"don't label me" ...

but, if you must ...

"hey good looking" will do just fine!

fellow blogger jude was called 'sir' recently, which made me
remember ...

even when i was a happily (extremely) married straight woman
i was often called sir. not that i blamed the folks for the
error, i always used to look in the mirror and think to
myself...
"damn! i would have made a much better looking man than
i do a woman."
i figured a lot of my fellow humans do not really SEE us
when they look at us.
short hair, jeans, collared shirt and trainers, a quick glance
equals - male. plus my voice is fairly husky due to years
spent inhaling my addiction!

when i entered the gay world i knew nothing of femmes, dykes,
butches etc. i had grown up a tom boy, i felt no need to adorn
myself in dresses, bows, high heeled shoes and make up. i
enjoyed these things well enough on another woman but for
myself ... no.
ahhh ... the reef was about to be educated.

herself, a self proclaimed femme, much given to bling, high
fashion, hairdressers who gave a damn and expensive and
alluring make up was about to bring me up to scratch.

"you are such a butch" she would say.

me ..."nah, my friends think i'm a very feminine woman."

herself ... "shows how much they know!"

i was always happy to open doors, carry parcels and generally
act the gentleman. that much came naturally to me. it is true
i love to take care of any woman in whose company i find
myself. but ... diy and tools, pumping car tyres, decorating -
these are man jobs in my opinion!

as herself would then mutter ... "what kind of a butch are you?"

indeed!

i sometimes think ... maybe androgynous, soft butch sounds
a bit wishy washy to me.

and then ...
on herself's last visit, when i managed to plough my lady
rav head first into a passing vehicle, leaving ms sugar a
little bruised and bent.
the emergency response teams had a real problem.

a fireman asked me politely ... "are you OK sir?"

the ambulance medic assured ms m... "your husband
is fine, he can ride in the ambulance with you!

hah! red faces all around a while later. mind ... i was looking
strikingly handsome on that particular day!

i dreamed a dream

i dreamed a dream
of panthers black
not smooth or sleek
not even fat
these panthers
haunches were so gaunt
not muscled smooth
like big cats flaunt

the night was dark
the stars were bright
i walked a cliff path
by moonlight
the sea below
swelled and subsided
amidst the silence
sound provided

and then i saw them
one, then two
prowling silent
close to you
i recognized you
right away
inspector frost
had come to play

a tv copper
in my dream
how very strange
what could it mean
"be still" i said
"they will not bite,
the queen says they are tame
at night"

that's where i was
just off to tea
to have a chat
the queen and me
she filled my cup
with lady grey
and offered fruit cake
on a tray

she said "my dear
you need to see
a portrait of
some majesty.
they say that sometimes
one might see
a ghost
if one looks carefully"

i looked and then
i laughed with glee
there was no ghost
that i could see
i turned politely
to the queen
and told her what my eyes
had seen

"your majesty"
i had to say
"there is no ghost,
not now, today
what people see
are chickenpox scars
on the faces
of the czars!"

yeah, i know...
but, it's my dream
with panthers black
and england's queen
me taking tea
and eating cake
correcting royalty's
mistake


Copyright © 2010 by Eryll Oellermann

does there need to be a ceremony?

should there be? when you wake up one day and realize ...
your singleness.

it has been a long time coming, this, just me and myself
place i find myself in.

five years, where did they go? i was a lot younger at the
beginning. time marches on and who can blame it, after all,
that would mostly be the purpose of time. by marching it
creates a past and promises a future.

so simply put, i am friggin' sixty one years old and single!
am i afraid? no, i have learned how to be content alone.
happiness is a spring which arises within us, if it runs dry
there is no one to blame. there is no blame, only a need to
remember...
"i am"

so i will exist alone in the moment, until it is time
to be unsingle.

1914 - 1918

troon, snow covered beach january 2010










1914 - 1918

it's a new feeling
the squishy crunch of dry snow
beneath my soles
each footstep creates
a mark, an imprint
on the virgin white

easier to follow
where a thousand other feet
have beaten a path
the impact of foot fall
making the soft solid
still white, not gritted

the salt and grit
have come and gone
run out, used up
to keep britain running
we know how to deal with rain
but this white ...

snow
now that is an experience
it does come at times
and leaves as quick
scarce bothering to sit and wait
until now

weeks of cold white
not even black ice
only white
as far as the eye can see
i walk as do so many others
along the promenade

no clouds, no rain, no wind
big sky clear and cold
red sun slipping away
beyond the far horizon
britannia stands
high on her plinth

watching over the snow bleached beach
the bounding dogs
and determined walkers
one arm raised
feathered quill in hand
the other hand holds a small angel

in memory of those who fell
beyond our seas
1914 - 1918



Copyright © 2004-2010 by Eryll Oellermann

happy new year from sugar and the wolf!

five foot deep

"how deep?" my tone echoing disbelief.

"five foot."

"what! well ... be careful you don't fall in, you're only
a wee thing and they may never find you."

"ERYLL!!"

two ladies of an interesting age burying a beloved pet beneath
the full moon. digging a hole five foot deep! because ...
"people garden you know!"

well, it would have been a full moon if it had been yesterday
instead of today and in the dark of night if it were not for
the five hour time difference between new york and ballantrae.

i wandered downstairs to shut the gates for the night.
although i no longer smoke, i lit up, inhaled deeply and
remembered ...

all those goldfish i buried, not all at once of course,
one by one, as their time came. i buried them under the
golden cyprus by the front steps. i have heard that some
people just flush them. can you imagine! not me, no sir,
i buried them in plastic margarine tubs, preserving their
tiny goldfish skeletons for prosterity.

i remembered ...
a small and very beloved yorkie. small in
stature, he knew no fear. he died gleefully attacking
a rottweiler, with never a backward glance, he leaped right
into that big boys jaws. when my time comes i can only hope
to be living life as intensely as he was at that moment.
the mann wrapped him in a baby blanket and layed him to rest
in a deep, cool hole beneath the lucky bean tree.

i remembered ...
a black and white cat, beloved of a man, who, until their
meeting, had no time at all for felines.
somehow, that small black cat worked his way into the heart
of a dedicated dog man. the pair developed an understanding
and for the first time in our long marriage - a cat was
allowed to share the marital bed!
the cat outlived the man by a good few years. now, his cat
ashes held in an urn, they wait to be buried in the grave where
the man's ashes lie.

i grind the cigarette out, turn my back on the moonlight and
the chill night wind.
i smile at the memories as my heart aches a little with longing
for things lost.
i just can't help myself, i chuckle and exclaim out loud ...
"damn! five foot is a very deep burial hole for a a cat..."

i flew out, i flew back, i waited a week, my boy flew in. i will
write again ...
i hope...
just not right now!