New Born Day

With the night time animals fed and silent, I remove the blue plate from behind the Rosemary bush and breathe in the tender air of a bright new born day.

Armed with a fearsome handbag, a ten shilling note and a bucketful of cakes I'm orf on a jolly jaunt to London.
Will no doubt arrive rattled but excited, will no doubt be force fed microwaved Risotto and will no doubt be overjoyed to see my most favourite people on earth, Mum and Dad.
If and it's an awfully huge if, if I have the energy I'll post a few lines about it tonight.
Toodle Pip!

Jake, The Fox And The Sparrow

Looks like another very fine day.
Will pop out for bird seed and a card then stroll back to tend to my tomatoes.
Here are a couple of 'pastoral' poems I tend not to write much about Mother Nature because I stay indoors a lot.

Impudent Jake, the cat from over the way
lazily stares at my peeling frontage
and
without moving even one eyelid
dismisses me
Another silly human trying her best.

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The lone fox, his nostrils ripped wide open
scurries to the flowered bountiful plate left out by the quiet widow.
His slot of a mouth
with lapping tongue stuck out
gallops up the ladies cat food.

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Mother sparrow
fills baby sparrow
with bits left out by
the childless woman.
The woman hoists herself up and balancing on
her steel sink sups her tears
as her feathered baby's yelling gaping mouth puts all the children in all the world to shame.

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The Pussycat, The Fox and The Old Lady

Will be in and out and off and on. All on account of trifling matters.
These piddling matters taking the form of sorting out the boys, sharpening crucial instruments, flouncing items of allure against me lithe and old body, making pastry, writing epic poems of epic proportions, counting me money, and trudging about the loft on me hands and knees looking for chipped ornaments.
Now all those things are worth getting out of bed for but......
At four a.m I was extricating Monty from the lining of the bedroom curtains, his interest in the great outdoors being invoked by the raucous barking of foxes in me back garden. There I was a solitary female clad in a nightie of allure, sweating buckets because I'd left the electric blanket on full power and dreaming a nasty vicious dream about miniature pigs on aeroplanes, when I'm awakened by that no good scallywag ripping me dusty curtains to bits. Bless him.

So being the stupid old crow I am, I robotically and blindly, (because me glasses were in the drawer and the drawer was stuck) got out of bed and carefully removed him from between the lining and magnificent folds of me mustard and mint floral curtains. (£10.99 Oxfam) thus allowing him to clamber up onto the windowsill of me tiny bedroom and stare intensely into the beautiful blackness of a postage stamp garden.
Then I went back to bed.
But not for long.
At just after six, his bottom was in my face.
Being stretched out on top of me, he reminded me of a luxurious draught excluder, only this draught excluder was snoring.
And as I squinted at his hairy arse I wondered about getting a dog...
See you later