Where Has Time Gone

Where has the time gone?

Me in 2008

 It seems like, in a blink of an eye or a twitch of a nose,

Our shape alters and our skin unfolds.

All at once looks take on a different role,

Putting us on another journey, aiming us towards a new goal.

Only now, at this late stage of life do we find out,

if we have worked hard enough on the true us.

For now we rely on what we have on the inside.

Our kindness, personality, empathy and fun.

Can we attract others to us because we are,

Good to be near, have something worthwhile to say

Have we worked hard on ourselves over the years,

Accumulated knowledge that others can’t wait to hear.

Where has the time gone …  in a blink of an eye.

Will I have done enough, before that last goodbye.

To be remembered for what I became.

 Not a face with wrinkles,

some long forgotten name.

By Ellen Best 2021

This came from me finding the above photo, it seems like a few weeks since it was snapped but the mirror tells a different story. I held my face in both hands and wept.

Age is nothing but a number, and our looks are only skin deep, these are well-worn cliche’s but they are the truth. Who we are is what carries us through to the end. Men are beginning more and more to do the same, work on their outward appearance. Women especially, work and have for centuries, on how to present themselves. Learning about the best clothes for our shape, which makeup will cover our flaws. After all first impressions count, we have friends to make, Husbands to attract, jobs/positions to win.

Should that be taught? How to work just as hard on the inside, maybe from infancy? Self matters, the substance of you will one day be all you have left. I am not suggesting that things are not changing, there is a lot of work being done in schools and homes aimed at teaching self-worth, and bravo to that. But the way we look needs to be … something we do secondary to the way we feel, think and express ourselves. To become a good human being is to love who you are. So when life has taken that youthful glow, stretched once supple flesh and slowed us down … we can still hold our own, we will be worthwhile and have something of value to offer. Getting us to believe that is what needs to come next.

I would love to hear your opinions please leave a comment I will answer them all.

Thoughts Of my Valentine.

You are the smile on my face, the tears cooling my tea,

you are the hot bottom snuggling up next to me.

You fill me when I am empty and feed me funny lines when I am sad.

You make me laugh when I say, love you as I kiss you goodnight,

You answer jolly good and put out the light

You are the one that said “You’ll do” On a beach in Oahu.

and they my love, are some of the reasons why

I am still so in love with you.





My take on a love letter tailored to fit. Have you ever left a love letter or composed a poem for your Valentine? Answers in the comments please, I love to know and reply to each one.

A Covid-19 Poem To Remind Us How We Made It Thus Far.

For all the people facing the dread,

standing tall making it possible to stay home instead.

For The packers and stackers

the fund raisers and the backers.

Clap for the Teachers for all they do

for the frontliners and vulnerable kids.

For those that are shattered

but still turned up to assist.

The cleaners and porters,

their sons and daughters.

The refuse collectors

the postie delivering parcels and letters.

The Care workers holding loved ones hands.

Together on Thursdays We’d clap.

The trades that are on standby for

emergency plumming and heating.

The door knockers with boxes and

a happy greeting, ready with smiles

For the people they are meeting.

The aged alone, some scared isolating.

The police the firemen the ambulance drivers,

To the paramedics, the nurses, doctors and cleaners, we give thanks.

To the politicians who try to sort it all out,

We clapped for the Vets who cared for our pets.

The chemist the grocer the butcher the baker.
We are proud of the Mums and the dads,

Temporarily wearing teachers hats.

The home workers that keep the economy fed,

For the corner shops, serving, doing their best

Clap for the garage mechanics delivering goods,

With no engines to build or MOT’s to test.

To Morticians and undertakers, the funeral directors.

The Churches and councillors stepping up to the plate

The volunteer groups working till late,

Those building temporary mortuaries and hospitals,

To pick up the slack, without you we couldn’t see a way back.

We clapped for our Forces who stand up for us all,

always prepared to answer the call.

Simple steps helped us to survive,

I composed this poem in April 2020 when the first wave of the virus took so many lives. October arrived, people had become complacent, believing themselves to be invincible. Once again, the numbers began to rise. I have posted this poem to remind us how keeping your distance, washing your hands and wearing a mask was not hard, it flattened the curve. Businesses then re-opened and Schools trickled back. People flouted the guidelines by coming together, parties were had, masks discarded like old chip-paper in the streets. Many were defiant and selfish, they screamed abuse at the ones still complying with the guidelines. Masses of people said, their civil liberties were being eroded, they caused uproar and refused to comply.

And here we are now! In our Winter of discontent. Made by covid-19 and exacerbated by selfishness and greed. But we know when we come together and care like before, we kept the pandemic from entering our door. I ask you this, “What good are jobs? if we are dead in our beds.” So this Christmas, when governments have tried to relax some of the rules … just remember, if you go too far we will pay for it in lives, not just tax.

Be kind and leave comments, but remember this is my home, and my opinions. I wish for you all to be safe.

Cooking up a Sunday storm to kiss goodbye to Autumn.

.

It never hovers long does Autumn, it sweeps in; on a Poppins like wind. When kites shimmy and spin on translucent threads. Winds whip and tousle unsuspecting children’s heads. They huff and blow like the bad wolf once did, stripping summer from plants and trees. A squall of winds screech as they undress limbs and bend boughs till they break; bringing gardeners to their knees.

Autumnal lawns are dressed in luscious shades of gold and red. Acorns and nuts are shaken free in time for creatures to harvest. Rains pummel the earth as colours slip from green to burnished orange and browns. Birds wait to catch fat worms, as they pop up from the sodden earth, pink and plump ripe for the feast.

Gardens give up their bounty, Root veg for soups and hearty stews, sustenance to keep out the chill. Autumn stocks our larders with hedge picked fruit, from bramble berries to rosehip and sloes. A new darkness crawls across the face of the evening clock … as thick as a London smog.

Long walks kicking leaves and collecting cones, puddle jumps, pink the cheeks of carefree folk. Kids join the huddle before a snapping fire, where tales of spook get told. Eyes soon droop, as kicking leaves and conker fights take their toll.

But no sooner it has arrived it’s time to go, it’s job done for another year. Now, we make ready for morning frosts and white sparkling roofs, as we Kiss another Autumn goodbye.

photo my own.

Sweet potato & carrots lightly spiced Autumn  soup.

My own photo.

Ingredients.

6 large carrots cut in four length-ways.

4. Medium sweet potatoes again cut lengthways. (about the size of the carrots)

I large onion

4 oz of split soaked red lentils

A head of garlic

3 pints of stock vegetable or Chicken

One large potato cubed.

Spices and condiments. All 1/2 teaspoon. Turmeric, red chilli flakes, ground cardamom, flaked sea salt, black freshly ground pepper, ginger grated or ground, cayenne pepper, a tablespoon of olive oil, a half stick of butter.

To garnish, either kale or Cavallo Nero de-stalked and shredded. A splash of soy, olive oil and a half teaspoon of flaked salt, to barely coat. one tablespoon of sesame seeds.

Optional: garnish. Crumbled feta cheese and a sprinkle of ground red peppercorn.


Roast on a baking tray or large shallow pan with everything on the tray coated in olive oil.
Carrots, sweet potato, garlic slices.

Gently fry:
onion Turmeric, ginger ground cardamom, cayenne pepper, until onion is translucent.

Pour fresh chicken or veg stock in a crockpot with ground salt and pepper and one cubed potato and 4oz red split lentils (soaked) and cook on med heat until the potato falls apart.



When the onions are translucent, add to the cooking liquid in the crockpot on top of the stove. and add the tray of veg soft from the oven breaking up the veg as you add it. Once stew-like add the butter and more water if required, it needs to be quite thick. Put the crockpot in the already hot oven. Cook low, 125°c in the oven for an hour.
Add red chilli flakes blitz with a stick blender add more liquid if needed.

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Toss the shredded greens in flaked salt and a tiny coating of combined olive oil, soy and sesame oil, ( do not soak) Then add enough to barely coat the shredded stalkless Cavalo Nero. Put on a baking tray 150°f (not on fan cook, or it will blow away as it dries out) ten mins should have it dehydrated.
Toast sesame seeds in a dry pan and put to one side.
Watch the Nero carefully as soon as crisp put in a bowl sprinkle the sesame seeds over and use to garnish the soup. Serve with hunks of warm buttered bread.

It is so ludicrously warming and tasty you will want make batches to freeze.

Do any of you have a favourite comforting seasonal food? I would love to read about it in the comments.

A little More Than Poetry Is Required To Make It Good

My goodness I am in awe. I can, get my brain around a poem, deliver an artistic > cough < free write, a passable rhyming piece, or a limerick. But the poetry I read over at Colleen Cheeseborough’s place, this is so far away from that.

I penned a rhyme to let the true poets know what I think of their work. And below is none of the following. Types of Poetry.

Tanka. … Haiku. … Cleve … limmerick. … lyrical poem. … narrative poem. … ode. … sonnet. … Ballad. … Acrostic. … A double Enneade. … these are just some forms that I can list, though there are many more I have yet to find.

I bow before you all,
Composers of life,
Love and lament.
Winding words with
Gold-leaf, painting
Architectural prose,
Like attempting
To cement back on
The Sphinxes nose.

How poor my attempt,

too ashamed am I to lay it here,

discarded like Vincent’s ear.

But yet I parry the expected blows

from fencer’s cries and a Sphynxes nose,

for who am I to try?

And so in this place I walk away,

I concede defeat

touché.

When you read sophisticated Poetry or verse, do you think … best concede defeat? Answers or comments down below please, I love to chat.

Ellen’s intention is to Persevere.

To make it through this year, as I am determined to do. I will strive to fight. The statement to show how I will get to the final day of this extraordinary year, Is “Ellen, Perseveres.” That is my intention.

Wearing an anti covid-19 mask,

I vow to set myself the task

that each day from now until then.

I will rise above the parapet

and repeat it time and again,

until it rings in my ears

and all can see,

she persevere’s.

The last few months I have folded myself into a the smallest space. Closed my eyes and hid, I have begun to surrender to the empty. I feel me fade away as if a smudged pencil sketch. My shape is real enough, my face still there. The essence of me is fading … it feels like whisps, or steam from a cup of tea on a cold day. Not quite sure you saw it slipping silently away. The person that is left is no longer curious enough to find out. So it will be a case of finding … me.

My intention is to learn something new. Today, I signed up to an online class. Together, we the group, will learn how to write and produce an audio play, with the Theatre Royal in Bury St Edmunds. I have also pledged to find myself within the words I write. To see it through, to excel the best way I can. Lock down and health issues have taken their toll, but not any more. Ellen will come through, As I Pledge to persevere.

I want to thank my blogging friend who encouraged me to set an intention and commit to it. https://youcanalwaysstartnow.wordpress.com/2020/09/14/setting-an-intention/

“If you were to chose a word to help you through the last four months, to inspire or motivate what would it be and why?” leave it in the comments I would love to chat.

Valentines 2020 Still giving.

Twisted sticks and grasses against a pinked Victorian wall.

No words were then needed, its simple shape said it all.

It’s weathered all the seasonal storms bashed against the brick,

Like our lives together, we hang on through thin and thick.

Our hearts won’t be weakened they will stay the test of time,

Joined in our forever, making our own sun, shine.

We are changing the colour of the house, and The husband got to the wall with my homemade heart and noticed, how bits and pieces had fared pretty well during this disheveled year.

Now, I am not a cutty sewy person, and the want to craft passed me by. So for me to put something together that he liked enough to still notice months later, is an exceptional feat. It is also our anniversary soon. These are the reasons for my poetic post. Sometimes it is the triffles that expresses our feelings the loudest.

Have you ever stepped out of the norm? to show how you feel. If so pop it in the comments, I would love to read and reply.

Thank you to Esme for sharing my link on her link sharing page press https://esmesalon.com/131-senior-salon/ the link to see many more or to join the fun and add yours

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! 

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.