pluming their foreheads.

Boor, bond of the herd,
Tonight stretch full by the fire!
I bleed by the black stream
For my torn bough!

THE TELLING OF TALES TO TILLY

She gathers up
all the once upon a times

weaves them together
in her mind

a daisy chain
of long long agos.

I tell her tales
with eyes closed.

She listens
with eyes shut.

Both blind
to the moment

listening intently
only to the then

words turning into
worlds.

Up in the attic ten houses all static
Neither high nor low nor asking where to go
Through the broken painters
And the long line of fakers
You broke on through
To show me how to do
And the line of the high relinquishers
And the hot headed hoarders helping themselves while lame
Unleashed their fury
You though not feeling a thing
The panic men threw up their arms and gripped them as well
They thought their plan was sweet and oh' so swell
Then the mystery that laid them on their back since they were twelve
Showed up through the back door
Not asking for anything never feeling poor
Another past of the present becomes the thing in itself
The yarn spins itself silly
I just miss You Tilly
But so long for now and
Fare thee oh so well

I

  Calico Pie,
  The little Birds fly
Down to the calico tree,
  Their wings were blue,
  And they sang 'Tilly-loo!'
  Till away they flew,--
    And they never came back to me!
      They never came back!
      They never came back!
    They never came back to me!

II

  Calico Jam,
  The little Fish swam,
Over the syllabub sea,
    He took off his hat,
  To the Sole and the Sprat,
  And the Willeby-Wat,--
But he never came back to me!
  He never came back!
  He never came back!
He never came back to me!

III

  Calico Ban,
  The little Mice ran,
To be ready in time for tea,
  Flippity flup,
  They drank it all up,
  And danced in the cup,--
But they never came back to me!
  They never came back!
  They never came back!
They never came back to me!

IV

  Calico Drum,
  The Grasshoppers come,
The Butterfly, Beetle, and Bee,
  Over the ground,
  Around and around,
  With a hop and a bound,--
But they never came back to me!
  They never came back!
  They never came back!
They never came back to me!

WHEN Grace Gray uncovered her wedding dress from the back of the wardrobe, she knew exactly what to do with her something old – turn it into something new.

The doting gran gifted her much-loved satin gown to her daughter Michelle, so she could have it made into a christening robe for her baby Pippa.

And the beautiful wee girl was all smiles on her special day in her hand-me-down, upcycled gown.

Michelle, 32, said: “I always loved my mum’s wedding dress and never imagined it would become my daughter’s christening dress, but I’m so glad it did.

“For Pippa to be christened in such a special family dress made the day all the more amazing.”

Grace, 54, wore the pearl-encrusted ivory dress when she married husband William, 73, in Clydebank 18 years ago.

Michelle helped her mum to pick the dress and was a bridesmaid at the wedding.

She said: “I was quite young when my mum married my stepdad and I remember going shopping with her when she picked the dress.

“It had lots of pearls and diamantes and I just loved all the sparkle. She looked so beautiful.”

After her wedding, Grace packed away her dress in a box and kept it at the back of her wardrobe.

Michelle, who is looking forward to her own wedding to partner Frazer Ward, 29, next year, said: “It has been there ever since but she came across it when she was clearing out.

“It was her idea to have it turned into a christening dress for Pippa.”

The family took the dress to Fabricated Bridal Alterations in Glasgow, where the seamstresses made not only the christening dress but a head band for Pippa and a matching hair clip for her sister Tilly, four.

Michelle, who also lives in Clydebank, added: “I did feel a little bit anxious at the thought of mum’s

dress being cut up but the end result was so beautiful.

“Mum had a tear in her eye when she saw it.”

Grace said: “I can’t think of any better use of my wedding dress than seeing it given to my

granddaughter for her christening.

“I felt really honoured to share in her big day in such a special way. I was overwhelmed by how beautiful she looked.”

Andrina Greig, of Fabricated Bridal Alterations, said there was a rising trend for women to put their wedding dresses to good use.

She added: “We’ve had more and more women getting their wedding dresses made into a christening gown for their children – but this is the first time we have had a grandmother’s dress brought in to be made into a christening gown.

“Michelle’s mum’s dress was perfect for the transformation.

“It was in great condition and the beading, bow and button details were ideal for scaling down and keeping as a feature on the christening dress. We were thrilled with how beautiful Pippa’s gown looked.”

read more:www.marieaustralia.com/formal-dresses-adelaide

www.marieaustralia.com/red-carpet-celebrity-dresses

LIVING THE FAIRY TALE

make her
a doll's house
from McVities Gingerbread

Cake she
absolutely adores
"Yum...yum!"

having her
fairytale and
eating it

*

Her dolls line up on the kitchen table. Keeping their greedy eyes on the ingredients, The Golden Syrup gleams in a bowl like a jewel. For this session of cooking with Daddy( always good for a laugh)the lights have..**** them gone...out.

We prepare ourselves by candlelight.
I swear one of the dolls winks and licks her lips in the flickering. The big doll that can wet herself...wets herself.  
Little daughter is wearing a chief's traditional hat many sizes too big for her. She wears it like a crown. She looks like a mushroom come alive.

"Tonight..." I proclaim like the showman that I am to my assembled audience of girl and dolls. "Tonight I shall create before your very own eyes...my very own Jamaican Ginger Cake." I get dolls and girl to say the magic words "Yum Yum YUM!" and hey presto we're off.

Tilly tells the dolls in a loud whisper that "Daddy isn't as good at this as Mummy is!" My pride smarts. I'll show the little blighters I swear and swear to myself.

"Just get on with it!" the dolls scream silently.

Tilly already has a finger( not her own)in the Golden Syrup. She licks the guilty finger and fibs outlandishly "Dolly wanted to taste it!"
The black treacle remains untouched. The dolls don't like it. "Only in the cake!" Tilly confesses.

Soon spices and flour are sifted. Eggs beaten to within an inch of their lives...whisking about the bowl. "Let there be light!" I invoke the Gods and the lights come back. I am indeed favoured.

Tilly falls asleep in the kitchen's fug and warmth...curled about her sleeping cat. The cat is always asleep even when awoke.

The dolls never take their eyes off of me.

Now comes the time when the cake puffs up with pride and sits on its plate like a newly crowned monarch.  It's...it's...not bad for a Dad. But looks a bit the worse for wear..bits falling off here and there...a bit eaten...just a nibble and maybe another little nibble.

"But why Mr. Dempsey..." my Indian grocer demands with amazement "...do you want thirty..THIRTY McVities  Jamaican Ginger Cakes...for why...it's not the end of the world is it...or Brexit?"

"I'm building a house!" I whisper to him as if it is our little secret.

When she awakes..the cat as ever still asleep ...she yawns "Dolls gone..where dolls goned?"

The kitchen looks as immaculate as a conception...as if man has never touched it.

"Shhh...dolls is sleep!" I say sotto voce and adopting her lingo.
"In their own house!" I add for extra measure. Her eyes go wide.

And indeed dolls are lying down with eyes shut tight inside...their newly constructed Jamaica Gingerbread House. All except for the big doll who wet herself and who I have propped up on the loo. Although she is on the loo she finds now she can't go.

"Mmm!" Tilly  mmms. "Dolls have lovely house!" eating the door and half the roof off. Cake in her curls...cake up her nose and in an ear. She eats it with all of her head. "MMMM!" she mmmms again.

"We won't tell if you don't..." the winking doll whispers (like the co-conspirator that she is) waking up in a real life fairy tale "..if you don't tell!"

The next evening... the house eaten...I pop into Mr. Patel's. "Surely not more!" he almost flinches.

"No...just the one this time Mr. Patel...just the one!"

THE RETURN OF DUM MAARO DUM
( for Driftwood )

She dances
upon her tippy toes

upon my toes
whirling 'bout the room

to DUM MAARO DUM
she my little Bollywood queen.

"Again...again....again!" she squeals
mad with childish delight.

Asha sings to us
and we...dance!

Sunlight throws itself
at our feet.

We dance upon it.

Summer gasps
holds its breath.

There is nothing but
the music....and us!

She is all
of three

screaming: "Bollywood me...Bollywood me!"

"This...won't....get the dinner done!"
screams Mum above the fun.

The record screeches
and scratches ...ouch...off!

I cut cucumbers
into tiny tiny pieces.

Tilly washes spinach and lettuce.

But when Mum
goes to answer the phone

it's her best chum
she will be hours

we sneak Asha
back into the kitchen.

The return of. . .

"Dum maaro dum
Mit jaaye gham
Bolo subaha shaam
Hare Krishna hare Krishna hare Krishna Hare Ram!"

Abbie hailed a yellow top cabbie

Brenda had a sister in-law named Glenda

Cate ran late on her first date

Delly ate seven bowls of lemon jelly

Edwina drove to the town of Catalina

Fran burnt her finger on the very hot frying pan

Gwen had a strong yen to go and see her aunty Jen

Hope bought her husband a towing rope

Isobel fell under the magician's spell

Joann took her mother on a holiday in a caravan

Kylie went to the dentist with her brother Wylie

Lesley liked listening to Elvis Presley

Marcia enjoyed eating a freshly baked focaccia

Nell saw a turtle coming out of his shell

Olga lived at the top end of the river Volga

Primrose had a Pinocchio nose

Queenie knitted a multicolored beanie

Ruth could never tell the whole truth

Stacey loved playing dress ups with her friend Tracey

Tilly behavior was always rather silly

Una bought a house in the suburb of Yagonna

Verity wanted to be a well known celebrity

Winifred never stopped taking about Alfred

Xena was presented with a court subpoena

Yale told her teacher a tall tale

Zealand ventured out into the bushland

THE RETURN OF DUM MAARO DUM
( for Driftwood )


She dances
upon her tippy toes

upon my toes
whirling 'bout the room

to DUM MAARO DUM
she my little Bollywood queen.

"Again...again....again!" she squeals
mad with childish delight.

Asha sings to us
and we...dance!

Sunlight throws itself
at our feet.

We dance upon it.

Summer gasps
holds its breath.

There is nothing but
the music....and us!

She is all
of three

screaming: "Bollywood me...Bollywood me!"

"This...won't....get the dinner done!"
screams Mum above the fun.

The record screechs
and scratches ...ouch...off!

I cut cuecumbers
into tiny tiny pieces.

Tilly washes spinach and lettuce.

But when Mum
goes to answer the phone

it's her best chum
she will be hours

we sneak Asha
back into the kitchen.

The return of. . .

"Dum maaro dum
Mit jaaye gham
Bolo subaha shaam
Hare Krishna hare Krishna hare Krishna Hare Ram!"

THE OPENING OF THE HAIR


my crying
short cropped little girl
all slobber, snuffles and snot


hair cut off
because of a school lice infection
sobs her heart out


"I can't open my hair
I want to open
my hair like Mummy!"


Mummy trots in
with her high ponytail
let's lose her flowing locks      


tresses cascading
over shoulders with
an almost audible splash


a red river runs
down her back
the effect is  wondrous


as if the hair sang
its heart out a madrigal
a little ordinary miracle

mummy takes her
dressmaker's scissors
cuts jaggedly her magic hair


as if breaking a spell
a crescendo
of clips and snips


a red river
weeps
at her feet


Tilly gasps
in awed
astonishment


my crying short-cropped
little girl
my crying short-cropped woman


both so
uncannily alike
now even more so


"Me and you Tilly
me and you
will grow our hair together


and when we've done
we will open our hair
and let it down for daddy!"


*

My little girl loved watching her mother let down her hair or put it up.  So did I as it happens...she had a red river of hair that flowed down her back and it was a wonder of our world to see the hair fall so gracefully as if it were an alive thing. A magical creature.

Tilly used to call this action...the opening of the hair as if it was a wonderful ceremony. She came up with it herself and it was only much much later when engaged in Shakespeare studies that I actually found it was an Elizabethan expression.  The other expression I found was a "cup of news!" So here is my cup of news!


When the lice infection struck Tilly had to lose her hair and was distraught. She just sobbed and sobbed to lose her golden curls so that Queen Mummy took drastic action and sayeth; "Off with my hair!"  And so she sacrificed her glorious hair for the sake of her little one. It was like an Hans Christian Anderson fairy tale. When I came home to this solution I also cut off all my hair. And so we were as one. I took a Polaroid of all us baldy one and placed it next to a photo of us in our glorious hairy day.s The family that goes bald together...stays together.  All for one and one for all. Tilly was delighted now with our new fashion statement and glad not to be the only one.

It was quite a while before the "opening of the hair' ceremony could be held once more.

BREAKFAST AT TILLY'S

clink of spoon against cup
coffee bubbling up
baby's laughter

the smell of sound...the sound of smell
morning waking up
the kitchen

memory creates
an echo of you
ties you to this time

daughter & dolly
plonk themselves in front of me
"We are feeling very much loved...thank you!"