#FOWC. Empirical

FOWC with Fandango — Empirical


Dan spat out his words. What the hell did science know about anything! Oh yeah. Two and two make four. But it doesn’t know who’s knocking on my door! Yeah, it might be Julie, and what does science know about things of the heart. That bloody Julie had let him down. Broken his heart. Now they were just a statistic. Well his heart didn’t feel like a statistic. It felt bloody awful.

He knew all about statistics, did Dan. Did it at University. It all felt like the Golden Age then. Nights out with the lads, partying, girls. He’d not had much to do with girls before, and was ready for a few mad flings. That was where he’d first met Julie. She seemed nice enough. From a “good” family. Titled, no less. He was taken in. But he had a lot to learn, and one thing was, don’t believe a girl when she’s drunk. Promised him the earth, she did. And he took it. Right there and then. The earth moved. He saw stars.

Not long after that, “I’m pregnant.” And that was another statistic. But it was a bloody world shaking thing to have happened. Then, the next shocker, “I don’t know whose it is. But it might be yours.”

Suddenly Dan did not feel himself to be in the Golden Age.

“What you gonna do?” He shot at her.

“Dunno,” she said. “I’ll be letting you know.”

And off she walked.

That had been four years ago. And he was still waiting for the knock on his door. Was that a statistic too?

Sent from my iPad



Beth had never been to a ZOO before. In fact she had never done very much before, in all her ten years on this earth. But that was the point really. Was she even on this earth? She presumed she must be. Her feet felt the ground beneath her. But somehow or other, other people felt like aliens to her. They hardly spoke the same language as her. It really was as if they inhabited a different world.

It was the school trip that finally made her feel she had some connection to something. She looked at the animals in their cages, and she knew how they felt. Or she thought she did. Caged up. They were all so beautiful. Each animal in its own way. So sad that they had to be caged up. They should be roaming free.

But Beth was caged up too. Maybe that was why she felt herself to be in an alien world. Caged up inside herself. If only she could be set free. She thought and thought and thought. Maybe one day she would be.




What is PERFECTION? Is there any such thing? What may seem to be perfection to one may not be to another.

It was that way with Grange Farm. To me it was absolute perfection. When I think of it now I think of the huge horse chestnut tree, bearing its startlingly unusual blossom. The cherry trees, the lilac, the buttercups, the daisies, and all manner of wild flowers. I think of the weeping willow tree where I used to hide, the sand pit where I used to play. The blackberries and the wonderful apples in autumn. The getting in of the harvest, which was like a huge party, the sound of the birds singing in a morning. Toast done on a huge long toasting fork in the fire. The old piano in the middle room, which I constantly tried to teach myself to play. And much, much more.

To me, that was perfection, and yet to both my aunt and my mother, it was far from that. They couldn’t wait to get away. And they did! My mother ran away at the beginning of the War to join the WAFS, under age! She ended up in Scotland as a balloon girl. Until her best friend snitched on her and let it out that she was under age. With that she was hauled INSIDE the Big Boss’s room, and told that she would unfortunately have to go home. It was indeed unfortunate because she had excelked at being a balloon girl, and she was given the option of returning when was old enough. They had her NAME and had written down everything about her. She had been their top student.

And so, she had to return to Grange Farm.

My aunt became a wild one, running away in her teens, and staying away. Until she found herself carrying a baby that was. She had become entangled one night with an American airman from the air base opposite to the farm. But he had run off and left her carrying the can. She gave birth to the baby, a beautiful fair haired blue eyed boy, and immediately dumped him on the doorstep of Grange Farm. My grandmother brought him up as her own, saying quite simply, “He’s our blood.” And that was it. We were all of one blood, me included. And never a day goes by without my thinking about Grange Farm. That place that to me was perfection.


I don’t often post quotes, but this one, to me, is outstanding.  Being blind and living often in a darkened world, I find this very meaningful.  I just love it.  Hope you can find something in it too.


“The world rests in the night. Trees, mountains, fields, and faces are released from the prison of shape and the burden of exposure. Each thing creeps back into its own nature within the shelter of the dark. Darkness is the ancient womb. Nighttime is womb- time. Our souls come out to play. The darkness absolves everything; the struggle for identity and impression falls away. We rest in the night.”
― John O’Donohue, Anam Cara: A Book of Celtic Wisdom


It has been very hot here of late. That meant that my writing wasn’t very hot lol. In fact I wondered about posting some poems about snow and ice to cool us all off a bit!

I don’t know about you, but I get very tired and lethargic in the heat. Every single movement, however small, feels too much for me. So we just sat. Didn’t go out. Didn’t do much at all. I managed to keep posting – JUST. But that was about all I could do.

I do like the sunshine, but just not toi hot and too much of it. Tonight it is thundering! Yuk! Hope we get a better night’s sleep tonight!

If I knew how to post vids I would post this one!  Showing my age now lol.  Hot Stuff by Donna Summer😀





I hear
Birds call in trees
I once could see, water
Running beside me, maybe soon
I will
Run too
The lark rises into the sky
Her breast to the sun, sings
Her sweet song, hope

One day I too
Will rise, face the sun, sing
A song of triumph, sorrow gone,
Tears wiped
The sun calls me like the birds, shines
In my heart, warming me,
Do you see it?
Look now



She looked at the BAR code on the cake. It was her BIRTHDAY, but no one usually bothered about it, least of all her. This year, though, she made an exception. She felt she was owed something. She had been through a lot lately. She didn’t really know why she had looked at the bar code, but for some strange reason she did. In fact she didn’t really know why she was doing a lot of things recently. But she had to BLINK when she looked at the bar code. There it was, right at the end of all the numbers. 666. Terry had warned her about this. He said that whenever he went to the Coop he had noticed that all their bar codes ended in 666. Betty thought he was stupid, and she just cast it away from her.

Terry worked with her at the Volunteer Centre. A friendly chap who had lost his wife some time ago. Betty sometimes took him out for a drive in an afternoon. Their last trip had been to a Country Park, where they were fascinated to watch the water CASCADE down the rocks on a man made water feature. Much of their time was spent in idle CHATTER. It had been a hot day when they had gone to the Country Park, and Betty had pulled her old COTTON dress out of the wardrobe. She wasn’t much of a dress person, but the weather demanded that they wore something cool and simple. She was not good in heat, and often FELT rather FAINT in it, so the dress was a good choice.

Just lately Betty had noticed a bit of a CROAK in her throat, but, as with everything else, she made little of it. In fact, her throat felt strangely dry, a lot of the time. Never one to bother too much about her FACE she was surprised when one or two people mentioned to her that she had gone a bit thin around her face. Maybe she wasn’t eating enough, she thought to herself. Indeed, she hadn’t really wanted to eat much since Jack had died. She laughed sometimes though, at the memories she had of him. There was a man who lived in the house at the back of them who liked to go around NAKED. Jack had given him the nickname of “Bare Nigel.” Eventually he got himself a girl friend who also took to going round the house naked, but they did not know her name so she was just called “Bare Nigel’s girl friend.”

Jack had had to go into RESPITE care a few times before he died. It totally upset the RHYTHM of Betty’s lufe, and she felt bad that she had not been able to look after him all the time. It was her duty. But it was not only duty. She felt a kind of love towards him even though they were not the most affectionate of couples. Indeed, Jack had put her through the mill quite a lot. It was just how it was.

Betty looked again at the birthday cake. It was rather unusul in that it had green icing on top in a kind of RIPPLE effect. Green was her favourite colour. She wondered if in fact she could invite Terry round to SHARE the cake with her. He was a good sort, and would always SHIELD her from any trouble at work. Betty did have a little niggle in her head that people might see them together and put two and two together to make a hundred. But she SILENCED her niggling thoughts. It was nice sometimes to have Terry to talk to. She almost felt a TEAR come to her eye as she thought over her life, and of how dull and uninteresting it had been. Suddenly she had a THIRST for something exciting and different. Maybe on this, her 70th. birthday, she and Terry could paint the town red. She thought of the numbers 666 on the bar code of the cake. That was It! It was time for her to be a little devil!


Bring to light that which is hidden
Nestling deep in the darkness
Sing into being that which should live
Wing your chosen way onwards

Do not fear the deep waters
You were once held in this ocean
Too many times you stood at the edge
New life is yours for the taking


One night
At moonrise
Brought from waters
The womb of the world
Laboured to give her life
With a groaning and wailing
But the moonbeams caught her held her
And all the stars sang together joy
Held all things together that precious day



Last night I saw the sun
And knew that it was calling me
It saw me too
Had been waiting
Knowing that this moment would come
It was destined
Long before time began
Even before the world had been born
This place this time
Before all ages this time was waiting
And one day time shall be no more
All will have passed
Even the sun will have gone
But for this moment
The sun is
And it calls me
To the place that was waiting for me


To breathe
To be free
To fly up high
Where the eagles fly
No more to be held down
By the confines of closed minds
That see through a glass darkly eyes
Clouded by the smoke haze that rises
From a fire stoked with misunderstanding


Our government has just announced that us sheilded ones can meet up to six other people in a bubble, from July 6th!  I better go buy my cans of bubbles!


Now we’re out
Though we’re in
Where are we?

Where’s my bubble.
Oh you’re there
Who’s in it?

Nice in here
Who are you?
I like you



I met Him while down on the ground,
We both spoke the same language,
It was the language of hearts,
Not the language of power
Where hearts have turned to stone,
It was a language of tears.

The world despises tears,
As it pushes us onto the ground,
But we are not like stone,
Pain and hurt forms our language,
Tears form their own power,
The power to heal hearts.

We all have sacred hearts,
When we can cry tears,
Not from a position of power,
But from way down on the ground,
It’s a universal language,
When our hearts are not stone.

It’s easier to be stone,
Nothing touches our hearts,
We speak our own language,
We cannot cry tears,
Unless we fall on the ground,
Losing all our power.

It’s frightening to lose our power,
To be kicked, like a stone,
Pushed further r onto the ground,
By many hardened hearts,
Come, cry with us your tears,
Come and speak our language.

For you it is a new language,
Now you’ve given up your power,
You may be frightened by your tears,
Now you haven’t a heart of stone,
Together, let’s join our hearts,
As we both lie on the ground.

When we’re on the ground we lose our power,
Our language can’t come from hearts of stone,
But from hearts empowered by tears.

3TC#273. The Birthday Party


It was her BIRTHDAY. Never in her young life had she had a birthday party. It had never been allowed. But her THIRST to have one was very great. She wondered why she could not be like the other children, and have a birthday party. It seemed that in every way her life was different to tat of the other children. She hated the difference. Her mother blamed it on lack of money, but Sadie was quick, and she noticed things. She didn’t believe her mother. But there was nothing she could do about it.

This birthday though, her eighth, she decided to kick up a fuss, and plead for a birthday part. She imagined kids sitting around a table, laughing and messing about happily, playing with balloons, etc. She imagined them singing “Happy Birthday” to her. The real thing. Just like the others.

It was now her seventieth birthday, and she sat with the photograph in her hand. Her mouth felt DRY, as it always did these days. She had a cup of tea on the little table beside her. In the photograph were three children. Herself and two others. They were all stood, in a row, holding hands, looking very glum and awkward together. Peggy reminisced. That had been her one and only birthday party. Her eighth. Not the kind she had imagined with lots of happy kids around a table. No, just three children who hardly knew each other. She didn’t even remember them singing “Happy Birthday” to her.

She was alone now. Alone in life. She lifted the cup to her mouth, sighing as she did so. How many more years of loneliness must she endure? A tear began to fall from her eye. But never mind. She had a good cup of tea here.

#FOWC. Vis a Vis

FOWC with Fandango — Vis-à-vis

Susie looked back over her life. It was time. It felt strange to her to know that her time had come. She had always thought that she would be afraid, but she wasn’t. She felt quite accepting and peaceful. Joyful even.

Her life had not been ordinary. Indeed, she had often felt herself to be a freak. Her family had been so different VIS A VIS other families. And life had visited her with great sorrows. More than her fair share really. But the sorrows only served to emphasise the joys. And there were a few. In fact, the more she thought about it, she had known a strange kind of joy even in the midst of sorrows. She had learned how to drink from a deep well within her. A well that kept on springing up even when it seemed to be dry.

And so, she approached her end with that self same joy in her heart. What was this going to be like? All that she could think was that it was going to be a great adventure.



This poem is amazing. I share a lot in common with this blogger, but he has put into words EXACTLY what my own fear feels like in a much better poem than I could ever write. If you want to “Like’ it please please put your “Like” on his blog, not mine. I hope you like this poem as much as I do.

Don’t want to acknowledge it

But it’s there, that’s for sure

A piss – yellow streak of cowardice

And a lump that chokes your throat raw

So scared I could vomit up an organ

A whole stomach or a liver

Anything to compose the knees

Or disguise a shameful quiver

Butterflies rattling round my insides

Like adrenalin – filled syringes with wings

Shredded from their cocoons

Embedded in tombs like foolish kings

The comfort of possessions

The terror of paralysis

Yes I am afraid

Does your fear feel like this?

View original post



He always enrolled the best CAST. He called his COMPANY the Catherine Wheels. His love for the stage and acting was like a FORTRESS in his soul. Whatever happened in life, it was never touched, diminished, or harmed.

He wasn’t exactly ONE who exuded much GRACE. In fact, some would have said he did them HARM, with his almost violent temper, if they did not get things just right, but they forgive him because, as they said, he was only HUMAN.

It was often the MUSIC that got him the most. Especially the Irish music. He wasn’t the only one. It was always the very last scene in the shows that he produced that were the most popular. Set under fluorescent lights the whole Company sat around on the stage, looking adoringly at him as he sang, making the most beautiful music along with the paino and the violin. Sometimes they joined in with the Chorus, and all were dressed in beautiful costumes. It was heavenly.

This was the PATH that he had always wanted to follow, and he would have sacrificed anything to follow it. And did. His marriage was not exactly always in the PINK, and his wife would often PRAY for him to change. She knew him as the rogue that he really was. She had married him almost without QUESTION under the June SKY. No one seemed to make a SQUEAK at her choice, though some things should have pointed to the fact that he was not good husband material. Indeed, his family knew it, but failed to speak up, wanting only to get him safely married. As she took her STEP into the church that day, she was like an innocent to the slaughter. Though no one knew at the time. At the end, there was almost a STREAM of applause as she made her way down the aisle of the church, her arm in his.

Everything was not TRANSPARENT that day. Though it should have been. The very air outside the church felt vibrant, in the warm sunshine. Soon, the congregation joined them, each with their TUBE of confetti.

Later, years later, he whispered to her,

“I am digging your grave.”




Babs never did display much GRACE. She was rather large,  loud, and kept Gerry well and truly under her thumb. His time was spent sweeping the front path, for as soon  as he had finished, if just one leaf had blown onto the path from the street, Babs was not happy until he had swept the whole lot again. She was a hard taskmaster!

One day Anna saw Gerry on the path and, feeling sorry for him, she went up to him and said in a WHISPER,

“You’re doing a great job, but I don’t know how you stand it all.”

Gerry looked at Anna with gratitude in his eyes. Someone had actually noticed his plight.

There were many strange goings on at Babs and Gerry’s house. One of the strangest was when Gerry had huge fences and gates erected, making the place look like a FORTRESS.

“No burglars will get in here,” announced Gerry.

A few weeks later Anna was surprised to see the police at Gerry’s house. Later that day she caught Gerry on the path again. Gerry said, a bit shame facedly,

“We’ve been burgled. Walked into the house in broad daylight they did while me and Babs were in the back garden!”

It became the talk of the street. And everyone agreed that you can make your house into a fortress, but if they want to get in they will get in!


Well, following on from my earlier post, it is now 58 hours since we consumed the cheese and ham spread that is from the batch affected by botulism.  We phoned  our G.P  and she said that once we hit the 72 hour mark we shoud be OK.  The waiting is terrible.

As if worrying about Covid 19 was not enough!  Keeping our fingers crossed.



Do you want
Squishy squashy wirds
First one shape then another
Raused up
Sideways on
Slithering around like jelly
Or do you want words
That stand up straight
Firm and solid
That stand the test of time
Words can be anything
Mean anything
Words can defy
But solid words
Stand for ever
Hear now
The truth


The light is dwindling in my life but there is still some light left.

As I sit here with the mist going over the sun a mist is going over my life.

Even through the mist we can still see and soon our sight will be clearer.




She was TRANSPARENT. There was only ONE thing that she wanted. To walk up the PATH again. She had first walked up the path four years previous. Then, it was rough and uneven. It hadn’t mattered though, as she was fit and healthy. Or so she thought. But now, her body had been ravaged by disease, and walking was difficult. But up the path, beyond the bend, was what felt to be like heaven to her. She would have done anything to get there. She needed to get there.

They drew up outside the gates. And there it was. The path had been levelled. She felt as if it had been done just for her. There was no holding her now.


Last night we received a frantic telephone call.  It came from my sister who was stuck in the toilet along with two budgies in a cage!

It was all the fault of some quite inmocent flying insect. It had suddenly appeared in the dining room where she was sitting.  This was followed by a hysterical scream, whereupon she grabbed her two budgies in two separate cages, and flew up the stairs carrying said budgies in cages, and locked herself in the toilet.  She is terrified of flying insects!

Our minds boggled as we heard the story and conjured up the picture of her flying up the stairs carrying the two budgie cages.  I wonder if she is still there this morning!