Winter-dark Afternoon, and post script **

 There is a fly. Too small to be a FLY in capital letters, I dub it fruit fly. I don't know how it thrives; it tries to butt my desk-lamp. Caught in the beam it blushes red, translucent as a traffic light, till it changes lanes to disappear in darkness. 

All diversions are fruitless. It comes back, an irritant with a knack of avoiding each swat I swing...

Setting a trap with an open-paged book ready to snap, I become a hunter, judging the moment to dispel the torment of circling gnat or fly in the twinkling of an eye. Persistence wins. SPLAT! 

I've sinned; pray forgive this mindful murder. My sorry tale may go no further...

**P.S. It's 4.44pm on 9/3/2023, and I found a draft just now that had been sitting around unpublished for far too long.

Thus I've decided to send it out to sail the seas of Blogland, in the hope it may encounter signs of habitation on some far-flung outpost of the Blogland Empire! 

*smiles* ♥x♥ from Jinksy

Gestation

 

From some inner dark,

glimmer seeds of love and light;

a mother gives birth.

From emotion's well,

once-silent words are drawn forth;

a poet writes.

With thanks to The Sunday Muse for their inspiration.

Too hot to handle?

Heat-wave shimmer over an arc of sky

is echoed above the crowded cities;

houses huddle together, whispering

desperate pleas to an uncaring World

where selfishness rules. Natural order

is out of balance, and pollution reigns.

Blinkered by dark glasses, humanity

throws back its head, howls at this injustice

without admitting the part they had played

in its creation. A radical change

of consciousness is imperative, now.

Only Time's future seeds will be able

to witness final success or failure;

whom will History blame for either end?

Thanks to the Sunday Muse for the inspiration

Internalisation

 

The artist's model sat as though entranced by some secret known only to herself, calm and detached from the real world; an ideal subject for any painter.  
Faced with a blank, white canvas, palette and brushes poised for action, he sensed this air of secrecy, and knew he must be the one to capture it in the portrait already taking shape in his mind's eye. 
As the image began to emerge, the very air thrummed with a mysterious energy, joining the painter with his subject in a dance of inspirational delight. A masterpiece was about to be born...

Thanks to Carrie at the Sunday Muse for another image destined to spark a Blogger's imagination. :-)

Time to Muse?

   

Sea Dreams

Carried on the rising tide of night, flotillas of persistent dreams set sail, while whirlpools circumnavigate my mind - attempt to drown it.

I pray for quiet sleep to steer a course towards a harbour's calm waters. But all the while I hear the cries of ancient nightmares sinking down towards night's ocean bed, biding time to resurface... 

Thanks once again to Carrie at The Sunday Muse, where a time warp happens to allow me to post an offering on a Saturday. Ain't time and technology wonderful? 

All in the mind...

 On a dull, damp weekend, what better than to visit Carrie, to see what is afoot... And the prompt picture subject is a four-footed being, just waiting for me to come out of retirement to play! With apologies for seeing (and capturing) the unexpected angle...

The Shaman

In dreamtime, he enters a Sacred Space, 

far from the baying hounds of whirling Dark.  

He summons forth great Spirit Energies; 

"Come, instil in us the Hunter's Power -

give us silent, padding feet as we stalk,

ever cautious, towards our wary prey.

Let our arrows fly true, kill with mercy

the wild beasts on whom our survival rests."

With his ancestral gods, his mind entwines

and travels far beyond those realms in which 

the anxious hunters wait for his return...

Cause and effect

 

Out of nowhere, the snow-blizzard hit. It whipped my wrap-around skirt into a frenzy, then whisked it away. Up, up it billowed skywards, baring my fishnet-clad legs to the raging elements... I screamed curses towards the leaden clouds... 

But the winds retaliated, blinded me with my own hair, which snaked across my face, stinging, like the locks of Medusa.

Why did I storm out of that party just because I saw them kissing?

Unusual, for me, to have a flight of fancy that doesn't land on the page as a poem. But thanks to the Sunday Muse for galvanising me into action!

Game for a Laugh?

 I guess any Bloglanders who happen to read this post, may identify with at least part of it - i.e. us Oldies do tend to harp back to the past, occasionally - if not a lot.

Today, while searching for something I know is tucked away on some blog page of mine, I happened to go here, and ended up laughing like a loon. It's not normally a good sign if one laughs at one's own jokes.  But I put it to you, that in view of the time lag between 2009 and 2021, it's almost as though I'm laughing at somebody else. Who is/was this odd person willing to share proof of idiocy with all and sundry?

And a not-only-but-also here.  And if neither of these links let you have a good giggle, then Jinksy's lost the plot...

Like the White Rabbit, I'm late, I'm late!

 But on discovering this photo on Sunday Musing's blog. I had an urge to let the words flow, so read on below:-

Poppy fields and paper planes? They shoot thoughts back to a war, when planes were metal and poppy fields ran with blood.

But now, any mention of poppies catapult thoughts spinning to the drug barons, who have succeeded in making red poppies more deadly than silver bullets, and our whole world a battlefield...

Four more lines and a title!

 OK, there may be a few days gap in real life, but in BlogTime, this is in direct response to my long-time Blogpal RWP's suggestion for making my last post's offering into a 'proper' Petrarchan sonnet.

Ever one to rise to a challenge, I've attempted to comply with the rules, and here goes, title and all!

April’s Plea

Without a sunbeam's brush to gild her frame,

brave April's countenance betrays her plight.

She calls her hero, 'Helios!' in vain.

Then, crestfallen, she cowers out of sight...

Capricious forces conjure sun and rain 

into eternal conflict. Dark lords and bright

wage their wars, as moon-tides wax and wane

throughout the universe's star-drenched night,

until, by morning, rotund Earth's revolved

in deference to laws decreed long since.

Then sun-flamed beams put shadow-clouds to flight,

their unshed tears like morning mists dissolved,

as Helios, our hero, on his plinth 

stands proud, the great defender of the light.

And the year rolls on -

 From December to April, this blog and I have remained silent, whilst all around the pandemic has raged , regardless.

Perhaps it was the sunshine that prompted me to post today. Who knows? But rather than creating something new, I'm copying a few lines I originally wrote on Alias Jinksy, but they are missing a title. Perhaps any Napple Notes reader who may wander by, could supply one for me? But I shan't be holding my breath, for wanderers may be scarce, hehehe...

 Capricious forces conjure sun and rain 

into eternal conflict. Dark lords and bright

wage their wars, as moon-tides wax and wane

throughout the universe's star-drenched night,

until, by morning, rotund Earth's revolved

in deference to laws decreed long since.

Then sun-flamed beams put shadow-clouds to flight,

their unshed tears like morning mists dissolved,

as Helios, our hero, on his plinth 

stands proud, the great defender of the light.

Strings

 On this dull, chilly Boxing Day, one little word catapulted several interpretations into my mind,  perhaps the noblest of which being 'strings of the heart'. 

For these are invisible bindings, the strength of which cannot be measured. Like a shimmering web of spider's silk, they weave their complex threads in and around us all, as life plucks its melodies from them.  Sometimes these are lyrical, uplifting, a song of joy. But discords are always possible - perhaps necessary - to help us appreciate life's orchestrations to the full.

On a different level, down to the brass band 'oompah' music, perhaps (sorry to brass band enthusiasts - no slur intended) come the strings of lights on Christmas trees, the strings of paper chains or garlands looping their way around our homes, or even the strings of onions  - does anyone still make those? - designed to hang close to the cook's chopping board in the kitchen...

And as we are on the downhill slope of this less than festive, Festive Season, then it's a fair to middling guess that there will have been any number of necks adorned with strings of pearls or beads (glass, clay, popcorn or even papier mâché)  either given as gifts (cheap ones), or exhumed (expensive ones) from a jewellery box for a once-a-year-airing.

Last but not least, I hope I haven't been stringing anyone along into a forlorn hope that the lofty start to this post would not descend to the depths, by mentioning strings which tied the legs together of any turkey, goose, duck or chicken carcass as it headed towards its final demise in an oven. 

Let's hear it for the Vegetarians or Vegans! 

Thinks:- Why does that last word hold echoes of Star Trek for me?

 

Spreading the word, perhaps?

 And which word would that be, I wonder, among the ever decreasing number of bloggers who post something each day? Let me whisper it in your ear - security!

The prefix http:// instead of https:// before your blog name, indicates the blog is 'not secure'. A simple adjustment within one's blog settings, will rectify this security issue with a single click.

  No time to delay - do it today!

Golly Gosh!

Once again, Blogger plus Google have thrown a spanner in the works! Will it spell the end of us ancient Bloggers, as we are forced to keep up with the times? Hehehe - and what times they have been for us so far in 2020.

There is one consoling thought, though. Wandering the paths of Blogland to greet Old Blog Pals  by giving them a virtual hug or handshake, will not involve anybody in yet another Hand Wash or Sanitiser routine! Be grateful for these small mercies, and good luck with the new Blogger enforced re-vamp. Long may our brains remain un-addled enough to cope! ♥♥♥

 

It's a Bug's Life?

By bug, I mean virus, of course. Thanks to its potency, it has encircled the world more quickly than  any other illness in recorded history.

But amidst the increasingly dire news bulletins which besiege our ears multiple times a day, a new sense of community has began to emerge. It may be the one and only good thing to come out of this whole debacle...

And now...

A bit of silliness goes a long way.

This is a piece of popcorn that I couldn't bring myself to eat! Can you understand why?! Hehehe....

Another sunny day -

But fraught with IT hiccups. Goodness gracious me- where have we seen that happen with Blogland before?!
It seems I am unable to leave a comment on Napple Notes today, even though I am the original Napple. Whatever next? I suppose I must remain grateful that my self photo can again be left on any other blog on which I leave a comment. Two steps forward, one step back, eh?
Maybe I'll contemplate my navel for a while, and try again later...
TTFN, folks. ♥

Topsy Turvey World

Outside of these four walls, the sunlight is dancing around through the branches of my buddleia, highlighting some leaves in vivid lime green, while others remain in shadow-shaded tones of  a 'green with no name' - or at least, not one I can dredge up from my memory.
Small details such as these, must grow in importance over the next days, weeks, months, as I obey  the 'self isolating' command which has been issued to the seventy-plus Oldies such as myself.  My head fails to acknowledge the seventy nine year time line of my life, although my body has other ideas!
However, I consider myself fortunate that my brain continues to live in it own realm of 'Now' and 'Then', both intermingled in a tapestry which has no 'Time Frontier' of border guards to keep them apart.
In a world where boarders are becoming ever more critical, news items focus often on scenes of  people attempting to 'get back home' - wherever that may be.
As Covid-19 decimates populations around the globe, it is the one common aim which overrides all others.
The media dwells on stories of grounded aeroplanes  and cruise ships banned from docking; we see anxious families awaiting return of their loved ones...
But yesterday, TV showed trains in India overloaded, inside and out, with people who no longer had jobs, all desperately trying to get back to the villages where poverty forced them to seek city life in the first place.
No matter how many people strive to make the world a better place, there are still the 'Have's' and the 'Have not's' . The border between them is the hardest of all to cross...

Time Wasters

There are many kinds of people who might deserve this title, but this morning, I have one specific type in mind - the ones who persist in leaving indecipherable comments on older blog posts, in the hope that they will serve as 'undercover adverts.' At least, that's what they seem like to me.
As my settings have always allowed nefarious comments to appear immediately in my  email 'Inbox'  (from whence I take great delight in hastening to remove said comments from  whichever of my blogs has been invaded) I'd like to point  out to the intruders they are wasting their time, as well as mine. Harrumph! Here endeth the lesson for today...

Into The Void?

That's where it feels as though Blogger has sent Jinksy, for that was my bloggy identity right from day one. Penelope always struck me as too straight laced and toffee nosed, as well as a bit long a name to use amongst friends, although it was great for those in authority when they wanted to show their displeasure at something I'd done. Can you not hear them utter the 'PeNELope!' (centre syllable stressed) which was capable of stopping me in my tracks?

I'd like to thank Eddie Blue Lights for leaving a comment on my previous post. As I seem unable to get a normal 'Reply' option under his comment to work, I have resorted to posting one here.
Sorry, Eddie, but the thought of having to invent another Gmail address especially to accommodate the Jinksy signature on comments I try to make, fills me with trepidation. I shall remain in The Void which Blogger seems to have created, and continue scrabbling around for any helpful suggestions from other Bloggers who have been similarly afflicted.

Thanks also go to Smitonius And Sonata for their alerting me to the fact that I'm not alone in my frustration! I felt much better once I read other cries for help in the badly named 'HELP' section, which is proving to be of no help at all as far as I can see...

How to waste time without really trying?

I've managed to do that very successfully, this afternoon, much to my annoyance.
Although my regular Blog posting has faded to almost nil, I still get the occasional dreaded Spam Comment Alert...and two had popped up on a long gone Napple post.  I open the Spam tin ASAP, in such circumstances- if you get my drift- and can report the dubious words have been well and truly deleted.

But this sent me on a long and winding trail, attempting to discover why Google still refuses to publish my Jinksy name when I try to leave a comment - even on my own blog! After the best part of an hour and a half of trying every which way I could think of to get the Jinksy name to stick, I've resorted to writing a grumbly blogpost to no one in particular, just to register my displeasure.

Bother, blow and blooming heck, as a good friend of mine used to say.

A kind of time-warp?

After many moons, the sunshine and blue sky has beguiled me into a trip around my long deserted Blog. I see the space in the time-line between the previous post and this one, is like a great black hole.
Frustration hovers, as Blogger insists I sign in via my Google account. I'm not the greatest fan of Gmail in any of its many incarnations. I do have a Gmail address, but prefer to use my original BT one. Maybe that is where my problems arise? Blogger knows me as Jinksy, but Google can't get its head around the fact that is not a name derived from my BT account...
Hey ho. I shall simply rejoice in the fact that my fingers enjoy dancing over the keys, as I see the words translate to the blank page of a new post, which I'm ashamed to say, is the first of 2019.
Who knows when the next one will arrive? Hehehe - certainly not me, for I follow my nose, and that has no idea of time!

Thinking Thoughts

'In My Mind's Eye' is the title of the latest book by Jan Morris. I had pre-ordered it way in advance of a promised September delivery date, which I then promptly forgot.
So I was pleasantly surprised to find it ready to download to my PC's Kindle this morning, and I couldn't wait to start reading it. Literally... Now at almost two o'clock and fifty percent through said book, I've been stopped in my tracks. Here's why -

As I read the entry headed 'Day 87', I laughed out loud and long, and knew I had to share it with Napple Notes, immediately.

"That's odd. I don't seem to have thought anything today.

It does happen."

Surely all Bloggers and/or Aspiring Writers know how that feels?!
(Still chuckling, I head off to put together a very late lunch...

Not quite a thought for the day...

...But a bit of fun on a sunny afternoon.
Three local taxi firms have merged into one, recently, and  now use some kind of automatic ordering system. It may be more efficient for them, but not necessarily as seen from the 'customer service' side...hence the following ditty.

Taxi?

These days when I order a taxi.
there's an automated voice
that gives me several options -
some of which get offered twice...

It registers which phone is calling,
then asks 'Do you want a cab now?'
But should I be booking one well in advance,
the silly thing doesn't know how.

Another push button is needed
to request human contact, you see,
then eventually somebody picks up my call -
once they've finished drinking their tea...

N.B. I've now linked this to Poetry Pantry Go there to read a plethora of poets work.

Solstice with Toads

Not the hopping kind, but the ones who inhabit the Imaginary Garden ! With thanks to them for their prompt. :-)

Fact Or Fiction?

Summer solstice day…

what better time to share in

modern magic; sound

and vision from an unnatural source,

which seems to defy the laws of nature?

The bright hologram

must overcome reasoning

offered by the brain,

when song and dance achieve life

born from imagination.

Anyone for tennis?

With the matches at Queen's Club heralding the approach of Wimbledon again, tennis is in the spotlight, and set me contemplating another post on the subject.:-)

Why

do some

high scoring

tennis players,

serving aces in all the right places,

appear boring enough to make snoring

a secret sport

for those who

shun such

play?                            

In                 

sun-soaked

stands, fans watch

scheduled matches

while  television cameras capture

the audience - unconscious candid shots -

human sardines

packed in rows,

no tins

free.

By chance, I've just discovered that Poets United had the word 'human' as their stepping stone for a poem, which I happen to have included in the one I wrote this afternoon! Happenstance, or what?

Counting Syllables

1, 2, 3 ,4, 10 Tetractys – and variations.

Once

I knew

how to write

a short, witty

poem, using as few words as I could.

Now I am often tempted to write more,

in an effort

to explain

some odd

thought,

one

which comes

unbidden,

but must be caught

before it fades into oblivion.

It struck me that writing to a syllable count, as instructed on Imaginary Garden With Real Toads, is simply another way of using Blank Verse, where lines of ten syllables are de rigueur... The above might be laid out thus:-

Once, I knew how to write a short, witty

poem, using as few words as I could.

Now I am often tempted to write more,

in a effort to explain some odd thought,

one which comes unbidden, but must be caught

before it fades into oblivion.

This does nothing to interrupt the rhythm of the words, but makes a great difference to the layout on the page. I wonder which your eyes find most pleasing?

Alias Jinksy

Yes, that's the name of my other blog, where I posted this morning by way of a variation. It's quite easy to find, if you click on its name square at the side of Napple Notes...
I don't normally use it to witter the way I do here. I tend to post a poetic offering and leave it as that, but not so today. I began familiarising myself with some of the latest gadgetry which has appeared since I last posted regularly, and got over enthusiast! Hehehe.  Perhaps the Blogging Bug has not entirely worked itself out of my system...

Brain teaser?

I have wasted the better part of an afternoon, thanks to Google's latest hang up about 'improving security'. When it gets to the point where one's own blog is SO secure, it stops the rightful owner in his or her tracks, surely, that way madness lies...
I am indebted to an Olde Bloggy pal for calling up memories from the past, when Blogland was alive and well, as opposed to being locked behind security fences that would baffle MI5 - or do I mean MI6 ?
In desperation, I am opting to attempt a new post, even though it be nought but a last gasp from a frustrated blogger...

Hoarding, Plus Lateral Thinking?!

What a marvelous combination they make... This morning, I was determined to repair (somehow) the broken plastic fittings on three of my vertical blind's strips. They'd taken a bashing whenever the patio door was opened on a windy day, not to mention when visitors crashed into them when their nearby chair collided, thanks to it's five wheeled base and a less than gentle sitter-downer-person.

I knew I had a some wire left over from the days when I made mobiles, and I even remembered where to look for it...

But after experimenting, the wires turned out to be too hefty for the delicate twiddling I was attempting to perform...

So, back to the Thinking Cap. Instead of 'mobiles', I substituted the idea 'silk flower making'. This delightful craft I  dabbled with for quite some time, and it's left me with multifarious 'come in handy' bits and bobs.

One such was a pack of fifteen inch, delicate wires, which had been too fine for most flower stems, but I realised, a little late, would be perfect for the job I had in mind... and I had only to reach across my desk for them. They were right in front of me, tucked into a bamboo pen-pot currently in use for anything but pens!
In next to no time,  the 'chain-link' plastic loops were scooped up from their recumbent position on the carpet and reinstated to restore the blind to full working order.

When I tell you the price tag on the label of the packet announced 'Streets, 91p', if you happened to live in Havant, you'd realise I'd been hoarding them for at least six years, for Streets Ironmongers had closed its doors for good by 2011.

What? Me? A hoarder? Get along with you... Hahaha