Typecast

You seem to enjoy these " what I have learnt " updates so here are this weeks - again, in no particular order... The next generation still love traditional and classic poems like Albert And The Lion , which I joyously recited (off by heart... oh yes, I did) to my two granddaughters after hearing that one of them was visiting Blackpool Zoo next week. She's not allowed to take a stick with a horse's head handle ... y'know, just in case... My youngest child official left school last week *sob* .  However, this week we received a letter from the school which led us to believe that he'd missed one of his exams due to their incompetence. I had to ring the deputy head and, after our initial conversation, in my mind he was running around the school like the headmaster on Ferris Bueller to get the situation sorted out. The old guy that lives next door doesn't realise how loud his TV is when he's watching (what we think is) porn.  He also watches ...

Did I disappoint every one again? You know when you feel you can't do right for doing wrong... Is that why they have all but cut me out of their lives Or do I have to try harder to make them Communicate? I have to question if they still love me or If live just takes over, as I know it does. Is it because the memory of the one person That held us together is Fading? I said the wrong thing and apologised But it didn't mend the gap Only made it wider. When that happens, do you leap or do you Wave? No-one to ask how I'm doing or How I am coping with everything here. Everyone expecting me to carry on being The strong one.  Which, at the best of times is Hard! Two people, ignoring me and still Expecting me to make an effort. Talking shouldn't be this hard and I just want someone to tell me I'm doing OK!

September the 22nd will always be  The day I want to ignore  But I can't.  It is a day I should celebrate  The birth of my second born.  The celebration of the life of  A sensitive, clever young man,  Yet it is a day that is burnt  Into my heart   For other reasons that involve grief.  I cannot change this. I cannot alter the past.  I never want my grief to overshadow A day of celebration,  But I can see it in his eyes. He doesn't want to mention that he knows I am thinking of other times;  Of another person.  I want to cry but I need to be strong.  Mum, I miss you more and more And I know you understand * * *

Today's post is from Louise, who blogs over at " Defective Tykewriter " (although the blog is collecting dust once again...).  Louise is a serial procastinator, sporadic writer and is sometimes published.  She offered me a selection of poems but I've decided to print all three .   Over to Louise...

E vasive, subtle movements  mean that I can S idestep  the paranoia which faces me and, when I C ircumvent  the emotions that manifest whilst A voiding  that situation, it seems that I can P ass  off my insecurity as E lusiveness ... as always. I have written this for the Writing Workshop that is   run by Josie at  Sleep Is For The Weak .   This week was  Workshop #25  and I have written my own take on prompt #5 - a simple word prompt: "ESCAPE".  I've tried to be clever here and written a poem (of sorts).  Each line of the poem starts with each letter of the word "ESCAPE" (an  acrostic ) and the first word in each line of the poem means "ESCAPE".  Maybe I've tried to be too clever and it doesn't work?  Please feedback in the comments section. You can find all the other Workshop posts  >>> here <<<

She came, crept into our lives And destroyed us. She took our trust, screwed it up  And threw it away. He was no better... He let it all happen And now we have to pretend it's all OK Because the person who was torn in two Is no longer with us. She will never be to me what she wants to be, Not after what she did. Each time I look at him I see the guilt in his eyes, But I no longer care Now I know the truth about the past. He knows what he has lost... Me. Edited to add :  I've decided to submit this poem to the Writing Workshop that is   run by Josie at  Sleep Is For The Weak .   This week was  Workshop #21  and I used prompt #2 - A moment of realisation where you knew something had to change.  I was going to explain what it's about but even now, there are still some things better left unsaid.   You can find all the other Workshop posts  >>> here <<<

I have this coldsore. I wish it would fuck right off and never come back And there's me professing not to do poetry .  I bet you're stood back in amazement now, aren't you? Related links:  http://typecast2000.blogspot.com/2010/01/poetry-in-motion.html

I recently read a poem by fellow blogger and friend, Rachel and, whilst I recognised quality writing, I have to admit that I've never understood the concept of poetry.  This is probably because my only experience of poetry is the very basic 8/6/8/6 rhyming poetry that we read and learnt by repetition at school and I found that quite boring.  And it is. Rachel has a different style of writing poetry - it's very short piece of  intense writing and it's not really the staccato way in which she writes that draws you in but the subject matter and her descriptive tone in just a few lines of words. The only thing I have to compare this to is motorbikes.  An unusual analogy, you might think, but let me explain... My whole family is motorbike-mad: my dad, my sister, my husband and my children.  I, on the other hand, have never ridden a motorbike in my life (apart from riding pillion).  Because I have never ridden one, I do not know how to control it. ...

SMILING IS INFECTIOUS YOU CATCH IT LIKE THE FLU WHEN SOMEONE SMILED AT ME TODAY I STARTED SMILING TOO I PASSED AROUND A CORNER AND SOMEONE SAW MY GRIN WHEN HE SMILED I REALISED I HAD PASSED IT ON TO HIM I THOUGHT ABOUT THE SMILE AND THEN REALISED ITS WORTH A SINGLE SMILE LIKE MINE COULD TRAVEL ROUND THE EARTH IF YOU FEEL A SMILE BEGIN DONT LEAVE IT UNDETECTED LETS START AN EPIDEMIC QUICK AND GET THE WORLD INFECTED

T ales of life and stu ff in between H oarded online and rarely seen. I ncluded in all my tales and woes S hall hopefully be some funny little prose. I like to write, waffle and create S haring with you like you're my mate. M uch of my life passes me by, Y et I try to capture bits on the fly, B logging certain events to never forget L ike this... it's caused much sweat O h if you like anything you saw then please, G o forth!! Tell all!!! * An acrostic is a poem or other form of writing in an alphabetic script, in which the first letter, syllable or word of each line, paragraph or other recurring feature in the text spells out a word or a message.