My uncle Al, was cross with this gal,
At something I said over lunch.
He was appalled at my act, didn’t think I had tact,
And refused to start pulling his punch.
He thought me quite rude, ’cause he misunderstood,
Something I said quietly to his brother, Jack,
Who got what I said, but let Al have his head,
Because HE didn’t want to take any flack.
Al hit me first with a four minute burst,
Of what I SHOULD have done in such a case,
He left me appalled and my flesh felt like it crawled,
And I had egg dripping all over my face.
There’s nothing that’s worse than that terrible curse,
Of someone you love saying that they’re “disappointed”,
You go from being a hero to feeling like zero,
And your head feeling so darned unanointed.
So then I went humble, and started to mumble,
“I’m sorry that I dissed and upset Uncle Jack,
But now on reflection and deep introspection,
I feel cheated and want to fight back!
I’ve had time to consider what I said and did,
And certainly time to reflect,
I feel dirty and cheated, and so damned depleted,
And believe I deserve some respect!
Oh who am I kidding? I’ll do his bidding,
And keep my response locked down tight,
But I know myself well, and, believe me, can tell,
I’ll be grouchy about this all night!

This subject was suggested to me by Grigol Dvali, one of my Google friends. I hope you think I have done Timur justice, Grigol!

Have you heard of Timur the Lame,
Better known as Tamerlane?
A man who was feared in every land,
Who created his capital at Samarkand.
Born in Kesh in 1336,
He ruled by the sword, as well as politics,
He wanted to restore the empire of Genghis Kan,
He forced his Christian conquests to convert to Islam.
He defeated the Sultanate of Delhi and the Ottoman,
The Egyptian Mamluk and tried to restore the Yuan,
His men were multi-ethnic, he styled himself a ghazi*,
Against the Knights Hospitaller, he was kamikaze!
Europe, Asia, Africa, they all feared Timur the Lame,
Because he had so very many killings to his name.**
In terms of world population, it was 5% at that time,
And yet this vicious killer patronised architecture quite sublime
Timur always liked to fight his battles in the spring,
He died at that age of 68, trying to overcome the Ming.

*ghazi = religious warfare
** an estimated 17 million

Young girls in bikinis,

Swimsuits or tankinis,

Gentle onshore breezes,

And sand between my toes.

A family with a picnic,

Some of which I would not pick,

Not nosh or nibble, even lick,

And sand between my toes.

People in the water,

A mother with her daughter,

Swimmers think they oughta,

And sand between my toes.

Children by a rock pool,

Feet in water to keep cool,

Hunting crab and clam and moules,

And sand between my toes.

The beautiful Mount Bromo,
Is actually an active volcano,
And it sits on a vast piece of land,
That is known as The Sea of Sand.
This is not the very tallest peak,
But its beauty makes it quite unique,
And it’s linked to the annual Kasada Feast,
And local legend at the very least.
Every feast day, local folk climb to the top,
And toss in the absolute cream of their crop,
Vegetables, meat and money too,
To thank the gods for the crater because it imbued
Their king and queen with numerous kids*,
The royal family of Majapahit.

*25 to be precise

Oh no! Yet another “leaf on the line”,
Which means that we won’t get home in time,
It’s some railway manual paradigm,
That means the trains aren’t running.

We’ve been sitting in this siding here,
For reasons not entirely clear,
Waiting for a miracle to appear,
Because the trains aren’t running.

We’ve been stuck here now for half an hour,
And all my passengers are feeling sour,
I, myself, am feeling somewhat dour,
Because the train ain’t running.

This spot’s from “Whistle Stop Cafe”,
At least the weather is fine today,
Until we discover what’s caused the delay,
To make the trains stop running.

You’d better sit back and close your eyes,
Another hour here’d be no surprise,
So just wrap up warm and acclimatize,
Because the trains aren’t running.

It seems the train infront has caught on fire,
Quite how it happened, I don’t like to enquire,
But my train’s now caught in the resulting crossfire,
Because none of the trains are running.

How do I tell my passengers now,
That they have to climb down from the train somehow,
And a bus will take them onward, this I vow,
Because the trains aren’t running.

I’m disgruntled myself, this I do confess,
I will have to phone my wife I guess,
And tell her I’m stuck here, with no sign of progress,
Because the trains aren’t running.

Just when I’ll get home, I haven’t a clue,
When it comes to that, I’m at the back of the queue,
I’d quite like to be travelling to Timbuktu,
Than on a train that isn’t running!

Another Seth Johnson photo in his “Your Story” series in which he invites his readers to write some text to go with his photo. [http://www.sethsnap.com]

I love to sit in cafés,
And watch the world go by,
With my cup of coffee,
Which is not in short supply.
I imagine small scenarios,
For people going past,
Painter, mother, district nurse,
The odd iconoclast.
Over there, a little boy,
Has something in his shoe,
And is trying to dislodge it,
Jumping like a kangaroo.
There’s a tall guy in a pinstripe,
Newspaper tightly furled,
He’s an air of determination,
As if he’s challenging the world.
And there are two young mothers,
Peering in the butcher’s shop,
Deciding what to eat tonight,
A sausage or a chop.
There’s a girl who’s trying to canvass,
For council membership,
But people see the clipboard,
And all give her the sideslip.
A charity fundraiser,
From Mencap or some such,
Rattles his plastic bucket,
And people give – even if it isn’t much.
I think that those two over there,
With their heads together,
Are planning what to do in case
Of ghastly, rubbish weather.
There’s an old guy in his Sunday best,
Pinhole in his button,
Off to meet some favoured belle,
Who’s clearly lamb not mutton*!
And over on the wooden bench,
There’s a guy with his guitar,
Singing songs of broken hearts,
A rather gloomy repertoire.
It’s a tad intoxicating,
This world of observation,
As I try to guess the content of
Some fervent conversation!
Yes, there’s something quite seductive,
About a coffee or a tea,
And an open book in which to write
Other’s lives vicariously.

*”A mutton dressed as lamb” is a rather unkind expression to describe people of a certain age who present themselves or dress in clothes that are more appropriate to someone much younger.

Go and put the kettle on,
Pull down a mug or three,
Get that lovely teapot out,
Let’s have a cuppa tea!

Pour some water in the pot,
To make it nice and hot,
Then put those lovely tea leaves in,
The ones I like a lot.

I’ve had a simply dreadful day,
I need to settle and recoup,
And get a dose of TLC,
From that delicious brew!

There’s a watch on my left wrist,
That helps me mark the time,
It keeps me to a schedule,
It makes me toe the line.
There’s a box upon its face,
So I recall the date,
And a second hand sweeps round,
Should I procrastinate….

This boat is how we make our living,

For us it is bountiful, generous, giving,

Today it is silent, in a sea of calm,

That’s bound to bewitch, enchant and charm.

A sky that’s azure, an inlet of blue,

A rolling coastline, a stunning view.

Port Royal is where this boat is moored,

And all our life resides onboard……

With thanks to Alessa Bertoluzzi and Tammie Merrill of http://www.http.carolinaheartstrings.com, from whom I borrowed this beautiful picture.

Pete Laberge has shared many great things – songs, texts, websites – with me, so this is my gift to him, because he suggested I write it…

Augustine of Hippo,

Born in 354,

A man for whom God

Was well worth fighting for.

Augustine of Hippo,

An extraordinary man,

Who made his observations

With style and élan.

Augustine of Hippo,

Believed in original sin,

Preached predestination,

Later spouted by one John Calvin.

Augustine of Hippo,

Taught of salvation and divine grace,

And that the concept of the Trinity

Also had a place.

Augustine of Hippo,

Is known as “the Blessed”,

He’s a saint and church doctor,

So Boniface professed.

Augustine of Hippo,

Best known for the odd quote,

I suggest you read them,

They are all of note.