Thursday, November 29, 2007

The Feckers

.

Where did my children go?

They were here just now I know.

Spinning yarns and lacy lies,

on the cusp of starvation

but always catching flies.

.

Who stole my babies?

I’m sure I left them right here.

Muddy trousers, ripped skin

kings of dodgy homework

artful sleepers-in.

.

Why nick my chilluns?

No good to man nor beast.

Odd socks, missing gloves with

jam ridden faces

that only a mother loves.

.

When did they disappear,

those halcyon boys?

I turned for a second

and they were gone again.

Who the fuck took my little ones

and gave me back these hairy men?



.

pee ess - off to Goode Olde London Town in the morning for a few days of literary shenanigans - Bookarazzi shindig in Piccadilly and a performance poet in Brixton - oh, and gin with Debi and Babs - WHOOOOOO HOOOOOOOO!


.




22 comments:

Shameless said...

Gorgeous, Minx. Great words for a great pic! :-)

Roberta said...

I echo Seamus.

Minx, this is Gorgeous. I've felt this many times.

Nothingman said...

who took my little girls too?

great poem...love it double!

gregra&gar said...

The poem stands alone, but with the pic — metaphysical. You got it gal.

Debi said...

This made me cry ... so it must be good. *sniff*

Minx said...

Yeah, well, today the dear little trolls need a good foster home because I am fed up with no coffee cups and a severe lack of plates!
They are akin to Thing One and Thing Two, without the clean-up machine!

Dale said...

errr mother
ull find im here=]
i h8 skool
y did u make me go???

Saaleha said...

love the pic. and the poem is great. perchance i too shall echo these sentiments some ten years from now

Saaleha said...

You've done it, minxy! you've spawned a blogger. erm, now i just need to figure out whether that's a good thing.

hello dale, soon to be hairy man
:-) where's chip?

Minx said...

Dale, I made you go to skool to learn properlike engerlish - I was wrong, they have failed you! Now bugger orf back to lessons.

Yep, spawned something, Saaleha, not quite sure what. Is there a cure for not getting up til midday? Oh yes, I remember, have a baby - that cures it.

Taffiny said...

lovely, well er, not exactly lovely, but beautiful in its way.

I think of this each week day, as I must put deoderant on my 11 yr old son (by force). When this started there was no hair (of which I was aware), then there was soft pale downy hair, now there are some darker browner strands mixed in there.

One day, I know, he will have great hairy arm pits, and my little boy will be gone. ( I hope he will be putting the deoderant on by himself at that point).

I really feel it though, the being on the verge, perched, of his life being about to move forward, (in this big way) and yet then hanging back and giving us more time, more time together like this. (which is good as neither one us is ready for his adolescence)

He changes from moment to moment, seeming older than he is, then suddenly seeming much younger.

And there you stand on the other side of it. I do not run up to great you, do not rush to the time, when I will look around and say "who the fuck took my baby ?!"

time

D said...

thanks for your comment on my blog.lovely poem here and a wonderful pic.

Wanderlust Scarlett said...

I love that.
And the picture is one of the best I've ever seen, how in the WORLD did you manage that?
So cool!

Have fun with Bookarazzi and the Gin Girls!

Scarlett & V.

Minx said...

Taff, sometimes you put pictures in my head that just don't want to go away.....deodourise with force!

You are welcome, d.

Nicked it, Scarlett - no remorse.

leslie said...

Funny thing about boys growing into men...they get older while we, their mothers, stay exactly the same age. How DO we do that?
Have a gin for me.

Debi said...

Check my blog re the gin - and the rest!

PS We have both cups and plates. Try not to think about what your place will look like when you get back ...

Debi said...

*waving*

soubriquet said...

Picture looks rather feckless.

Feckers unfecked.

feckfooted.

Feckboots.

Are the feckless feckred freckled?

Or the freckle-less feckers unfettered?

The Quoibler said...

I'm giving my four-year-old tot an extra-hard squeeze (the good kind, not the "I'm-mad-as-hell" kind) tonight.

Oh, and I shall never look at deodorant or armpits the same way...

Minx said...

Had gin, Leslie, and lots of other stuff!

Waving sadly back, Debi.

Oh feck, Soub!

Tis a shame we only realise this when they are older, Q. Give them a squeeze, often.

Laume said...

Awesome photo and equally shivery true poem. It reminds me a lot of another poem I love - you can read it here:
http://beachtreasure.blogspot.com/2006/03/poetry-thursday.html

Laume said...

The link didn't copy. Hmm, try it again:

http://beachtreasure.blogspot.com
/2006/03/poetry-thursday.html