My Tits Looked At My Bottom.

My Tits live in a nest hidden in a tree,
I like to watch them daily
They also take a peep at me.

They caught sight of my bottom
when I stepped upon my skirt
I tripped and heard them chortle
my pride was really heart.




My Tits looked at my bottom
and I will never be the same
I know I heard the Raven
Calling out my name.

The Raven told the Robin
that he saw my bum
The Robin told the Lark
that all the birds should come.

They tapped beaks on the window,
One even shared his worm.
It was like being on the telly,
I felt my body squirm.

The Tits shall not get any supper
or a lardy meal-worm for desert
I believe it’s a fitting punishment
for my pride being sorely hurt.




I was the WINNER!ย 

Thank you Chelsea Owens for the challenge the weekly hilarity contest press the link to read more. PRESS HERE

Thanks to Pixaby.com for use of photos.

Chelsea said it must be clean and fun … “Did my Poem hit the spot?” answers in the comments I love when you twitter back too.


Spring, It Is A lie.

Press the title for the whole post. ๐Ÿงก

A snapshot of my garden 6th April.

Watch them unfurl in the fragileility of spring,
Opening our eyes allowing us to dream.
Sun scoots low to expose streaked windows
and stained tablecloths that soap failled to clean.
Dust motes dance without rythm or beat,
As the light stings our eyes and warms our feet.
lettuce and sweatpeas sprout in soil filled pots,
With dafdodills normality comes in restless spots.
But do not be fooled enough to blink or sigh,
For Jack with pointy fingers and lazer eyes
Sends snapping frosts throughout night skies.
He burns lime green leaves until

they are as as black as Magpies eyes

Stomps on plants with leadend boots.

Its plan is clear to freeze the shoots.
Now our gardens spoilled
spring hadn’t sprung
So we begin again

with steaming pile

Of Pony
Dung.

Forget-me-not.

Which is your favourite season and why ? Let me know in a comment

#writephoto picture prompt.

I wished I hadn’t seen him, I squeezed my eyes and prayed that he would disappear once I unscrewed them.

In the forest, Granddad always carried his loaded gun; broken of course, but … shot ready. “Just cos you a girl don’t mean nowt” he would say. “You needs to know, and to do.” Each time I nodded my head, I secretly begged not to find him. In the clearing he glistened with snow. Head held proud, no hurry to go. He looked back the way he had come. I darted forward; a distraction technique. Without a breath his gnarly hand caught my nose and cheek. A backhander he called it, a gentle reprimand. Grabbing my lobe he dragged me, not releasing for a second until home. My face wet, my heart bled but … my conscience clear. We never spoke of our last hunting trip. We neither repeated or apologised. Our last meeting was on his deathbed, our eyes met one last time. Silently he closed his lashless eyes, and nodded his naked head.

ย 

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Press the thanks to join in or read other responses to the #WritePhoto prompt. Thank you Sue

Do comment please.ย  “Have you had a moment? when you stuck to your guns?

Our lonely planet Is left with the worlds Lonliest Whale, singing forlornly in the incorrect Hertz

Time never holds its breath When you can’t catch yours.

The sun does not forget to rise,

from behind closed doors.

Strength will appear from nowhere,

It slips beneath a storm filled cloud.

Allowing you to breathe in its beauty,

And hear nature sigh out aloud.

Our world continues turning,

Despite sadness in our eyes.

Or the sound of the earth failing,

The throbbing beat of babies cries.

Our Earth begins to rumble,

Beneath the seafloor.

For the Wildlife, there is no saving,

Sea creatures have long gone,

Except for the cries of number 52

As he sings his lonely song.

When our world is bare and barren,

Can no longer deliver what we need.

Too late they see the destruction,

As floods drown out the last seed.

To hear the facts of no.52 press here Every day I become more fearful for our world if only each of us took it upon ourselves to change one thing … we could prevent my words from coming true. ” What could or do you do to help?” Leave me your thoughts, I love to chat. ๐Ÿ˜‡

Valentine is A Happy Cat.

I am feline great about my Valentine. ๐Ÿ‘„

Are you? Happy Valentines to everyone.

Take Care Not to Become The Next Project Abandoned.#FridayFictioneers

If you would like to read more or join in please ๐Ÿ”œ click here

Thank you for the prompt photo below Ted Strutz.

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We holidayed, near Dijon; in Burgundy. In a Farmhouse with orchards a rambling landscape and numerous trees. After visiting Les Halles for picnic food and Burgundy. We strolled around the grounds; warming our souls in the suns rays. Idyllic and perfect. We came upon a car as if years earlier someone climbed out; never to return. An inspection revealed several old cars, one with a family of Door-mice living in the glove box. On our return, John asked.”Projects are they?” Waving behind himself. With a derisive snort, Pierre answered in a clear authoritative voice. “Projects sir * … Projects abandoned.”

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We holiday in beautiful sleepy slow places to chill and capture the moments we sometimes neglect. It refreshes the bond and reminds us how without thought or consideration we too could so easily become project abandoned. Thank you for reading do you think we all should consciously work at connecting with our relationships? Or is it snowflake mentality you’re married so get on with it? let me know in the comments I simply love to chat.