I’m finally learning to first say, “No..”–

it’s of wisdom– though read as unkind,

for this is just how some “Yes”s grow:

from a “No”‘s germination in my mind.

One has no prize bloom out of season;

some Yes-gardeners are loath to wait,

but for every not-yet there’s a reason..

(for women, there are seven or eight).




Squids (and me)

I have the power to become invisible.

Actually, *my* power belongs to others–

they do not see me for the them in their way,

but it serves my purposes well enough..

except when I am behind the wheel!


(So, thank God some deejays still play happy-songs, like this one!)





A Blue Shoe (A re-blog)

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[Note from Relax: Here is a blogger (and authoress) who pulls rugs out from under my feet, brilliantly, poignantly, and often hilariously..]


La Tour Abolie

I once lived on a housing estate, disparaged by Ex as “Brookside”. This was my first house after leaving him and after the divorce money coming through. When I first saw it it wasn’t even there, just a drawing on a plan and a lot of metal barriers, holes in mud and men, hod-carrying and shouting. I peered through the lozenges in the wire and wondered what it would be like, in my own place.

The houses got finished and we all moved in at once – my next-door-neighbour on the same day, even. Removal vans everywhere. Mud still everywhere, imprinted with workmen’s’ boot-soles; the landscaping newly-planted, a few twiggy shrubs that might or might not develop into laurel, hydrangea or photinia later. The garden a narrow rectangle of stony, unturfed brown, all the topsoil scraped off to make proper gardens for the four and five-bedroomed houses over the road. Three…

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Seriously, I just sang that portion of the song (whose lyrics I don’t know beyond “Turn and face the change”) 5 times while counting the “Ch-“s on my fingers.


I’ve been trying to restrict my posting to verse(ish), and truth be told, I do indeed compose something once or more nearly every day, which is a joy not only for me, but for whatever makes enormous *dust* webs in this house. I kid you not one mote when I say the 30-something husband of one daughter’s friend asked me for a yardstick during grandson’s birthday party. He brought it back saying, “Here you go — I got rid of some of the webs.”

By rights, I should’ve been embarrassed. I’m more of a cerebral person, though, and make no apologies for that. I will have a map ready for him next year.

Anyway, nearly every bit of verse turns dismal. Somehow it goes from the sparkling oasis in my mind, to a dirge for Hemingway’s road-crossing chicken (“To die. Alone. In the rain.”).  :-p

Oasis in my mind: “Oh. My. God! It’s so beautiful out AGAIN! Timothy-sweet air, clouds be-plumed as a wren..”

Dirge: “Oh. Dear. God! The winds ruffling that old sheet, remind me winter’s near and my life will be worth sleet.”

*sigh.. It’s not working.  Think, Relax — THIMK!

(Really, just sayin’ “Hi.”) (Hi!)