Candle

A candle lit at both ends,
Despite its beauty,
Ability to lighten a darkened space,
And provide solace when the lights have gone out.
Is likely-
Even if the utmost care and precision is taken in its lighting,
Minimising all assessed hazards
And making your best possible effort

-To burn your backside.

Yet we persist.

The Country Talent Quest

It's that time of year again
Yeah haw!
The annual Country Music Talent Quest time.
So it's out with the sheet music,
Google chords and lyrics,
And check out all the versions,
Of the best country has to offer on You Tube.
Finding the right key for junior cowgirls and boys.
Practising and getting decked in just the right kit.
Then there's the dry run on club night.
Haggling over what sections to enter.
Sleepovers for other young hopefuls,
Who tag along with your family singers.
The comedy skits and the last minute dummy spits.
These culminate in a long long day at the local RSL.
Bring along a blanket, some books and colouring in,
To keep all ages occupied.
The smell of the makeup and hairspray.
The frocks, boots and bulging love handles.
The singers and the ear splitters.
The blood and the tears.
Wholesome entertainment for the whole family.

Swimming Lessons

The water in the wood heated pool may have been twenty seven degrees celsius,
The outside air temperature definitely was not.
Overcast with a moderate breeze,
The bathers all dangly legs and arms braved the conditions,
Enjoying the comparative warmth the water afforded.
They frolicked and porpoised,
Back stroked haphazardly in undefined directions,
Splashed, spluttered and gingerly put screwed up faces in....
Momentarily.
Squeals of delight and the odd whinge;
"He hurt me. "
"Yes but he hit me with the kick board."
And then the lower lips start convulsing and turning blue.
Tremors rack the little bodies,
With little stores of body fat for insulation.
It is time to reboot in the warm showers.
The motley crew trundles off with oversize towels and uniforms dragging.
More squeals as cool flesh greets warm water.
Chattering as damp bodies are thrust into reluctant clothes.
Then follows the intermittent parade out of change rooms,
Only to have final inspection on the concourse.
Bedraggled, with lolly bags clasped more tightly than their clothes,
They slowly amble out in friendly gaggles onto the waiting bus.

Missing Someone

Not such a heavy weight,
More a soft tugging,
Within the cavity of your chest.
A feeling of concern,
And hope too,
That things are going well.
When your mind drifts to their image.
And you can sense them.
But you cannot see them face to face,
To be reassured.
It is whispered,
Not all encompassing.
Life's responsibilities drown it out.
But it still comes,
In the quiet moments,
The anxiety,
For those you care for,
Who are absent. 

Pedagogy-The Pleasure of inspiring Learning

It is not teaching that I do,
Rather,,
Facilitate learning.
Encourage an emotional attachment in my diminutive scholars.
If not in what they discover,
But in my own excitement for each subject.
For example;
In expressing the unfathomable patterns of written English. 
I want them to feel sympathy for all the letters that make up their words.
To understand how letters react as they come together.
'e' is so bossy making those vowels say their name.
And 'h' has such a calming influence on 's','t' and 'p'.
And how numerals combine magically in tens,
Just like our fingers and toes.
The wonderful patterns when multiplying 9 and 11,
And the mystery of pi.
I don't impart knowledge and facts,
Like horrible medicine that can only be regurgitated,
With little understanding or application.
No I embrace the role of pedagogue
And feel that it is the practice of my art
To inspire wonder.

Losing the Plot

What is the remedy for losing the plot and being an unpleasant creature to be around?
On those occasions when you think that your responsibilities are just...
Too much!
You know that compared to most, life is pretty good.
But........?
There's too many plates threatening to fall off their spinning stick and bury you,
Because of the silly choices you keep making.

When you have a full life,
It is hard to fit in the unexpected,
Like needing more sleep, illnesses, forgotten appointments and put-off household chores.

So......,
You get yourself a plan,
With a bit of light at the end of the tunnel.
You drag your sorry head off the pillow,
Get up, get active, sing and.......,
Clean the shed. 

Racking the Currant Wine

My currant wine has stopped,
Bubble, plop, bubbling.
It is now plop .......,
An hour  or so later .........,
Plop!
So time to decant into bottles,
And rack.
I think that means you lay the bottles on a rack?
But it's irrelevant.
So I check the specific gravity.
Have a little quaff.
Mmmmm, but sweet.
Tastes very alcoholic.
Get out the siphoning hose.
Suck, suck, mouthful of ambrosia,
Swallow, suck, put end in the jug.
No pressure just an old man's dribble.
Another try,
Another mouthful.
I can't take much more of this boozy cordial.
Finally find the trick.
Suck with the hose up.
Then drop it down to the low jug.
A gush.
Thank goodness,
I was getting a headache.
Thirty bottles and the merlot grapes aren't even ripe yet.
There's still the cider to press.
And I can't say,
We actually drink very much.