One I Copied from the Chatroom!

SelangorNight (guest):

Chatroom (film)

Image via Wikipedia

When you enter Ralphie’s Portal
For a giggle and a chortle
The things you find, will blow your mind
And you will feel immortal

P.S.: Selangornight is of course our resident Poetry Magician!


Midnight Blue

The winter sky is crystal clear

In the hours before the dawn

I walk into the cold night air

Feeling lonely and forlorn

I look up to the heavens

I see a sky of special hue

And I can’t help but shiver

When I think of midnight blue

Among the stars I see a face

That is smiling down at me

My heart is filled with pain

For it is your face that I see

The memories flood my mind

With all that we’ve been through

And I can’t help but quiver

When I think of midnight blue

I can hear the sound of sighing

But from where I cannot tell

A voice drifts on the breeze

And it seems to cast a spell

My heart is filled with grief

For the voice belongs to you

My tears flow like a river

When I think of midnight blue

My arms reach up towards you

I want to cradle your sweet head

As I did when you were fevered

And I was sat beside your bed

You held my hand so tightly

You said your love was true

And then you closed for ever

Lovely eyes of midnight blue


When the mutant child was born

The Piper at the Gates of Dawn

Played a dirge into the night

The Devil laughed with such delight

And cried ‘He is my spawn’

His hands were claws, his face a scar

They kept him in a brown glass jar

In a cold damp cellar all alone

A captive in the twilight zone

They named him Bolibar

He looked a most repugnant thing

With scaly skin and hair like string

Poor Bolibar, he yearned so much

To feel his mother’s loving touch

To hear her sweet voice sing

But no words reached his shapeless ears

No friends had he throughout the years

Cold winter nights he slept unclad

But never cried, because he had

No eyes to shed the tears

His mother wished her son deceased

Considered him as Satan’s beast

And when the demons in her head

Convinced her he’d be better dead

Her conscience was released

Her spouse agreed the mutant birth

To keep alive had no real worth

They swore to keep a grisly pact

And carry out the final act

To end his time on Earth

They came and sealed the jar of glass

And pumped in lethal toxic gas

Alone he drew his final breath

Alone he journeyed after death

To join the Devil’s mass

When the mutant child had died

The Piper cast his pipes aside

And as the sun sank in the West

The Devil welcomed his new guest

As angels watched and cried

Some time after the evil deed

The mother found herself with seed

A perfect baby girl she bore

A child she could at last adore

Fulfilled her every need

The Piper played a mournful song

The birth would never right the wrong

No cellar dark for this young lass

No brown glass jar, no whiff of gas

She would grow tall and strong

God heard the Piper’s mournful dirge

Enlightenment came with a surge

Only then He knew He’d failed

A plan must henceforth be unveiled

The Devil’s Den to purge

He summoned forth Celexequoste

Mightiest of the angel host

And told him he must go in quest

To free the Devil’s latest guest

And silence Satan’s boast

The angel journeyed long and far

And now he stood on Hell’s dark star

He strode up to the Devil’s door

Satan heard his timbrous roar

‘I’ve come for Bolibar!’

And when he heard the angel speak

The Devil’s firm resolve grew weak

At last poor Bolibar was freed

The angel placed him on his steed

Then kissed him on his cheek

A surge of Heaven’s joy and bliss

A stream of tears for an angel’s kiss

Up in the night a shooting star

Flared for the one named Bolibar

And made the Devil hiss

The mutant child climbed Heaven’s stair

To be greeted by the angels there

Who placed in front of Bolibar

The fragments of a brown glass jar

Smashed beyond repair

Paper Memories

On a pillow of paper memories

He rests his head in slumber

As he hears the wind whisper

‘An old man weeps, an old man bleeds

To harvest love he’d sowed the seeds

Blood and tears for the nothing years

When nothing grew but thorns and weeds’

He awakens at the table

And he sees the faded mail

His mind swoops back in time

A padded cell, a racking wail

‘He was ever my true friend

‘Til that awful twist of fate

As infamy and madness

Left him in a sorry state

His spirit had been broken

And by then it was too late’

He feels teardrops in his eyes

As he sniffs the perfumed sheet

His mind swoops back in time

A wedding gown, a bridal suite

And to an orchestra of love

We did dance and celebrate

A symphony of gladness

With an undertone of hate

When I heard the requiem

I realised it was too late’

His eyes narrow as he sees

The buff envelope still sealed

His mind swoops back in time

A muddy trench, a foreign field

‘We took arms and went to war

With our cause to vindicate

An infantry of brashness

And a brotherhood of fate

We went on to face defeat

And by then it was too late’

He shoves aside the paper

A splinter spears his thumb

His mind goes back in time

A lonely boy, a dismal slum

‘This was my living hell

Beneath that cellar grate

An infancy of sadness

With naught to mitigate

I went on to cherish freedom

But by then it was too late’

On the pebbled floor he sees

A stain of blood and tears

His mind drifts back in time

Faceless people, wasted years

‘And such has been my life

In which I struggled to relate

An epiphany of darkness

My ideals did decimate

I should have done much more

But by now its far too late’

And he rests his head in slumber

As he hears the wind whisper

 ‘Old men bleed and old men cry

They fear the time that’s passing by

Blood and tears for the living years

When living dreams fade out and die’

On a pillow of paper memories

Bionic Cats?


I can rightfully call myself a troglodyte, a cave-dweller, as I have lived in many a cave over quite a long period of time, up in Sacromonte(= the sacred mountain) near Granada. It was, all in all, a happy stay and if it hadn’t been for that maniac Leppe, who terrorised the whole valley, I might still be living there. I’d first heard of these caves from a dear friend of mine, Dominic, whom I met in Barcelona and then later on, as if instigated by Kismet, I met Nigel in Gandia, who after five minutes of knowing me, gave me the keys to his cave there. Talk about meeting good people on the road! Continue reading

Telling Gran’s Secrets

1) I know that magic is real. I’ve seen it. I am not lying.

2)I once knew a Gypsy Fortune Teller that was the real deal. She lived in the woods and took clients by night. Her floors were crooked and you had step over the waiting bodies in her living room, to”see” her in the kitchen. She is gone now. She died as we all wish we could, old, beloved, while taking a nap on her sofa.

3)I know that real lust (yes lust) CAN last forever, or at least nearly thirty years. (trust me on this one)

4)I have been romanced for three days with no need for food….really! One can live on love for nearly half a week at least. (yup, it was 1982, and he was the one)

5)I once personally knew a New York Times best-selling author, (I was her Mothers private nurse, so I won’t mention names, as that isn’t so professional) Along those lines.. I once looked into the pale blue eyes of brilliant actor and gentle-man, Robert Duval (I was an extra on a movie, it wasn’t personal, I couldn’t utter one word, I just gazed stupidly)

6) I chatted with Bill Murray in the woods of Georgia, USA  (same circumstance) he is the real deal, soooo funny, his face is like a big, lovely, laughing moon, he was kind!

7) For three years, I welded bridges (for pay) and I chewed tobacco with my cohorts on the job…that was a weird era in my life. My personal little women’s liberation movement.

8) I was an underwear model for a very brief time, I almost fell off of my six-inch heels while strutting my saucy stuff at a country club. It wasn’t the career for me, I am a clutz. It did not pay enough pennies to forego hot donuts.

9) I have held the limp hands of the dying for a couple of decades, so, I have the daunting gift of putting things into perspective sometimes. This is a great gift. I thank those hands.

10)I basically have nothing, therefore, I have everything.

Gran walking with secrets

Gran Wakes Up

Gran Doing Her Thing

It’s half past five, give or take, and Gran has been up for well over an hour. She has polished and shined herself, she has brewed the coffee and lit her morning candle. Woodsy incense curls and swirls through the living room., new age music tickles her soul, arousing her mind, easing her into a cold December morning on the mountain.

 Gran’s little mountain is hard, black and cold at this time of the day, at this time of the year. The candle she lit offers Gran a brassy reflection, which rises and falls in the dark window pane above her desk. It is very quiet in her house now. The large dogs are all inside, downstairs, snoozing and snoring, with the exception of “Tweet” who refuses to come inside unless there is ice and snow, she is curled in her hay filled house under the pines, sleeping like a puppy.  Miles, Gran’s “tittie baby” fur kid is on the sofa watching her every move with bright, round black eyes.  Miles is the “watcher” of Gran, heaven knows, someone has to be. Gran suspects that this little dog reports her every move to “officials” somewhere, just in case Gran becomes dangerous.

Here at her desk, Gran considers her life, every morning, there are these same questions. “What matters today, what will matter tomorrow, what will matter in a hundred years?” She considers, for the millionth time…. if anything will matter in a hundred years? 

Given the few true options for todays menu of carnal delicacies, Gran decides to have fun today, to smile through her sorrow, to dance when the going gets rough, to sing, even though she cannot carry a tune in a bucket.  Why not?

While she is at it, perhaps she will do something bold, like go into the bedroom and throw everything that she hasn’t worn in one year, out of the closet, and into a donation bag for someone who might wear it this next year. Only good could come from that move.  She will do it.

Now, it is time for Gran to refill her coffee and get ready to knock down a sleepy Poppa with her big, fat “good morning hugs” for he must pretend to be an accountant today, and that is not easy for a clown like Poppa.


Hillbilly Goes To Salem

"The Hillbillycrone" in front of Rev. Laurie Cabots Witch Shoppe

Most of my life I have considered myself to be a modern-day solitary witch. Sometimes, I go out on a limb and call myself “Wiccan” however, that is subject to debate. “Organized Religion” of any kind, even my kind, sours on my stomach rather quickly.  Mostly because the instant you get a bunch of humans involved, well, you know what happens, corruption, power struggles, volatile debate, affairs, bake sales, holy wars,  fashion parades and some poor soul (always someone my age) has to get stuck with “nursery duty” arghhhhh. I would be sad to think of my sacred spirituality attached to these conditions of service. Me, I mostly stir around here on the mountain, it’s better this way. “The Hillbillycrone” (me) stays busy with all manner of things, seven days a week.

I have always known that I was different, I was born confident and unafraid. I was liberated and unashamed about it long before I could put a title on what it was that made me “different”  In the early seventies, when I began hearing of this famous Mega-Witch by the name of Laurie Cabot, my ears perked up. Of course, she lived and ran her witch shoppe in the town of Salem Massachusetts, where else?  In fact, she still does, I have been there!  

 To my knowledge, this quaint, little feminine shoppe, filled with herbs, delicate crystals, incense, and other sumptuously witchy items was the very first witch shoppe in this country, this is impressive to me.   The shoppe is no longer at its original location, but, it’s very interesting, sitting there on the wharf with a name like “The Official Witch Shoppe”

 There is something magical about the little town and the cool blue waterfront, even the people in Salem were enchanting for me. There were witches in capes and robes everywhere, all ages, many were my age….all were rosy-cheeked and scurrying in and out of the shoppes. I think I smiled the whole forty-eight hours that I was there.  My wardrobe was in style, I did not have to buy a thing for the trip. I had several black capes and black velvet dresses, I had witchy boots and feather earrings, a couple of sizes of cone hats to choose from….and of course, my beloved, bejeweled pentagram, which was swinging in the wind as I ran up and down the streets of Salem!  I am surprised that I did not take flight!  

 Laurie Cabot is religious, so much so, that she wears her black ritual robes every day of the year.  I think she is now referred to as Reverend Laurie Cabot.  She made the national news often back in the seventies with her campaign to make witchcraft a legal religion in the United States, which, believe it or not, she succeeded in doing around the end of that decade. For the hillbillycrone, (me) this woman, who is seventy-eight years old now,  is someone really special, someone who I consider as “honorable”  She is responsible for my specific religious freedom, and this is moving for me, seriously moving. What single person do you know that is responsible for a whole religion becoming legalized? That is a big deal, if you ask me. I am fairly certain that Reverend Laurie Cabot had some help on this major political effort, but, it is her name in the history books.  I don’t know any of the names of her supporters from that era, or I would surely credit them here.

As you can guess by now, this last Samhain, (2011) I had the delightful opportunity to pack up with my family and head to Salem Massachusetts for the witches ball that was held by “The Official Witch Shoppe”  Unfortunately, Reverend Laurie Cabot was unable to attend, however, this was a delightful event.  What a feast they offered, I won’t list all of the food here, but, I will say that it was a full spread akin to nothing less than a robust American Thanksgiving feast.  This is the witches New Year, so, there was dancing and much merriment. There was a beautiful belly dancer who was very graceful and exotic to behold.  Everyone was friendly and cheerful. There was alcohol, but no one was  drunk, everyone was decent and warm.  The most beautiful thing about all of it was the formal ritual at midnight. There was a candle lit alter, which was decorated with pumpkins and gourds, representing the harvest. There were three lovely women who danced the parts of the virgin, the matron and the crone. The three profoundly empowering phases of a womans life. There were high priestesses and a high priest. I won’t elaborate on the ritual here, but, each aspect was represented in such a sincere and etherial way that I couldn’t do it justice if I tried, so I won’t.  The whole event was so hauntingly lovely, so deeply meaningful, that I cried…..I just stood in the circle with my husband, my son, and my daughter in law, when suddenly, I felt hot tears sliding down my face. I was that moved by what was happening in that room. 

Do you know what it is like to be weird all of your life and then suddenly, you are in a warm, golden circle of people who are exactly the same as yourself? People who understand you and understand what you cherish, what is dear and holy to you?  When we left the building, we walked out into a world that was like a snow globe, everything was covered in snow, five inches of snow had fallen while we were in the ball!  All of Salem was pure and white. As I slid into the rental car, I was bouncing up and down, “Our first snow storm of the year and a real witches ball in one night, what could be better, I asked my family”?

 I shall never forget the weekend (Samhain) that we spent in Salem Massachusetts.

Opportunity Lost!

Man thinking on a train journey.

Image via Wikipedia

I have been dreaming a lot of late about a girl, who became a woman and who was, is and always shall be a lady. I have loved her practically all my life and yet we have never been a pair, due to my ineptitude…

I met her on day one, when I graduated from kindergarten and came to the Big School. I thought I’d gone to heaven, but that would have been a bit soon, at that tender age. What an exquisite vision of loveliness she was. I fell in love immediately and head over heals, but I felt all thumbs. Even so young she exuded an air of quiet composure, as if she were a princess and to the manner born, but not snooty, not by far. I admired her from a distance and stammered when she addressed me, which she did on numerous occasions, bless her white cotton socks. Continue reading