Morning text

Because I’m a dizzy doozy at the moment.  I wouldn’t normally share my texts, but this morning’s are a bit special 🙂

From he to me

Loving you with all my heart and soul
Take care, my darling, please be whole
Step lightly and take Nature’s wine (H2O)
And I hope today you will be fine.



From me to he

I found it hard when time was due
For me to wake and start day through
My mind was fuzzy, body shook
Not in a way where I could ‘up’

I’ve had a shower, taken meds
But whoozy, doozy in my head
I’ll go to work and play the martyr
Look forward to the evening’s start … Er

Poetic licence, I took there
So you, my dear must alst take care
Drive carefully, with eyes on road
And easy when you shed your load!

Loves you, Babaloo xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Apologies for any delay. This message has been to space and back.

No trees were harmed in the sending of this message; however, a large number of electrons were terribly inconvenienced.


Vega’s Tail

I went out walking with my mum
And lots of dogs did sniff my bum
One came along and jumped on board
And all the people said, “Good Lord!”

They all agreed that I was fit
And every one wanted a bit
They even tried to hump my head
Why couldn’t they just play instead?

There was not even a reason
It’s not like I am in season
There’ll be no puppies, ’cause you see
There’s someone else lined up for me

A dashing stud for when I’m two
I’m breeding stock, not destined to
Be impregnated by a dude
So we went home and had some food

But perhaps later, we just may
Be taken out by our dad, Grae
And we’ll make sure he won’t get stuck
Up to his knees in smelly muck!


Here we have a poem in the Manxu form, which is an ode to cats with a 2, 2, 1, 6, 1, 4, ! syllable count (ending with “!”).

2 – ears
2 – eyes
1 – nose
6 – whiskers
1 – mouth
4 – legs
! – no tail

Oh cat!
You spit
those who dare to mock you
having no tail

Do you think it’ll catch on?

Disclaimer: Any resemblance to any real poetry, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Featured image: A Manx cat

Moosic for my years

There’s a moose let loose in the hoose.
He’s elking ‘imself to dessert (mousse, of course).
He’s such a deer, despite being rather bullish.
His predilect poetic form is streaming his unconsciousness;
enematic rhyme schemes spawning circular symbolism.
He’s the shape of grey; a jelliful mass of contractions –
a joyful jiggle in the jungle (if you get my drift) –
‘not to mention’ a gregarious giggler (you didn’t read that).
He’s a masterful mosher of metaphor –
a minister of mimicry, an all-round all rounder.
And occasionally, his style rubs off on me.
(Not a euphemism)…

*run away*

“I see what you did there!”

Sharing the Love

We collaborate, he and I
We often laugh until we cry
We’re silly almost every day
We act, we sing, we write, we play
We text each other funny lines
And always… well, maybe sometimes…
They fit together like hand in glove
As we do too, we share our love
Of words and fun and music, too
Creating things to share with you
And with this love, our hearts do sing
(Click for our latest offering)

Swoon, my dear

Can I have my eyes back please, Mr. Sandford?
Can I have my eyes back please, Mr. Sandford?

Adaptation of Graeme’s post, How Goes The Day

We talk in tongues
when we’re together.
Each hard at work,
taking a moment to touch
across our smiles.

We think via empathy;
our neural pathways connecting our minds
like the weave of a well-worn suit.
We kiss and rekiss;
we know the other’s ways.
But sometimes, when we start, we wobble,
because, often, our knees turn to jelly,
and it is what we do.

Here, I say, never fear,
I am in your arms
Swoon, my dear.