#atinylife going, going

Going…going.

ten thousand I am bid:

fifteen at the back,

come on now,

this unique lot! You’ll not see this again.

 

Puffin searches in vain for sandeels.

Swan sickens, poisoned by anglers’ lead.

Gannet, strong, snared in plastic net.

Spring rains fail, sand sweeping over pasture.

 

Fifteen at the back, twenty five online

Yes, sir, that’s more like it, thirty-five for this trophy

stuffed and so beautifully mounted.

You’ll not see another, not anywhere

– forty at the front –

now who’ll give me the reserve price? Fifty?

Thank you, sir. Going… going…

 

In secret hideouts, bitterns still boom

guarded.

Otters gambol and play,

no longer hunted.

Polecats lurk

White tailed eagle soars.

 

Sixty thousand I am bid.

Any advance on sixty? For this handsome Great Auk

shot, stuffed and preserved for posterity.

All done at sixty thousand?

Going…going…gone.

going going

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#atinylife Trauma

I’ve been spending a lot of time thinking about what I let my kids see recently. Do I tell them the truth too often? Should I let them read that book/watch that film?

Then the other night the wee one came downstairs crying.

‘I’m upset about that thing you were talking about earlier.’

Oh crap.

‘Which thing?’ I was racking my brains. But he couldn’t tell me – he was too upset.

Then I remembered.

‘It was the Botox!’ He nodded and started to cry again.

Trauma

The story was about someone who had been given such bad lip fillers that her lips bled every night.

 

I told him I was sure that person had been all fixed up and was fine now.

So I’ve decided this: you‘ll never know what’s going to upset them.

I’ll just keep doing my best.

#atinylife Kickstarter

If you follow my Facebook or Twitter, you might have seen that I’ve got a new fancy job this year: poet-in-residence at the Lanterne Rouge cafe, Gifford.

And me being me, I’ve come up with a hare-brained scheme for a main project to deliver.

I’ve hosted a few events now. I’ve performed music and poetry. I’ve had poems, a novel, and short stories published. But I’ve never edited a book on my own.

So here is a link to my Kickstarter campaign. I’m goikickstarterng to try and raise £1650 to publish an anthology – Lanterne Rouge: The Last. Proceeds made after paying printers and poets will go to St Columba’s hospice, which is Lanterne Rouge’s charity of choice.

I would so love to make enough to see this project through. Please can you help with a pledge, or a share? Or both?

#atinylife Being 60

At the close of my sixth decade, I’m too old to play games. Acceptance is the easier option, and more likely to yield success.

I accept the signs of a life lived in a perfectly serviceable body. Once, I played the game. Girls manipulated their appearance to win the man, the money and the desirable life, though the odds were against us and the prizes were overstated.

And even in the unfeasibly smooth face of the septuagenarian celebrity, the pursuit of youth is a game not worth playing. Good luck to those women, but for me, commodification in the guise of empowerment and visibility of the older woman is too high a stake.

I’m out of the game. I won’t buy the miracle cream and I’ve embarked on my last diet. Because, I’m relieved to report, being older suits me.

 

Anti Ageing.png

 

 

#atinylife celebration

I had agreed to go. Waking up at 5am with a headache, which developed into a migraine, then being sick just before I had to wake the children up and get them to school didn’t mean I was going to cancel.

In the car, Mr HB asked how I was. I told him the truth, the stressbravery of my tiny insignificant worries leaking out in tears. We picked up a friend on the way, so I wiped my eyes and pulled myself together.

We got there, and I had a nice time. A small group of friends, celebrating, taking time out from their own lives to be there for someone else on a special day.

 

 

Postscript: later, I was reminded of the pains and worries carried by every other friend that had been there, talking, smiling, laughing – holding it together.