This post has been brought to you by writer’s block, and a lovely evening at an acoustic music session at The Old Anchor. I quite often end up writing here…when I can that is! It’s not for a want of ideas I can assure you. Please let me know what you think and as always, enjoy!
Of Writer’s Block
I want to write of falconry,
And literary critique.
Of mystery cats with stumpy tails,
For ideas I need not seek.
I want to write of new friendships,
And limping down a mountain.
Of adventuring in foreign climes,
I’m a veritable idea fountain.
I wanted to write for the past year,
And would sit with pen in hand.
Of ideas I wasn’t lacking,
But they wouldn’t come out as planned.
I want to keep on writing,
And end this long hiatus.
Of writer’s block no one’s a fan,
It always conspires to frustrate us.
That last verse is being a pain still, but it’s so nice to get something down rather than have a hundred ideas and a hundred blank pages because they won’t transfer.
This one is the result of various sightings over the years. When I told one of my friends the title, they were somewhat worried. After they heard it, they were amused and admitted that it wasn’t what they had expected. In a good way. Hope you enjoy it to, please let me know, either in the comments below or through one of the half-dozen other ways of reaching me.
Down at the Roadside Diner,
We’ve all you can eat grass and leaves.
For rabbit, mouse, hare and deer,
But please keep near the hedge or the trees.
Down at the Roadside Diner,
Birds can come fill their crops with grit.
We’ve ants galore for green woodpeckers,
But please do try not to get hit.
Else down at the Roadside Diner,
You’ll get a free pass to our Scavengers’ Buffet.
A regularly replenished and varied spread,
Exclusively for red kite, crow, rook, magpie, jay…
Here at the Roadside Diner,
We’re proud of our all-natural food.
But must apologise for the noisy neighbours,
Their disturbing your meal is so terribly rude.
Things have taken a decidedly cool and soggy turn over the past week, and there were rumours of hail up the road from me, plus snow in Glencoe! Autumn doesn’t start until the 21st, so if the weather would kindly remember that… This is a pretty seasonal post, and I wanted to get it up before the season changed and I had to wait a year. Part of my inspiration came from some comments I saw and heard about male opinions on female fashion outside of the summer months. Let me know what you think below, and enjoy!
As Summer Fades
As summer begins to fade away,
And autumn time slowly draws near,
The fallen leaves start to appear.
As days cool, the hemlines begin to fall,
And necklines slowly start to rise,
Accompanied by disappointed male sighs.
As blue skies linger with a nip,
And the swifts and swallows congregate to go,
Thoughts turn to the likelihood of snow.
As the log fires once more are lit,
And the last barbeques consumed,
Jumpers from storage are swiftly exhumed.
As the hedgerows fill with fruits,
And greens turn to red and gold,
The summer fades and autumn takes hold.
I’m typing this up at the little weirdo in question is sat on my lap purring away. Thankfully my laptop does a good impression of a knee top. The other night I decided that it was probably time to do another cat related rhyme. Afterall, I post these online, and the internet loves cats. Right? Everything I’ve rhymed here is true, there have been witnesses to some of it. In case any one is interested, Clio is an 8yo ish rescued Ragdoll who has lived with me for nearly two years.
So please let me know what you think below and hope you enjoy!
My Cat is a Proper Little Weirdo
She doesn’t lap her water,
Like all the other cats you’d see.
Instead she scoops it with a paw,
And sips so daintily.
She doesn’t like getting splashed with even a drop,
But will wander out in to the rain.
And if she seems to have disappeared,
You can bet she’s in the shower tray yet again.
She let a loopy Spaniel hug her,
And shrugged at a madly barking Yorkie.
Chased an Alsatian-cross around the garden,
But is somewhat shy around the Husky.
As I’m sure you’ll now agree,
She’s a proper little weirdo.
And a snuggly, rumbly, cuddly fur ball,
Who will sometimes answer to Clio.
Who you calling a weirdo?