Hokey Votey

BorisCameron

Brexit sounds like a new breakfast bar and, ‘remain’ just sounds too simple…maybe this will help: (or not at all)

Hokey Votey

You put your Cameron in
Your Boris out
In, out, in, out,
You shake it all about.
You do the Hokey Votey and you turn around
What the hell is it all about?

[Chorus]
Woah, the Hokey Votey,
Woah, the Hokey Votey,
Woah, the Hokey Votey,
Ref-er-en-dum, blah, blah, blah!

You put your Obama in
Your UKIP out
In, out, in, out,
With who will you hang out?
You read the papers, watch the TV
And it makes you want to shout
Tell me, what is it all about?

[Chorus]

Your put your markets in
Your immigrants out
In, out, in, out,
Which one has more clout?
You’re relying on Joe Public and your average lager lout
To decide what it’s all about…

[Chorus]

Easy travel in
Visas out?
In, out, in, out,
Our future’s sure in doubt.
You see, you watch, you listen
To the politicians spout
But which one is gonna stand out?

All together now
[Chorus]

You put your country in
You put your country out
You’ve got a big decision
Now who’s got the loudest shout?
You do the Hokey Votey and you turn around
That’s what it’s all about!

[Chorus]

Mountain Man

The thing about death, is that no-one knows what to say. It means that sometimes we say nothing, when something would have helped and sometimes we say something, when nothing would have helped. I know that I worry that I will say the wrong thing. I worry that I will say the one thing that hurts the griever even more. Perhaps this isn’t possible. I think that giving a person your time and listening may be the answer and if silence is what’s needed, then be there to listen to silence.

Since Harry died, hundreds of people have payed tribute to him on social media. His poems have been shared, photos and memories recounted – a real testament to who he was. Harry touched and will go on touching a lot of people’s lives.

One Facebook post that particularly caught my eye, was a poem, written by one of Harry’s friends. She posted it with the words: a channeled poem and wanted to share it with Harry’s family to help them in their grief. It immediately struck me how brave this was. How brave to channel these words directly to Sarah, Simon, Ellen and everyone else who is feeling the pain of Harry’s death right now. How brave of her to lay her thoughts on the line, that came from Harry. It is a powerful poem, that encapsulates Harry’s spirit. I am pretty sure that his friend who wrote these beautiful words, knew exactly what to say.

Mountain Man
I seek you,
The depth of you,
To honour.
So I lay on my back,
I reel through,
Floods of memories,
Your laugh,
Deep child like,
From the back of the throat.
I remember the tone of your voice,
Priest like and well timed.
Calming.
I remember we use to walk through box hill,
Hampstead in awe of trees,
buds and leaf patterns,
And pretend we knew their names.
We shared a love for nature,
For wood, for crafts.
I remember feeling,
You are an old soul,
A traditional spirit,
Seeking out values,
Against the modern world.
A man tapping wood,
In precision,
Planting vegetables,
To harvest.
You always seem to find
and make pockets,
Of riotousness and goodwill.
Solid you were,
Seeking what it is to be good,
A man,
And noble.
I use to wind you up,
And say don’t worry about being a man,
Be free. You began to loosen ideas.
When I close my eyes,
I feel you make the world safe,
You make me pause,
And look for longer,
At the grains of wood,
The heights of trees,
And the seconds of my breathe.
When I close my eyes,
I feel your spirit next to mine,
And I tell you it’s time to go,
I sing at you,
And shake, we all shook for you,
With Ratu.
But your by the side,
Of all those that grieve.
Grieve at the way it ended.
I ask you how can I help,
You reply, help my family.
How?
Do what you would need,
If you were them.
If you lost a son,
To the mountain.
If I were your mother, farther,
siblings, cousins,
I’d want to be left to weep,
I would eventually,
Start Un-sticking by the soft,
Words of an old friend,
Affirming harry lived fully,
Dissolving sadness of loss.
Tell her how I love native Americans,
And when it’s time to pass,
They walk alone into the forests,
and mountains.
Remind them to hear my poems,
Calling men.
Thrilling how close these words are now.
Remind them it was my deepest desire,
to become a good man,
To know my power and true heart.
And the mountain called me,
holds me.
Peru holds me.
It holds them.
Tell them of the days I got caught,
focused too much on work,
Before I moved back near them.
Tell them how I was happier
At home.
How my deepest longing was to travel,
To feel alive.
Tell them I was living my truth.
So there is no loss, worth a scratch.
Remind them of my latest face and beard,
And peace in my eyes. I did it.
Thank her, them for holding me so tight,
In her heart.
Tell them I fell inlove with the earth,
I got to know her,
Live by her.
That she birthed a being into this world,
And filled me with love.
Tell them I have left ripples,
of their love around them,
And that my heart is carved,
Into mystery, into timelessness,
In boundless love.
Tell them to keep living,
Fully living with all the ache.
To look out for one another.
Tell them this life is infinite,
And souls never die.
Tell them I protect them,
And will meet them again.
But for now,
I rest in the spirit,
As a mountain,
Man.

By Joie de Winter

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My Fruit Bowl

G&T Home

Harry, you shall truly dance ❤️

Harry

“Bare Hug” a sculpture by Judy Greaves, Harry’s aunt

“I call you to remember
The quiet glance of the doe.
The peace of the boar in the deep trees
And always the hearts of those
Who light up this world.”

By Harry Corder Greaves

And when the earth shall claim your limbs, then shall you truly dance

Harry, you touched my heart. You made me look at the world in a different way and your smile…oh your smile lit that world up. RIP Harry, with love and hugs xxx

Hic!-ory, dickory, dock!

MHM Hickory Dickory Dock

We change…

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Hush, little spoilt baby

My version of the original lullaby. To be sung in a soft, lilting voice:

Hush, little baby, don’t you move,
Mama’s gonna buy you a soothe ‘n’ groove.

And if that soothe ‘n’ groove don’t sing,
Mama’s gonna buy you matching bedding.

And if you cover Peppa Pig in poo,
Mama’s gonna buy you a bugaboo.

And if that bugaboo is broke,
Mama’s gonna buy you a cashmere coat.

And if that coat isn’t de la mode,
Mama’s gonna buy you matching drawers and wardrobe.

And if that furniture don’t fit,
Mama’s gonna buy you a dog to hit.

And if that doggy tries to bite,
A nice Stokke Highchair will put things right.

And if from that highchair you fall down,
you’ll still be the most spoilt baby in town.

MadHouseMum©

Resurrection

This is a poem that I wrote many moons ago at Uni. It’s an alternative to fluffy bunnies and little lambs. Happy Easter!

Resurrection

The couple next door
Are having sex
Passionately,
Violently,
The whip’s cracking,
She’s screaming,
And Jimmy Hendrix is
The third party.
Downstairs
My mother is celebrating
Christ’s resurrection
With friends.
The easter hymns
Are gaining
Strength,
Speed and
Fervour.
The singers
Together
The couple
Synchronised
The chorus
Climaxing

In harmony.

MadHouseMum©

 

Life Could Always be Worse

Life worse

I keep bumping into things. I don’t think it’s due to a medical condition, I’m putting it down to three things: distraction, speed and tiredness. If you think about it, these three words pretty much sum up a parents’ lot in life. One daughter or another is often telling me that they told me something that I am denying having heard – I was probably distracted. I feel quite guilty about being distracted when they are wanting my attention. When they were little, I would purposefully distract myself from their whingeing and tantruming, in order to prove a point: life isn’t only about you sunshine, get used to it! However, now they are teenagers and they still need my attention, perhaps now more than ever.

Parents are always rushing. We pack so much into our kids’ lives now, that finding time to breathe takes quite an effort and you can forget about having a leisurely crap – there’s just no time. People are often quite shocked about how fast I eat. I put it down to having four kids so close together. I had to get it down my neck before one of them needed something. Have you ever thought about how proficient parents become at eating one handed? My ex and I used to call our dinners: one handed scoff. For years we were hard wired to only cooking meals that required a fork.

Finally, there’s tiredness. I can tackle just about anything life throws at me on sufficient sleep. One bad night, however and it’s like the hangover from hell. Where’s the post, Hun? (In the freezer). Mum, where’s that form you signed? (On the back of the shopping list). Where are my keys? (Inside). Where am I? (Locked out). So it goes on and so we all go on. Putting one foot in front of the other and hoping that life is good enough and on some days, much better. I just saw this post on Facebook, written by a mum with small kids: Lovely dog walk, with only 1 Minnie (sic) disaster ☺️ As parents, our lives are 1 mini disaster after another, but we take them in our stride and things can still be lovely. Above all, despite the bruises from walking into door knobs and furniture, the dodgy choice of clothes because of the lack of time and the fact that my children sometimes feel ignored, life could always be worse.

Postscript
Life Could Always Be Worse…we could be spending Easter in a tent, with 4 teenagers and no wifi in the pissing rain…oh, we are. Well, the tent could have a hole in it and the alcohol could run out.

Puberty

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I wrote this when I had no children. Little did I know I will experience this amazing transformation so many times!

Puberty

Any second now – I could become a woman
Mum told me.
It happens in a flash
One minute you’re an ordinary kid
And the next thing
Before you know it
You’re one of them.

I don’t know why it happens so quickly
Without warning
There could be kid’s things left to do
Games unplayed
Toys untouched
But I know that it could happen
Any second now.

When Mum first told me
I waited for it
I told my friends that I couldn’t come out to play
I missed Guides
But the woman never came.
Or if she did –
I didn’t notice.

Mum didn’t say exactly how I’d know
That this amazing thing had happened
I’m worried – I could be walking around for years
Thinking I was a kid
When I wasn’t.
And it could happen
Any second now.

Now I’ve given up waiting.
One of my friends told me
That she became a woman two weeks ago
I don’t believe her – she still looks the same
Women don’t have plaits
Drink milkshakes
Or blow raspberries.

By MadHouseMum©