dear heart

ask me

why don't you
ask me
who are you
who are you
open your mouth
move your lips
air in air out
drop your voice
or make it shout
ask me where
ask me why
ask me anything
i can deny
ask who i am
and who i'm not
i used to be
i changed a lot
i'm someone else
from somewhere new
the reason why
i don't remember you

Copyright © 2011 by Eryll Oellermann

the weed

the boy was gobsmacked
well hardly a boy
looked older than my doctor
my dentist
the policeman down the road
he was probably near forty
tall and lanky
with long curly hair
portraying a wildness
disavowed by body language
which hinted more at
shyness and withdrawal

"i have never met...
a woman of your age...
who wasn't a nun...
who has never tried pot"

i am out of africa
we call the weed dagga
it grows everywhere
true...
i was a child of the sixties
grew up with hippies vietnam
manfred mann and
the beatles
perhaps i was too well trained
my mother a fearsome woman
found alchohol an abomination
if i felt the need to rebel
i would skip the passionfruit
and lemonade
with temporary sophistication
order port and lemon
most daring
until another informed me
that prostitutes drank
port and lemon

i smoked and hoped
that teeth brushed
with a liberal dash
of colgate
before saying goodnight
would conceal my nicotine habit
forever

dancing and late nights
cigarettes and baby cham
i considered myself a wild
somewhat wicked woman
no need for drug enduced extras
at fifty six i made a friend
who smoked pot
i was amazed and truth to tell
somewhat shocked
not the sort of pastime i would expect
in a grandmother
somewhat innocent you might think
not for long
determined to make up for my former
lack of drug experience
i requested a drag

"forget it...
no way am i ...
corrupting you"

unlikely story more like
no wish to waste good weed
on a novice who will probably
feel nothing but nausea
and ruin
an otherwise excellent evening
i was left to smoke my cigarettes
in a room heavyladen
with the smell of burning dope
watch my friend disappear
down the yellow brick road
of harshly inhaled pot

Copyright © 2011 by Eryll Oellermann

in the poet

in the poet lies a passion
which knows not how to die
love nurtures it forever
although she said goodbye

the rising of the full moon
against a star filled sky
bring memories of love, long lost
which make the poet cry

so would you be a poet
would you desire such pain
if in the heart of misery
you found your voice again

would you cherish now the words
as they tumbled in your brain
or would you curse the poet gods
"release me from my pain"


Copyright © 2011 by Eryll Oellermann

today is here

Today is here

that's all that matters

my heart is beating

I can feel the patters

there's air to breath

and clothes to wear

it's raining again

but I won't be bare

i've shoes for walking

and food to eat

my roof doesn't leak

so my life's complete

tonight i'm off

to a halloween party

where the company's great

and the drinks will be hearty

so I say to myself

what more could I ask

but loads of hot water

and a long deep bath

I have that too

so what can I say

i'm up and ready

to face the day

life is good

if you don't search for pain

one of these days

i'll be happy again

Copyright © 2011 by Eryll Oellermann

done bitchin'

woke up this morning to one of scotland's spectacularly beautiful days. the air clean washed ...  what did you think all the damned rain was for?

 i am more than confident in recommending scottish air, must be the cleanest around, except for, maybe ireland?

i am housesitting in dailly for a couple of days. dailly is a small village in south ayrshire, it sits, surrounded by rolling green  hills, in the middle of nowhere. around noon the old men of the village gather at the bridge and spend their hours whiling away the the time by chatting and gazing at the flow of the river.

waking up to sunshine i decided to take a walk up to 'the co-op'. dailly has only two shops, the co-op and  a corner cafe. of course there is also the pub/inn and i do believe that there is a wee tea room where one may partake of tea and scones.
village life - each and every person i met greeted me with a smile and a friendly comment. i had almost forgotten, troon where i live is only a small town but some what more sophisticated.

a litre of milk and a pack of cigarettes, i had not smoked for the month i was in the states but, what the hell, who wants to live forever!
besides it is my firm intention to 'give up' women in the romantic, passionate, lesbian drama filled meaning of the phrase. "do no harm" is one of my firmest convictions.  i seem to have developed an unfortunate habit of falling in and out of love in the manner of a reckless teenager thus causing endless heartache and anxt to the objects of my affection. enough already, i will preserve my undeniable wolfish charms for friends and blood relatives.

sunshine, cigarettes and the desire to write, what more could the wolf/poet ask for.

i feel like bitchin'

i mean ... whoah! how come no one warned me about arthritis in the feet?

in my thirties i started to get arthritis in my hands, red swollen joints, painful as hell. did i complain - no sir - runs in my family, can't argue with your genetic inheritance. you learn to deal with it and one day it stops hurting and one is left with crooked, knobbly fingers. no big deal really, after all, i don't walk on my hands.

but the feet? ouch! about four years ago, in the summer, my feet became really painful, walking was a chore. so off to the nhs for relief. hah bloody hah! very nice doctor has me take off my shoes and socks and examines my feet.
"hmmm probably arthritis, no sign of damage as yet., i'll give you a scrip for ibuprofen, that should help."

okaaaay ...
how come nobody remembers that my gut really does not care for ibuprofen, in fact my body in general does not really care for ibuprofen. but, if that's all they have for me ...
 the pain wore off, i forgot about my sore feet and went cheerfully about my life. my feet skipped the next summer, no problems. year three and it is back, bearable though.

year four, this year - ouch. the pain is constant, the more i walk, the worse it becomes - oy! and i'm walking a lot. as we all know only too well, my car has given up the ghost. once more i take myself down to visit my gp. he looks at my feet, doesn't touch them, guess that might be asking a bit much!
"well, it's arthritis, see how your foot is twisting?"
i look down at my feet, nope, not actually, looks super duper fine to me. it just hurts like hell.
"anything you can do doc?" ...
after all, hips, knees and who the hell knows what else, are all replaceable.
the doc frowns, i can smell the anaesthetic already, i see the get well soon bouquets, my children gathered around my hospital bed. how do they manage to look at me both with concern and admiration?
the doc unpurses his lips, shakes his head ...
"no, nothing can be done, i'll   write you a scrip for ibuprofen."
no really! that is what he said.

so i feel like bitchin' !

another day, another way

I hold it true, whate'er befall;
I feel it, when I sorrow most;
'Tis better to have loved and lost
Than never to have loved at all.

From Alfred Lord Tennyson's poem In Memoriam:27, 1850:

the pain of today

if life is for learning
where lies the lesson
do we truly search for the point of truth
will our eyes seek a far horizon
for questions without answers
why must we chose between
the powerful touch of a man
the tender touch of a woman
we are born innocent and lacking guile
we believe happiness to be our right
will we ever learn
how to deal with a heart
which won't give up hope
wondering why some loves
hold us so tight
that we can hardly breathe
why we allow ourselves to stay
when we have the wisdom
but not the courage
to walk away from the dark
why the ties of an undying love
long since betrayed and betraying
hold us still with the rough passion
of a relentless undertow
tumbling us gasping and helpless
as if at peace in our lack of power
is there a fascination to be found
in the inevitability of failure
is there strength to be found in loss
do we fear tomorrow's joy
more than the pain of today

Copyright © 2011 by Eryll Oellermann

home again ...

my mind still trapped in smoky mountain time. my sleep patterns obeying the rules of another time and place. home from the unfolding mountains, disappearing into the haze of distance,the forest clothed in a burning fire of autumn colour. home from the cabin which smelled of the fresh sawn logs from which it was built. home from the night skies of a million stars and the gentle sounds of the night woods. home from the place where i stood and cried at the wonder, the unconscious beauty of our natural world. home from the sunshine, the clear skies, the heat, the soft southern drawl. so much beauty to discover and yet ... how wonderful to be home. home with words to write and thoughts to share...

smoky mountain sojourn

in five days time i will flee scotland's rather grim weather and head for the good old US of A. it's been a while and this time around i am not heading for new york but for new jersey. a quick stopover and then into the car and off ...
look out smoky mountains here i come!

i do sometimes wonder about little old me, born in estcourt in the foothills of the drakensberg. how the hell did i get where i am today?
life is strange, life is wonderful and for those of us willing to fly a little close to the sun ...
well, life loves to surprise us.

this time of the year is always somewhat sad for me. too many memories of love and loss. come september i find myself feeling down, wonder why and then remember why. it is my time of the sad. at first my conscious mind is unaware, it has been a long time - nine years. but the ache still waits, locked deep inside, almost forgotten until memory stirs and i find that i can still forget to breath.

the invite to visit my 'angel of the morning' came at just the right time. she is a wonderfully charming and intelligent women, most capable of offering the distraction and interaction necessary to lift my spirits.

the last time i visited with angel she was dead set on encouraging me 'not to smoke'. her solution - every time i fancied a cigarette i would first have to eat three cranberries (as in cranberry au naturelle), straight from the bush or wherever it is that cranberries grow. angel sounded (dare i say it) almost gleeful when she mentioned buying a barrel of cranberries to assist me in overcoming my addiction. not a chance! i fly with a suitcase filled with nicotine patches!

no need to wonder if i am somewhat silent over the next month. the reef will be sans internet, happily wandering mountain trails, scaring the bears and listening for the sound of wolves howling for the moon.

"who killed my orchids?"

i watered the orchids! oh sheit was i supposed to water the orchids? she said "please water the plants", so i did, well... orchids are plants too are they not?
it's just that the animal doc is like a fundi of flowering orchids. is your orchid sitting there sulking, not a blossom in sight? no problem, send it to board with the animal doctor. before you know it - buds bursting out all over the place.

the reason for my concern is ... darn but if i am not terribly talented at causing travail amongst pot plants, the responsibility is killing me. still i can hardly cause mass root rot in a week, now can i?
as you might have guessed i am house sitting - for the animal doctor while she sashays around romania, visiting dracula's castle, eating wonderful romanian food and for all i know whispering with wolves. i should have gone with but ... oh no, so here i am taking care of a huge empty house, two enormous hounds, one very chubby turkish swimming cat (to whom i am allergic!) and hundreds of pots plants. well, it feels like hundreds!

however ...
i do get to drive the animal doctor's super duper, shiny, new volvo estate, with ... wait for it ...
six forward gears. oy what a dream!

ask me

i still believe in magic 
if you should wish to know 
i dream dreams of the future 
of shoe prints in the snow 

i see more than the imprint 
of just my lonely shoe 
i still believe that someday 
her print will be there too 

remember spring and when it comes 
the signs of life renewed 
i dream anew the dreams of old 
of love to be pursued 

i dream of lonely beaches 
of walking hand in hand 
of blue sky and warm sunshine 
and endless golden sand 

i think of autumn colours 
leaf shaped which swirl and fall 
of log fires burning in the hearth 
i dream i hear her call 

i still believe in magic 
that life will find a way 
all i need to do is wait 
till true love comes to stay 

so if you care to ask me 
what do i still dream of 
then i will answer loud and clear 
why, i still dream of love 

  Copyright © 2011 by Eryll Oellermann

my journey

warning!

attempting to move forwards whilst looking back is dangerous. this action often leads to errors of judgement which cause unnecessary pain to the innocent.

in my personal opinion and i speak with the authority of personal experience ...

far better to sit a while, to wait in the silence with our grief and mourn our loss. time at the cross roads of life is never wasted, time to weep and wail for all that we have left behind. a place where nobody but God will hear us as we shake our fist at the heavens and scream "not fair, not fair!"

we should not tarry in this place of regret too long, i personally find it too easy to grow attached to my own pain. in time i hope to learn that pain is not a place to frequent but a lesson to learn.

yesterday is done, we live here in the now! sooner or later we will glimpse something of beauty ahead of us on the path towards tomorrow. we will once again feel the warmth of the sun and wonder at the colours of our earth home. it is 'the time'. The time to glance backwards one last time as we say goodbye to what was. we will not forget because our memories are the garden bed in which we grow. we will not forget but we should never look back as we carry our precious life lessons into the remainder of our journey.

"Life is not the way it's supposed to be,

it's the way it is.

The way you live it,

is what makes the difference."

...unknown

waiting for the bus

today i was waiting for the bus.

the first time i remember catching a bus ...
i must have been six maybe seven, we were still in the uk, living in a place called oakleigh cottage in sussex. i went to school in a village called broadbridge heath and the nearest market town was horsham.
the cottage we stayed in was on a farm, there was no road to the door (not that it mattered as we did not own a car). instead there was a long, long concrete path which meandered next to a field, through a wood and on to the cottage. the cottage was in fact two, divided in half with a shared rickety stairway leading to the attic rooms. the ones to the right were ours whilst our neighbours turned left at the top of the stairs.
i remember my 'big' sister, maureen, once put her hand right through the low ceiling whilst making the bed! there was no running water, the farmer would bring water in large milk urns and deposit them in the kitchen. the kitchen had a coal stove and as far as i can recall, we practically lived there in that one room, we bathed in a tin bath in front of the stove, ate and entertained at the kitchen table.
at night we would race upstairs, trying to beat the cold and dive into our beds where icy sheets greeted us - shudder ...

i digress, back to the bus ...
if i really think about it, i must have caught a bus to school, must admit though, i can't really remember that!
what i do remember was bus trips to horsham with my mom and little brother rod, who i call joey (but that is another story altogether). i took ballet and tap lessons (oh yeah, little girl butch just dancing her way through life!), my teacher was a miss swain, the very fact that i can still recall her name probably means i had a huge crush on her. on the way to the dance studio we walked past a bakery and i can still remember inhaling the delectable smell of baking bread which drifted from the door each time it opened.
then of course there was georgina! a senior student whom i most definitely had a crush on! she seemed so grown up, i wonder how old she actually was, probably twelve ...

there was an old man who caught the bus - again ... was he really old or just old to my young eyes. he smoked a very smelly pipe! i remember looking down from the bus window and seeing him waiting at the stop, how i hoped and prayed he would not get on the bus. that smelly tobacco made me feel quite ill.

mostly though, bus trips to horsham were fun. a visit to the saturday market where mom bought me a tortoise, when we left the uk to return home to south africa we set him free. i love to imagine my long lived tortoise still wandering around the woods near oakleigh cottage, how big might he be by now. actually i wonder if tortoises are even able to survive in the wild in england? damn, never even considered that before.

another treat was to visit the local chippy in horsham, it was down an alley and had a really low roof and windows of that thick bottle glass, running with age. it smelled of frying fish, vinegar and the wet raincoats of the patrons. they still wrapped everything in newspaper (obviously long before health and safety took over the rule Britannia role!) and the taste was ... i will never forget the taste of those hot, salty chips on a foggy winter eve.

a summer treat was to pop into the small tea room on the carfax. the carfax was at the centre of horsham town and had a bandstand at it's centre ... well, as far as i remember anyway!
mom would buy us both a small bottle of seven up. lemonade of the god's as far as i was concerned. england was not long out of rationing and me, myself and my brother were very impressed by the luxuries of town life.
then, away back home on the crowded bus, filled with chattering women, wide eyed children and (mostly) silent men. jump down from the bus at our stop and walk home, along the path, beside the field and through the wood.
home to oakleigh cottage, a home in the middle of nowhere, a home which held all that my young heart treasured.

pot plants and paella

funny town ...  kilmarnock. me, myself, i don't mind going there - as long as someone else is driving. i tend to get lost and have a deal of trouble finding parking. it always seems to me that kilmarnock is kind of ... all over the place. once i was supposed to meet my friend jeanie there, we were going to the movies, hah, easier said than done. even my beloved lady who lives in a box and tells me how to get from here to there in a very sexy voice ... even she was lost! kept taking me back to the same dead end, over and over.

so saturday there was a global market in kilmarnock or killie as the locals call their place called home. there is also the famous (in these parts) killie pie.
"A Killie pie or Kilmarnock pie is a type of pie sold at Rugby Park, the home ground of association football team Kilmarnock F.C.. It is somewhat unique in that it is a steak pie and not a Scotch pie, the type of pie associated with football in Scotland." 
thanks wikipedia!


back to kilmarnock and the global market ...
the animal doctor was happy to drive to the benighted place, so me, myself, i was delighted to accompany her.
a new experience for me.
stall after stall of, mostly edible goodies from all over the world, what a temptation!
there was all the usual market patter, beseeching you to to try and expecting you to buy, offering more for less until your hand makes for your wallet almost of it's own volition.
cheeses, olives and pesto, sweet pastries,chocolates, breads, paella, german sausage, italian sausage, cakes to tempt a saint, nuts - salted, honeyed, flavoured... ah ... the list is endless.
the weather was fair - well, it wasn't raining!
the streets were awash with humanity, enjoying the day, happy to spend. kids darted in, out and under, clasping paper bags filled with their booty, whining for more. some poor souls, pale of face with the glazed eyes of the over extended eater clutched plastic bowls which were once filled  with tiny marshmallows and big juicy strawberries over which the vendor would pour great globs of melted chocolate.


of course there were not only food stalls (food is simply a particular interest of mine), there was jewellery, clothing, leather, hand made soap and paper, those wonderful wooden flower pot people and even a native american stall, complete with dream catcher and even an authentic looking native american in a feathered headdress, he was doing some really rattling dancing, i was completely entranced until i heard his scottish accent.

so we wandered, me, myself and the animal doctor, we wandered up and down, in and out, testing and tasting and on occasion throwing calorie counting caution  to the four winds as we gave in to the temptation of a particularly scrumptious morsel. we cruised the stalls until our tummies were full and our feet tired, until the crowds grew too dense and the dark clouds gathered.


not such a bad place really ... kilmarnock, just don't ask me to drive there!

last night ...

i dreamed that i was looking in a mirror and i could see behind my ears! no really ... wtf was that about?

today i visted my dental clinic for a scale and polished, my dental hygienist felt i was doing quite well with my brushing but she does recommend that i use those itsy bitsy brushes between my teeth ... hmmm.

long, long ago my ex told me that i was bi polar. naturally i scoffed at the very idea! however, lately i have been reading up on a lot of psychological stuff and today i reached the conclusion that she was probably correct. why today? well ... today i felt the surge, the electricity, the desire to write, sleep evades me, my mind is alight with adventure.
hypomania?
"Hypomania (literally, "below mania") is a mood state characterized by persistent and pervasive elevated (euphoric) or irritable mood, as well as thoughts and ..." thank you wikipedia...
in my case distinctly more euphoric than irritable - big wolfish smile ...


so... the question is ...
do dreams of seeing behind ones ears precede hypomania or does hypomania induce dreams of behind one's ears?


i am fine, no really i am!!

confessions of an addict

well... this particular smoke free interlude lasted exactly seven days!

on the eighth day my feelings of loss and self pity became too much for me to bare.

ah well! to err is human and in all likelihood i am probably more human than anything else.

19th august 2010

solitary wolf

sand, sunset and chardonnay

happy birthday to the animal doctor!

we celebrated sitting on the sand dunes, watching the sun set behind the isle of arran. man, the colours that sinking sun paints across the evening sky.

the animal doctor brought a picnic blanket, two glasses and pudding, i brought a bottle of south african chardonnay (actually, rather disappointing, i must admit that of late, i have a distinct preference for the chilean whites)and we stopped off at the lucky star chippy and i bought fish suppers for two.

funny how fish and chips taste so much better when eaten in the great outdoors. of course i managed to get more than my fair share of the wine as birthday or no, the animal doctor has to drive as me, myself ... i have no car!

summer is but a vague memory in these parts and there was a distinct nip in the stiff breeze blowing off the firth.
but ... we scots are a hardy breed, not to be frightened off by a wee drop in the temperature, we watched in wonder and waited until the dark was making some inroads into the gloaming before we packed up our picnic and headed for home.

thank you for sharing your birthday with me.

In the sweetness of friendship let there be laughter, and sharing of pleasures."
-- Kahil Gibran

day two

yay,i am a happy non smoker!
why do i do this to myself ... why?
the truth is i am a miserable non smoker, i love smoking!

but ...
my special lady, prudence peugeot failed her MOT with distinction. on receiving the quote from the garage man i grew even paler and decided that as an edge of the seat pensioner i would learn to live without a car.
I SORNed her, she is allowed to remain with me as long as she remains parked on the property and i don't DRIVE her anywhere!

result - my feet are Sore(please note capital S), i have a frozen shoulder and i have given up smoking ... again!
yeah, indeed, a couple of months without pandering to my addiction and i will have the funds to put my mechanical lady back on the road in good as new condition.

so ... yay i am a happy non smoker ... yeah right ;-)

the newborn

there are cows and sheep
in the field across the road
five cows, one black, one black and white
one light cream, almost white
and two the colour of rich jersey cream
the sheep are a flock
adults all and vaguely disinteresting
hard to differentiate between sheep
once they are full grown
somewhere along the road to adulthood
they lose their joy in living
and with it their individuality
well, to the casual observer at least
i have watched the field for nearly two weeks
i have come to recognize the pained bellows
which signal the arrival of a new life
in the field across the road
and now we are three more, young ones
so new, so small, at rest they could be mistaken
for an anthill, except there are no anthills
in ayrshire pastures, a mole hill perhaps
staying close to mama for their first hours
they now find time to frolic and bound
the new generation, two brown, one black
the colour of calves against the green
in the field across the road

Copyright © 2011 by Eryll Oellermann

i eat half a grapefruit for breakfast. of course i would rather indulge in a bacon sandwich or a full scottish breakfast, but, what the heck ...
we can't have everything we want!

grapefruit wise, this is the best time of the year for me because the supermarket shelf is very often stocked with south african grapefruit.
i love south african fruit, cider and wine. south african sunshine in an edible or drinkable form, delivered to my scottish table.

of course, even the simple matter of purchasing breakfast grapefruit can be elevated to an art form. after all, grape fruit have changed since the days of my youth when they were smaller, available only in yellow and really quite nasty. only the addition of lashings of sugar made them anywhere near edible!
as a native born south african i have long suspected that all the very best south african fruit was exported to foreign lands, leaving us, the sun blessed population to make do with what might possibly be described as 'seconds' i.e a tad less than perfect.
no matter, i am now a resident of those foreign climes and the south african fruit available is, quite simply put ...
well, practically perfect.

my personal favourite is the pink grapefruit, unfortunately in my supermarket the pink costs 49 pence per fruit whilst the more common marsh, a yellow fruit costs only 35 pence. that is 14 pence difference on each grapefruit. so, say i eat three a week or say 10 a month that would make a price difference of £1.40 to my breakfast spend. in a year... i would have saved £14, given that i might live to ninety whilst continuing to eat grapefruit for breakfast ... 27 x £14 equals ... damn, £378! now what might a ninety year old find to do with £378? most likely,absolutely sweet blow all!
and ... we haven't even touched on the red grapefruit ...

great goblets of glue! i need to get a life!

night sweats and other nonsense

 three o'clock - the small wee hours, what wakes me up?

night sweats...

nothing quite like them, waking up soaked and freezing. i wonder if they run in families? some small genetic imperfection? mine started with a vengeance in my thirties and to this day they creep up on me on the odd occassion.

i spotted the fox yesterday, sitting on the bank next to the railway line, catching the last warmth of the days sunshine. i love seeing the fox, especially in summer when the line is hidden from sight by the leaf clothed trees which grow beside it. sighting the fox under summer conditions is a perfect fluke, i have to be looking out from my kitchen window at the precise moment he/she pads past the exact spot which is not hidden from my eyes by summer's leafy, green glory.

life is a story

i am a great fan of a blog called "bless our hearts" by a certain ms moon. she is a great blogger, she blogs regularly, sometimes several times a day. ms moon shares her everyday life with me, myself and her myriad readers.

i do so enjoy the beautifully written tales of her everyday existence, i have grown to know her life, just a little. moonland exists in my mind, in my imagination i walk with her as she tends her garden, feeds her chickens and shares an afternoon nap with her young grandson.

i think perhaps i found ms moon and her blog in order to teach me ...
there is no need to write only of the extraordinary.
each life is a story, each new day a chapter waiting to be told.

yesterday

was yesterday. ayrshire, ever happy to provide me with fodder for my pen...
whipped up some gale force wind to accompany a trip to the car boot sale. hah!
us scot's love to blether on about the foulness of the weather. yesterday was special, it took a hardy soul to walk that car boot sale. everything was flying off the tables, toys, books, clothes, china. stall holders were scurrying around making futile attemps to save their merchandise. damn, i almost forgot, in between blasts of freezing wind it would rain as well. were there bargains to be had? you betcha! was i interested ... no way! my fellow boot sale goer, made of sturdier stuff than me, myself managed to purchase a bargain lot of plants for the garden and a wheelchair (at an unbelievably cheap price), that girl loves a bargain.
me, i was just overjoyed when i made it back to the car without being blown away or giving in to my indecent obsession with bacon rolls and hot chips from greasy food carts.

bite me

i got bitten
by a dog
on my hand
should i blog?
 
i care
but do you
that my hand's
turning blue
 
he was big
was that critter
the dog
but not bitter
 
just bad tempered
jumpy
and now my hands
lumpy

 
i heard my bones crunch
and i thought "goodness me!"
i'm terribly glad
that my right hand's still free
 
the beast's fangs sank in
and tore out some flesh
so where i was more
i am now a bit less
 
my blood it was spurting
and dripping bright red
i felt a bit faint
which is better than dead
 
so off in the car
to the ayr a and e
where they said "not life threatening"
and left me to seeth
 
they injected my arm
with a tetanus shot
let me tell you my friends
that hurt, quite a lot!
 
they bandaged me up
and sent me on home
to deal with my stress and my trauma
alone
 
ah me and oh my
will i ever manage
to recover myself
from this terrible damage
 
my bandage grows smaller
the wound it is healing
but in my ring finger
i have missing feeling
 
enough now of whining
it's time to forget
the fact that the dog
bit me not the vet!


Copyright © 2011 by Eryll Oellermann

wrong again

i wonder how he's feeling
perhaps a little sad
the rapture it has been and gone
it did not seem too bad
i guess he got it wrong again
that prophet of our time
if people want to move upstairs
they'll have to wait in line
so many prophecies are made
so many come to nought
the gullible will never learn
redemption can't be sought
their time will come and so will mine
when we will meet our maker
i somehow doubt we'll know the date
we move up to god's acre

Copyright © 2011 by Eryll Oellermann

the garden

today is dark, windy and quite frankly... rather unpleasant, which is a pity as i really need to get out there in my brown working boots and mud caked gardening gloves. scottish grass is green and grows without encouragement. miss a mowing day... due to my natural, south african aversion to the wet and ... damn the stuff is a foot high and completely out of control. i lean on the wall which overlooks the greeness and i lack the will to do battle with the growth. perhaps some geese or a miniature goat?

forget-me not blue spreads like a camouflage of sky across the garden. they grow everywhere, successful, born on the wind, in search of a new fragment of earth in which to bind their roots. there are daisies too, as yet lacking in blossom but growing tall and strong between the flagstones which pave the back yard.

this is a country garden, rasberry canes growing untamed, black currant, red currant and gooseberry bushes nudging each other as they vie for space to spread their branches. i have watched them bud and flower and now i watch the fruit grow and swell, waiting for the soft heat of summer to reach maturity and ripen.

the huge cherry tree which shades the front garden has flowered and the pink blossoms, blown on a gusting breeze, now whirl and swirl like confetti across open spaces. the tree produces small, bitter fruit, inedible even to the birds of the wild. but ... oh how the bees enjoyed her blossoms, the air buzzed with the sound of their labour, day after day, i would stand in her shade and listen to their feasting song, that tree was alive with the sound of the hive.

the apple trees and the damson are still in flower and butterflies float between the individual blossoms in the warm morning sun.
the happy sound of a busy bumble bee zooms past my ear, in this garden at least, they still thrive.
perhaps it is the lack of human interferance, the wildness of it that calls us to this garden.

the missing inches

i was once 5ft 6in tall. i say ... i was, past tense, i seem to have lost one and a half inches somewhere along the line.
where did it go? for pete's sake! is it a slow gradual process or did i just wake up one day considerably shorter than when i went to bed.
hah! old age is like the reverse of youth, instead of growing taller we grow shorter. which let's face it would be fine if i had been six foot tall in my prime. dammit i could still live another thirty years! how small might i end up? perhaps ... better to die young with all your inches and mental faculties still with you!
only kidding, i look forward to being a bitchy old lady, one of those who says whatever they darn well feel like. i shall embarrass my children and my grandchildren, my great grandchildren, naturally enough, will dote on me.
in the mean time i have climbed back on the wheel of exertion, if i am to be short i had best be tough, wiry and fit.

the river runs

let's meander through the town
town hall, church spires, modern mall
old and new grow old together
butcher, baker, pubs to crawl

through the town the river runs
white swans swimming to the quay
by the firth of clyde enfolded
deep fried mars bars, chilled chablis

soccer taken as religion
boys grow loud in victory
arm in arm they own the streets
chanting of the enemy

stone and seediness together
peeling paint and some decay
icecream and the sun warmed tarmac
all in place on this may day

sticky fingers icecream coated
fudge fudge wink wink, crispy cone
leaning on the car and thinking...
by myself yet not alone

Copyright © 2011 by Eryll Oellermann

mindful of memory

went clubbing on saturday night. long, long time since i danced the night away. my hearing has only returned to normal today!
back in the day ...
many, many years ago, when i was young, the fellas who played in bands wore suits and ties. we sat at tables around a dance floor and drinks were brought to the table. we waltzed, we danced the cha-cha. the tango, the fox trot and we rocked! we twisted and we shouted, we did the bossa nova and the pepsi. all those tedious dancing lessons, clutched in the arms of sweaty palmed boys ...
they had finally paid off!
the lights were romantic, there were always free cigarettes on each table... great marketing gimmick! our guys would usually drink too much and try and nick a glass or a pot plant on the way home - the embarrassment of it - oy!
my mom was very anti the demon drink and i was a good girl. not that good though, i smoked and imagined myself very grown up and elegant, i even savoured an occasional baby cham. i really enjoyed port and lemon but then "someone" informed me that port and lemon was a prostitute's drink, ruined the whole thing for me! what a goody two shoes!
saturday night was different. me and my lady were out with a bunch of twenty something girls, celebrating a birthday.
the dance floors were hot and crowded, the music was bloody loud and one would need to fight for a place to sit! ahhhh ... the simple joy of it, swaying, mesmerized by the beat, the noise, the flashing lights and my girl in my arms. we older-thans left early and still we only got to bed at three in the morning

back home in the RSA, in the good old days, the night clubs closed at midnight ... well, after midnight saturday it is sunday and in those days ...
sunday was for church and sombre music on the radio. our crowd would meet at the park where we would listen to LM radio on the car radio. LM radio was beamed out of mozambique, they played the top forty on a sunday night. whew ... such wickedness. we used to wash down all this illegal music with hot dogs and lime milk shakes from the pie cart!

memory, the gift of recall, remembering times long gone by and each day storing new memories for our future tomorrow.

the rolling green

i have never understood why ...
on this green and lovely isle so many people ...
dig up their lawns and cover the exposed earth with a weed resistant membrane and then replace the grass lawn with gravel!

i mean, really ...
who would choose grey over green?

as of today - me!
nah, not really. however i am whimpering and whining for a ride on lawn mower!

yup, me, myself has recently been appointed chief grass cutter. scottish grass, in addition to being really green, grows really fast. my designated cutting lawn is large-ish and mostly long-ish. there are clumps of daffodils which should preferably be left intact, there are trees with roots to trip over, there are brambles with thorns sneaking through the hedge to pierce and bloody the unwary.
lawn mowing in this part of ayrshire is a dangerous occupation!
now as we all know, the wolf whilst undoubtedly being devastatingly attractive, amazingly intelligent and wondrously talented ...
well, me, myself (although i hesitate to mention this)is hardly in the first flush of youth!
mowing a big lawn is a big job.
and so ... in my latest incarnation, i am a lawn slave! at this moment in time, an exhausted lawn slave.

but - what a feeling when the job is done, as i lean on the wall admiring the end result of my effort, small garden birds make the most of cleaning up the world of earth worms and small insects exposed by the blades of the mower. the wild is temporarily tamed.
very satisfying ...
but, i still want a ride on mower!

happiness is ...

what?
for me, myself, happiness appears to lead to an extreme lack of interest in writing!
a lack of anxt leaves me poetically uninspired.

i have never sat and written as if it was a job of work, the words have just filled my mind until i have no option but to empty it through the application of pen on paper.

when i lost my mann, in some way i lost the will to be happy. i spent so many years accepting less than ...
believing i was happy and writing to mask the reality of absent joy.

now, each today is a new experience of reciprocal love, of sharing and companionship, laughter and learning. passion prowls my heart and mind, expressed in the reality of relationship.
the words of my experience have found a beloved and pour from my lips to her ear.
my pen lies strangely idle ...

taking the waters

what a weekend! spent the first night in blackpool at a wonderful b and b called butlers. friday night we went to see the show 'funny girls', wonderful! evidently the cast have performed twice at the royal variety performance, i'm pretty sure their majesties would have enjoyed the show almost as much as i did.

crufts was great ... i would never have guessed there were so many breeds in the world! we watched the otter hounds being judged, well, of course we would, the animal doctor is an otter hound fanatic!

there is a section called "discover dogs", especially interesting for me as my latest grandson is a llasa apso who goes by the name of oscar amadeus. i am not familiar with the breed and whilst oscar is ... naturally... the most beautiful and intelligent pup to ever romp the green ayrshire acres ...
well, i had never come across a full grown example of the breed and pictures of llasa apso show dogs tend to show them as a long haired creature, with very much the look of a well brushed broom!
to my gratification and delight, thanks to crufts i have now seen a llasa apso with a decent, dog type haircut, very fetching!

saturday evening we decided to skip spending the evening in a central birmingham hotel, the animal doctor surprised me by taking us off to buxton to stay in the old hall hotel, reputed to be england's oldest hotel.

"Warm hospitality in what may be the oldest hotel in England. Built to house the doomed Mary Queen of Scots, this hotel has connections with another 16th century superstar Bess of Hardwick, and a history of hospitality that may even predate the Romans in Britain."

so, like ... wow! the lift had to be seen to be believed, floors that strayed a long way from the straight, corridors, higgledy, piggledy, up two stairs, along a way and then three down. plus - fleur-de-lis embossed toilet paper... no really!!!
needless to say, i had a wonderful time. i also discovered magners irish cider - yeehah!

having partaken of an excellent english breakfast of embarrassing proportions we mustered the strength to take a stroll around the town where we drank from st. anne's well and then powered through the park, taking in the duck pond, the pavilion, the opera house and an enclosed garden whilst enjoying a short spell of sunshine.

on leaving buxton we took a detour to the 'middle of great britain', a place called dunsop bridge. there was no sign but our sat nav assured us we were in the correct spot even though it appeared to be a car park with recycling bins and a (very nice and clean) public toilet. it seems that there is some argument as to exactly where the middle of great britain actually is. for me, dunsop bridge will do very nicely thank you, it means i have now travelled to john o'groats (northern most point), land's end, the lizard in cornwall (southern most point) and "the centre of GB".

so yeah ... i had a great weekend :-)

crufts

off to birmingham via blackpool this weekend.

birmingham for crufts!

blackpool ... hey man, blackpool fascinates me, like a trip back in time, a grand dame, a tad past her best, exhibiting a certain sea side seediness!

unhappy

unhappy is a memory we hide so well
one morning we wake up and forget we ever were
we cling to happy for our survival
cherishing, nurturing, giving
all the care we might offer a house plant
unhappy we hide in the recesses of mind
tucked away, file unfound and almost forgotten


Copyright © 2011 by Eryll Oellermann

what ever love is...

what is love ...

a question, an answer
it is sometimes a curse
a needing, a longing
a blinding starburst

love is gentle and giving
both quiet and loud
it's fiery and frenzied
yet soft as a cloud

it is born and it grows
it may live, it may die
it brings pain and pleasure
a smile and a sigh

it can tear you apart
it might drive you insane
you may fall in and out
yet it's never the same

love opens our minds
to romantic new notions
of roses, deep red
and magic love potions

love speeds up our pulse
our heart might well ache
love is so powerful
it can make a heart break

some love is forever
some just for a while
some walk life together
some share for a mile

whatever love is...
a mysterious state
two souls bound as one
intended by fate

Copyright © 2011 by Eryll Oellermann

wind song

how hard can the wind blow, how loud can it howl? pretty damn hard it would seem!

since moving to ayrshire i have lived on or pretty near to the coast, where, strangely enough there would seem to be a dearth of tall trees. perhaps due to the some what forceful breezes which batter our beautiful coast in the winter time!
the animal doctor's home has some fairly large trees, she resides somewhat nearer to the middle than to the west coast...
cryptic huh??

the point is, she has trees, perhaps it would be more correct to say ... there are trees growing in her garden!
when mamma wind blows, she sings through the trees. she howls, she moans. mamma wind is one bad tempered old lady today.

the witching hour

where do i find the witching hour
deep buried in the dark water
where the moon shines bright
reflected above in the night sky's
star studded indigo dome
do i hear the magical chant
in the crisp sound of footsteps
breaking the white of frost covered ground
is the witching there in the sounds
of silence and night birds, disturbed
as i feel the magical embrace
of tall trees, stark standing
echoing the season in their naked finery

where do i find the witching hour

Copyright © 2011 by Eryll Oellermann

4 x 3 x 30

January 11th 2011

woke up at 5.30 this morning and decided to keep my lazy arse out of bed post caffeine and nicotine fix ;-)

so ... then i remembered the get fit and skinny in four minutes programme.

omg! have you any idea how long 30 seconds are when running hard (well, hardish or perhaps just a tad less than marshmallow-ish ), i still have no idea! it was too dark to see the second hand on my watch so i just ran until i had to stop - not long, believe me lol! why was i running in the dark? well for pete's sake you did not expect me to run like a demented grey hound in front of the inhabitants of my retirement complex - in broad daylight!!

anyway, i think i more or less did it. my poor (soon to be wee) body is in shock. when i was done i had to walk slowly around the block in order to get my breath back. didn't want to wake the old folks up with my gasping and wheezing.

the reason for all this spectacular effort on my part was my lady's enquiry as to my ownership of more formal trews. i am to be spoiled by a weekend of fun and relaxation in edinburgh, evidently we will be staying in a 'rather nice hotel'. now, while my normal preferred attire consists of jeans (usually slightly worn around the edges) and a shirt, i do own two suits and one pair of slightly formal black pants (translation into scottish - trousers), tried them on this morning :-(
sigh ... they still fit, but, like a second skin and they are a real job to button and zip up.
motivation to exercise - found!
motivation to eat less - found!

time to accomplish pants/trousers which fit mission - less than two weeks. oy!

may the force be with me.

phelan moonshadow - chapter 5

If you wish to start at chapter 1 - see posts below

Where is Phelan Moonshadow right now?

Blowing the smoke of an elicit cigarette through a kitchen window, gazing at the almost full moon,
contemplating the last few swallows of a tall glass of Jack Daniel and Seven Up.

I am unbound from the past, looking to the future.

Three months ago, a heart broken wolf met the Animal Doctor. On Sunday we celebrated our three month anniversary with pink champagne, candles, rose petals and romance!

The wolf's heart learns the healing power of love.

As yet we keep our lives separate to some small degree. Gradually Phelan learns to replace the fear of failure with hope for the future.

I find comfort in her love, peace in her presence and bliss in her arms.

Tomorrow waits, a delicious new adventure into the unknown.

phelan moonshadow - chapter 4

If you wish to start at chapter 1 - see posts below

Chapter 4

so … I was born straight or so it might appear, female, blonde with really big blue eyes. Funny thing that, how your eyes seem to become smaller with age whilst your ears seem to keep right on growing! Somehow the blonde turned a shade of indiscriminate brown as I grew up. No matter, age has it's compensations and I am now the owner of an almost completely silver head of hair.

The boy was always with me in my preferences and I was fortunate enough to be born into a family who, sure and confident in their own gender rolls, felt no need to harass me in regard to my distinct lack of femininity.

I had no trouble at all when it came to finding boys and later, men... attractive. Perhaps I was born bi-sexual, with an ability to find either sex attractive, but, the way of my world was to find a man, marry your love and make babies. As a youngster growing up and during the long, happy years of my marriage, the possibility of loving a woman never even entered my head.

I must have been widowed for about two years. I was still deep in the misery of my loss and I was lonely. I moved from my family home to marry my man and live with him. I had never lived alone and here I was, alone, fifty six years old, children all grown with lives of their own. The silence rang in my ears until it deafened me!

By now I had realized that my man was special, a one in a million fellow. I would never take another man as either lover or husband.

I have no idea quite how I came to the decision that pursuing a relationship with a woman might be the way to go.

Never the less, I did.

I joined an internet dating site, my profile stated that I was a woman seeking a relationship with a woman. Life was about to become interesting.

At about the same time, I decided to study the art of healing through reflexology. I found a college which offered a course over a year. I had lost my old life when I lost my love, I was determined to find a new path into the future.

Little did I know that the wolf was stirring, the boy awakening, Phelan Moonshadow was soon to be born.

phelan moonshadow - the life, the loves, the lies ...

Chapter 1


Where does one start a tale? In the beginning, at the end, in the middle? In the beginning was too long ago, there is no end, at least, not yet. The middle, where is the middle my friend, where is the middle?


Who am I? Not who I used to be, that is for sure. Neither who I will be at some future point in time, for we change and grow, expand and shrink – we are life until we are no more. As changeable as Scottish weather, as beautiful as the green hills rising, as dangerous as the storm waves crashing against the jagged black rocks of an Ayrshire shore.


For the now, I am Phelan Moonshadow, woman, boy, wolf, wordspinner


Makes one wonder – does it not?.






Chapter 2


I was born straight, a tom boy, most definitely, no bows or frills, no dolls for me. In play, give me a gun, a car, a knife and let me run free, unimpeded by skirts and the despised fripperies of girlishness.


At eighteen I married a beautiful man, strong and true who spoke to my heart, cherished my mind and loved me for who I was. For thirty six wonderful years we coexisted, from two ... one, more whole together than apart.


The thief named death, stole him from me, from us – by then we were more than just the two who were one. We were a family, a home, a safe harbour.


It appears I find myself starting at the beginning even though it was too long ago! No matter, we will travel as we please, through the time which was my life and the time which is and the hopes which may or may never be.


For we may indeed make plans and imagine our future but in truth we are mere flotsam and jetsam in the chaos of life.
At times we have no doubt that we are in control, our life proceeds in the direction we most hoped for. We work hard, we plan, we pray – we expect the expected. Years pass, dreams are fulfilled, life is almost our own creation.
Huh! A life which proceeds so smoothly, expectations so often met …
what do we learn? Almost nothing! Good times, few problems, an almost uninterrupted smooth flow to life – enjoyable, comfortable, oh yes but in no way educational, speaking of educational in the spiritual sense of the word.


We are here to be human, we are born to question and delve deep, to wonder and despair. The easy life lulls us into the unquestioning, dulls our minds which were created to learn through experience. Chaos reigns, our turn will come and the universe will supply the learning experiences needed to expand our consciousness.




Chapter 3

Today is a new day, a day filled with possibilities.
Three days ago I was filled with shame, anguish and despair. Life was happening and I felt trapped in the chaos, unable and unwilling to reach beyond the past. I had forgotten that we have the freedom to decide, to chose between the acceptable and the less acceptable. In the well pool of my existence I had forgotten that even in the midst of the awful, we still have the freedom to change our minds, open a new door, walk a different path. We may not like what we find, our expectations may not always be met, but, there is a large dose of satisfaction in having the courage to try!


So, why am I writing? Certainly not in the hope of publishing, rocketing book sales, adoring readers and financial gain. These things are all good but, if we are honest, they are rare and seldom accomplished.
I write for myself, to set down in print the path I have walked over the past six years. I write to question and answer, to wonder at the world I wander. I write to clarify my own thought process, to examine the circumstances which have brought me to today.


Today I claim my life, I rejoice in the chaos which has delivered me to this place and this moment in time. I stand on the thresh hold of a new beginning and I am well pleased. Tomorrow may not be as I might wish, I am not afraid. Life is a series of explorations and I have a new companion to share my adventures. I have found a woman who sees the best in me, a woman who understands and accepts the wolf, a woman who eyes the boy in wonder and some small degree of disbelief, a woman who has proved she will fight for that which she values. I have found my fellow traveller.


Copyright © 2011 by Eryll Oellermann