DONUTS – PART 2

Ruby is really enjoying these posts from Westley Piddle, why not join her.💜

USUAL MUTTWITS

Feeding mat? Symmetrically placed upon floor without wrinkles. Feed bowl? Centered on mat, equidistant to all four edges.  Water bowl?  Brimming with clean water.

Mister Park, the Korean Jindo, lives a quiet and fastidious life together with his companions P.Smith packfather and L.Smith packmother. The companions, referred to by all as Profit&Loss. Both elderly hindlegs believe in zero toleration of disorder in the houseden. None. Not never.

P.Smith ensures that Mister Park’s stainless steel feeding bowls are always scrubbed to mirror perfection every morning when the bright hot ball is thrown into the sky. And again, every evening when the bright hot ball falls back down. Mister Park appreciates his bowls scrubbed perfect.

Furthermore, L.Smith stalks Mister Park ‘round the houseden with her dustpan and brush, sweeping up every wisp of shed hair or spec of dirt caught between his paws.  Shed hairs and specs of dirt are totally unacceptable…

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A Desparate Sonnet.

Where there is a will there is argument.
Where there should be calm someone is hellbent.
Before it is someone else’s money
After, relatives like bees to honey.
Swarm like leaves whipped in an Autumn eddy.
To grab their pound of flesh palms out, ready
Thank goodness I will not see the dark day
I hope my offspring will not act this way.
Banish the greedy ones to the gates of hell
May they suffer like me and ne’er do well
They’ve made my life a misery you see.
The Executor’s frustrations weigh on me.

I want no more of all this grief and strife
Unlucky is the Executor’s wife.

*****

A sort of sonnet, for Raven

Automatic

A story from beyond , from Sue Vincent , well worth a read.

Sue Vincent's Daily Echo

writing

The pen moves slowly across the page, as if resisting the words that spill forth in ink. There is a hesitancy, a reluctance, as if the writer herself does not want to see the story that is unfolding. An expression of horror glazes her eyes and her mouth moves in silence, haunted by the journey of violence and death her hand reveals.

Years of abuse and oppression curl in copperplate atrocity, tracing cold decades from hopeful bride to browbeaten victim. A story that tears at the gut and one that needs to be told; silenced for too long by fear and fist. She recognises the tragedy of her life, of her lost dreams and forgotten laughter. She knows the despair, the self-hatred, the unreasonable guilt…

Make it stop. Please. Make it stop.

The litany echoes in her mind. Mute tears blotch the paper as her hand moves inexorably onward. Pity…

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