MRS WIDOWHOOD

Mrs Widowhood has been on her own for many years.
Her husband died very young,
due to an accident in which his head was chopped off.
Mrs Widow never really accepted the loss.

Recently, she has began to sense
a presence calling her to a mission.
She is completely baffled by this happening.
The only clue, is a sentence that keep going through her head,
'Save Tom Turkey, save Tom Turkey from himself'.

Because of carrying a bit too much weight, for her own good,
Mrs Widowhood didn't like to walk too far.
She was concerned with how far she may have to travel,
if she followed the calling she felt.
Also, there were her two grandchildren
Twitter and Twee, to consider.
After a lot of reflection, 'Hoody' (that's her nickname),
decided to put all thoughts of the calling, out of her mind for now.

Her grandchildren told her there was a circus coming to town,
and she had promised to take them along to it. After the
excitement of the circus settled down,
then she'd consider this unsettling presence,
that had beset her.

Tushie   1/9/12




Tushie   1/12/12

THE BREATHLESS STAIRCASE

Whose the kindest girl in the whole wide world?

Why it's Jess, of course, with the wonderful curl,

that falls over her dimpled peachy cheek,

whose always there, to encourage and greet,

all who come panting to the top most floor,

then stagger and gasp through the wide open door.

'Come in, come in' she calls, 'come one and all,

stumble, totter, stagger, or if you have to, even crawl.

We're here, we're waiting, don't stop to ponder,

step into our world of color, magic and wonder.

There's food on the table, crayons, paper, pencils aplenty,

age doesn't count, whether down from a hundred, or up to twenty'.

Tushie   27/8/12

SEEKING

Whose that I hear calling, calling my name?

When I come to see, no one is there, is it a game?

Whose that I hear rustling, around in the grass?

In fact I think, no I'm sure, I heard someone laugh!

Come out, come out whoever you may be,

let's see what we may make of it, you and me.

We'll look each other over, and take it from there.

Why! we might make, a mighty pretty pair!.

Tushie   27/8/12

DRESSED IN WHITE

'What is it?'   by   Trish

Pussy cat, pussy cat, why do you stare?
Tell me, tell me, what is out there?
Ghosts of lost, once marauding friends,
who passed on and now, tell of their ends?

How they fought off the foes far and wide,
how they never once ran, or  tried to hide.
How the dawn came upon them after darkest night,
and those who still stood were left without sight.

Pussy cat pussy cat, are you alright?
you look so pale, a frightful sight.
Is it me, you come revisiting, dressed in light,
filled with a glow from the after life?

Tushie   25/8/12

A PURPLE TIME
Oh dear Pussy cat, you are so white,

'Looming Light'   by   Trish

is it to help people see you at night?
I suggest you be a little like me,
my color helps to cheer, as well as see.

I know I'm not perfect, nor anything else,
but I'm just gathering up all of my wealth.
And where may that be? do I hear you ask?
Let me show you, the gold dust, all over my path.

Tushie   26/8/12

SAILING BUTTERFLIES

'Friends'   by   Trish

Flutter, flutter, butterfly,
through trees, flowers and sun.
Tickle touch, flutter brush,
fun, fun, fun!

Rustling leaves, tell secrets to me,
say sailors see you far out at sea?
What were you doing, away out there?
hundreds of you, not just a pair.

Quickly now what are you searching out?
I simply must know! what it's all about!

Tushie   18/8/12

FROGS! FROGS! AND FROGS!

'Frogs'  by  Trish

I love big green, wonderful frogs,
but not as much as wonderful dogs.
Yet, there's something the same about the two,
they'll love you, and love you, till their faces turn blue.

Tushie   13/8/12

DREAMS

'Breathing Inspiration'   by   Trish

I gazed and gasped at images unseen,
witnessed with closed eyes, wildest scenes.
Were they real these valley's of sleep?
Were they meant, to use or keep?
Gold, red black, white or pale green faces,
ugly, old or charming and armed with graces.

I gazed deep as a soul can dare,
until at long last I discovered there,
not a shadow world of memory and chance,
but a windmill, a whirlpool of song and dance.

Tushie   13/8/12

FRIGHTENING

Everything frightens me,
because it's in my body you see.
If you get too many frights,
in the day and in the nights,
it starts to send you quite silly.
Thank God for my aunt Milly!

You see, she saw my terrible plight,
and when things got bad, she'd put them right.
She'd say 'You're a good kid and kind as hell,
but what's to become of you with a mother like her? Well!!'

Tushie   14/8/12

SPRINGING

Wake up! Wake up! sleepy one.
Laugh, sing, dance and have fun.
Don't stay still, stiff and sad,
laugh, sing, dance and be glad.


Wake up! Wake up! sleepy head,
get out! Get out! of your bed.
If Mr Cold is hovering about,
put on warm cloths and then dash out!

Or if Mrs Sun is shining bright,
put on! put on! clothes so light,
they'll float as leaves on a spring green tree.
Let's go! Let's go! happiness and me.

Tushie   14/8/12

THE SONG

I hear a bird sing it's song,
a silvery tone, so perfect, I listen all day long.
Evening brings another sound,
it rises up from hushed ground.
Feint whispers of feet, then psalms and prayer,
pressed, raised hands, brush the night air.

Children, men and women too,
move in shaded shadow and as they do,
melting moments, ring out, a symbol to one and all,
encircle the heart, then, the bird sings out it's perfect call.

Tushie   9/8/12.

THE MOUSE AND HIS FRIEND

I had a little mouse in my pocket,
I loved to tickle him, till he said 'Stop it!
Your finger's are too tough!
your pocket lining too rough!.
Though you may not tickle me,
may I suggest a friend called flea?


Tushie   9/8/12

DANCING WITH THE DARK

What were those dancing trees about?
What made me gasp, as if to shout?
'The trees! the trees! are dancing now,
I know it's impossible, and yet.... some how?
I do believe my own fantastical sights,
are truer than mere mortal lies.

Tushie   11/8/12

A HEAVENLY PLACE

She said 'My needs are small, and money  little,
I've problems lined up, like a ten pin skittle.
Dusty cupboards full of unmet needs,
empty shelves lined with many kind deeds.

She said 'If my life had been better,
and my folk less of a fetter,
around my neck, and I'd better luck,
instead of always cleaning up, other's muck,
I'd be in heaven with a crown upon my head.
Why, that's exactly where I am, I must be dead!!

Tushie   11/8/12

CELEBRATION

The fingers wrapped around my wrist, oh so tight,

I realize are my own hand, my very own might.

I loosen the grip, hear music, tentatively make it,

Feel the breath of sound, venture to taste it.

No longer a sharp rasp at my throat,

no longer need for warmest, shawl, or coat,

to cover my head, shoulders, or cold, sad heart.

Let the celebration begin, I'm eager to take part.

Tushie   12/8/12

SEVEN GOING ON EIGHT

I opened the gate and there she stood.

'You've won first prize, I told you, you would'.

Her small outstretched hand held a tiny cross,

as it fell into my palm, I sensed an immediate loss,

and then a gain, of something that was never mine,

a sense of sin, of some mighty crime.

As the sun set that evening over our small garden,

For the first time, I felt, in need, of God's pardon.

Tushie   8/8/12

FAST AND SLOW

Restaurants
hotels
lush
grey
carpets
silver
cutlery
sharp
and
shiny
trim
hipped
waiters
in
love
with
long
legged
girls
alcoholic
Sirs and
their
lonely best
friends
soft
music
laughter

fine wine fine clothes,
God it really got up my nose.

Tushie   7/8/12

NEVER ON SUNDAY

I've washed my face and brushed my teeth,
reflected on my old friend, who is Greek,
from long ago, a life time of course,
memories flow no need of force,
to recall the face, distressed as a little girl,
as we searched on hands and knees, for his lost pearl.

Tushie   7/8/12

THIS PLACE

'Homecoming'   by   Trish

I'm meditating on the cold land,
pressing the invisible tips, of my left hand,
hard upon a tender place within me,
right hand upturned in vanishing gesture-al plea.

I'm meditating happily, at long last,
on my reality, anger, with a good grasp,
on all things, far ago, given away,
and I lovingly, take each one, back today.

Tushie   7/8/12

BUTTONHOLE SAINT

Through the Bars   by   Tush

This buttonhole soul’s made of simple things,

half a pizza box, piece of  blue string,

once rusted steel with a coat of paint,

I tell you friends, she’s a little saint.

Through the squares of  the bars,
she sees sun, moon, and  stars,

while twists of wire, hold things together,

she’s learned to prepare for all kinds of weather.

Spring is coming; she can tell it’s near,

and each tender bud, she’ll touch with a tear.

Tushie   6/8/12

REACHING OUT

She whispered, 'I'm full of need,
and I'm full of greed,
for sweetest rest,
on a beating breast'.

She sighed, 'Trees are dancing in the dark,
my small garden's as a giant park,
full of shadows and whispering things,
that sweep and sleep on angel's wings'.

She murmured, 'The needle's turned in all directions,
how can it know of resurrections,
or of those who wander and wait,
to be reborn at heaven's gate'.

Tushie   16/4/11


TO MARKET
To market to market to buy some apples,
with red, green and yellow splashes.
Whitest flesh within the abstract skin.
To market to market, on wings of wind

Tushie   17/4/11

THE RIGHT PLACE

I held my heart inside my chest,
something I alone do best.
I pinched myself, to be sure twas true,
that I was me, and was not you.

Busy as a bee at work,
never one to ever shirk,
I toiled away day and night,
doing the things of a dutiful wife.

Until there was no more to be done,
no longer taking note, or messages to run.
So through the open sunlit door,
I walked and walked for evermore.

Tushie   12/7/12

FOR BETTER OR WORSE

Regrets are not my line,
well not in recent time.

But then again in a fashion,

I've lost a lot of passion.
For a woman of common sense,

I was far too intense. 

Regrets are not my way,

yet in a sense I'd say,

if they'd not driven me mad,

I'd still be very sad.

Tushie   2/7/12

THE WONDER OF IT ALL

As the years fly past
I grow big very fast,
with longer arms and longer legs,
about the length of the posts on my bed.


I think and think, think about God,
how he might think me a rotten little sod.
But then, he might think me a sad little girl,
and so place in my heart a most precious pearl.


When each day comes, the night too,
and I don't know what to do,
because everywhere has become dark,
then all at once there'll be a little spark.

It's the pearl! the pearl!
given by God to a little girl.
I thought of this poem a long time ago,
now I find, it's turned out just so.

Tushie   1/8/12

BEING IMPRESSIONABLE

Being impressionable is not a good thing,
it leaves you at the mercy of any ding-a-ling.
'Go toward the shining mountain, take the straight winding path.
Cry, suffer, walk back and forth, until you begin to laugh'.

'At what'? I ask, then say to myself, at the end of it all,
As I rest my new found body, against a strong wall,
'Laugh heartily and long at every desperate antic,
of a mind that yearns deeply and has grown quite frantic
for a tiny bite of peace,
for the desperation to cease'.

No, being impressionable is not good,
If anyone can vouch for that I could,
and can, because I've found another way,
the absolute opposite, of what the ding -a-lings say.

Tushie   2/8/12

DO I HEAR?

Will the day ever come,
when thinking is fun,
and my daydreams are full,
of monkey tricks to pull?

Will the day ever come,
when I'll laze in the sun,
and think of funny things to say,
to folk, be they, who ever they may?

Will the night ever come,
when all I want to do, is done,
while my eyes close in gentle peace,
as wonders abound, and troubles all cease?

Do I hear you say? 'Of course it will!
Just listen and stay, ... very still.
Then all will be, just as it should.'
Do I hear you say,? 'I told you it would'.

Tushie   3/8/12

THE CHALICE OF BREATH

Why is it, some think, held breath helps one hear all?
Helps to see themselves fully in their mirrored hall.
Mind and body, skewered,  viewed as a circus tent,
with torn, tattered awnings, sly, and yawning rents.

And how is it, spent breath can remain, so full of life?
Like an exhausted child, or an outraged, wife?
Spent breath, spilt like fresh milk, all over the room,
or spreading as warm blood, from a mortal wound.

Tell me what you feel?
What seems right, wrong or real,
is not the question at hand,
rather, why is it, some live so long, in a breathless land?

Tushie   1983


 .

VERTIGO IN REVERSE

I'm falling, falling fast,
onto lush velvet grass
drowning in straight strands of green lace,
lost in white light and boundless space.

I'm falling, falling fast,
shaking loose my glass-housed heart,
melting with the joy of spring,
I'm as happy, as happy as, absolutely anything.

Tushie   31/7/12