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