Wordless Wednesday, View from my bed.

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What do you see # 44- 24 August 2020

Picture courtesy of Joel Valve- Unsplash

( For the visually challenged reader, the image shows a girl dancing under the jets of water of a fountain, which are meeting above her in an arc)

Dancing in my head

“Your stuck with curvature
You’ll never look the same.
So you better make friends with that pain.”

Looking out the window I heard the words they said
But I was miles away dancing in my head .

When I get upset, not feeling free.
In rain, sun or snow .
Those words come back to haunt me .
So into my head I go.

When I feel pushed and pressured
All I can think of is the words they said.
I close my eyes and bugger them,

I go dancing in my head!

When looking in the mirror is too much to bare
My clothes look like something I shouldn’t wear.
I close my eyes and let the music flow.
Then dancing in my head I go.

When pain is over baring and I can’t get out of bed
I close my eyes and bugger them I go dancing in my head.

I am still the me I was before.

Though not quite the same.
When I am at my worst I play my saving game.
I am sorry if you think me rude and blanch at things I’ve said.

But when it all becomes too much
I go dancing in my head.

So don’t judge me by my cover I am still a happy soul.
I may not be perfect but I am whole.
When things get too much and depressions wanting fed.
Bugger it I shout and go dancing in my head


This is Sadje Keep It Alive’s What do you see.



It’s the fourth week of the month! Are you ready for a theme prompt? Kerfe Roig from last month’s challenge picked the theme…

This month’s theme is:


Image from Pixabay

Pawed over with care
Diversions, fresh starts, my story
The Map of my life
Sometimes in total tatters
Sometimes it’s almost perfect

This is a Tanka for Colleen Chesebro’s Tanka Tuesday Challenge.

Ronovan Writes #Weekly #Haiku #Poetry Prompt #Challenge 320 Day& Flaw

Image from Pixabay.

Twenty four hours

So many mistakes to make

Nothing is perfect.

This is part of Ronovanwrite’s Weekly Haiku Challenge.

Poppet and the Westley Piddle’s Summer Fayre

At last it’s here!

Do visit Usual Muttwits

Part 1. Poppet

can’t heart it over Dazed and Confused.  Packmommy bashes the bannisters but fails to get his attenti Westley Piddle’s summer fayre is back in town. Poppet, the willowy Afghan blond, is sort of humpy coz she’s expected to win first prize at Best of Show.  Wot she really wants to win is some sniffy sweet eightleggers with Drizzle, the fittest muttwit ‘round abouts.

A particularly quite morning in Westley Piddle, that unremarkable town on the Thameslick between Bisham and Cock Marsh. The only sound a drip of rainlick from damp trees. Stillness. Peace. The air holding its breath. Until, that is, some daft flaplegs decides peace is dead and sqwarks.  Soon enough, flaplegs across the whole gaff are sqwarking out of their tiny minds.  Mental.

As it happens, a convoy of roundlegs are growling into Herdwick pooping park – wot upsets the flaplegs in the first place.  Now, sniffy looking hindlegs are wobbling all over carrying stuff to build tents, arcades, pavilions and noshing stalls.  The long-awaited West Pid summer fayre is back. 

The fourlegs morning chorus can’t wait to bark all about it – 

Helloooo, here we goooo

Gonna be a right noshfest

Chicken, beef, lamb, loadsa mammal-leggy nosh 

Kicking off down the park, bowl-mates

Oh. My. Dog.

All in all, not a particularly quite morning in Westley Piddle.

Sparky, the tingly Whippet, is out early with Kevin, his hindlegs companion. KevLegs to the intimates.  Neon green Beats wrapped across his head furs, KevLegs is oblivious to flaplegs, fourlegs and sniffy hindlegs in the park. He ain’t hearing nothing but sounds of the 70’s.

 “Ah-ah, ah!” scritches the muted sound of Robert Plant from the Beats.

“Ah-ah, ah!” KevLegs scritchy scritches right along with him.
We come from the land of the ice and snow Sparky joins thems for the next verse from the midnight sun, where the hot springs flow

Sparky is tingly – coz tingly is chilled-looking and ain’t nervous-looking. Whippets move in jerky spasms. Each step of a Whippet paw is lyk being nervously poked in the eyeball.  Stopping to cock a jerky leg is a poke. Stepping along the street is a continuous poke.  Even standing still is a poke of sorts. 

Not Sparky, coz he’s into 70’s rock. A jingly Whippet hammering to the gods. 

“Ah-ah, ah!” KevLegs scritches “ah-ah, ah!” he eyeballs Sparky lost in songs of immigrants.  

“Ouronlygoal,willbethewesternshore…Ah-ah, ah! Sohurryup,and…erh…pissmate,gottagettowork”

So now yu better stop and rebuild all yor ruins
Sparky and KevLegs. Westley Piddle’s power rock duo.

“for,peaceandtrustcanwintheday,despiteallyour…erh…lackofpissing” KevLegs laughs so violently he farts.

Uh-Oh Sparky needs to finish his squirtz and get KevLegs home, fast.  

From the snifz of it KevLegs is starting his daily gas probs. A very sniffy problem, indeed.  But Sparky adores his KevLegs. Coz life with KevLegs is all about vibes.  Of rock.  Real rock – not alt, not goth, not thrash, not prog, not any of thems wannabe rock sounds.  Just the three riff genuine article: 70’s rock, as taught him by KevLegs and Led Zep. Sparky loves it. Maybe that’s why he believes he’s not just a tingly whippet – but Fenrir, the gigantic wolfmate of Tyr, that Norse god of war. 

“andnowforsomebreakingnews,Sparky…” KevLegs teases Sparky with a fart.  Sparky wags tail in adoration.  The snifz of last night’s Rogan Josht intoxicating.  He trots homewards as fast as tingly paws can trot. 

Valhalla, I am coming!

Poppet, the Afghan temptress of three summers, admires herself in front of the hallway mirror. Excited by the snifz of the summer fayre being hammered into shape down the road, across the junction, round that curvy bend, over Nelson Avenue and slap bang in the middle of Herdwick pooping Park.  Shaking her head, strawberry blond earflaps fizz across big innocent eyeballs. Her long hair is braided in Viking locks, coat curried to glossy silver perfection.

One fit looking fourlegs she admits but… and bumps her snout against the mirror fit enough to win?

Mirror image trembles to the creak creak creak of Sharonpackmate on the stairs.  Stonks, as she’s known to the intimates, appears in new clothfurs.  Poppet always snifz her in new clothfurs.  Wotz wrong with just one fur, lyk wot Poppet wears all the time.  Hindlegs ain’t sensible. 

 “watchafink,Poppet?” Stonks bounces off the last step, spinning round “likethecolour?Electricvanilla”

Poppet don’t know wot to think and only twitches her snout.

“comeonthenPoppet,let’sgetout,andseewhatcock’sabout” Stonks opening chops sniffy with breakfast to lick her small shiny teeth.

Mirror inspection over, Stonks unlocks the front door and wobbles down the garden path, through the garden gate and into Hazelmarsh Road. Poppet follows in shimmering strides.

Stonks lyks to walk up front, complaining she don’t lyk looking at Poppet’s ass all the time.  Poppet has two problems with that.  First of all, Poppet ain’t got the kind of tail up, pink rosebud pooping-hole ass always showing 24/7 lyk wot some fourlegs have ‘round abouts Westley Piddle – Poppet’s ass is a feather soft waterfall tail hiding her pooping hole. Second of all, coz Sharonpackmate’s got a right stonker of an ass, sadly.

“Poppet,don’tshitandshameme” Stonks scritches, yanking on the lead “propershittingspot,only”

As always

Music is scritching from a radio where two male hindlegs are wobbling about on some scaffolding.  One has his clothfurs off, revealing a furless chest.

“cockhim!” Stonks scritches breathlessly. 

The two hindlegs are eyeballs-on Stonks. Sniffing her up and down.  Their orange-sniffy lust striking Poppet’s snout from across the street,. 

“ignorethem,Poppet” Stonks yanks at her lead. Poppet knows Stonks has the hooter for sniffing out testosterone-heavy hindlegs – almost equal to her own snout for sniffing out lusty male fours.  

“don’tencouragethem,toomuch”  Stonks flashes eyeballs “butstartpeeing,rightnow”  

Poppet dutifully stops and squirtz, long enough to concentrate the hindlegs’ lust and short enough not to satisfy any of it.

“ellodarling,nicedog!” one of thems scritches, Stonks enjoying the attention.

Happy now?

“comealongPoppet” she wobbles up Hazelmarsh Road, grinding her wide-load wiggle.  

Poppet reckons thems male hindlegs eyeballs are staying well locked onto a female pooping hole right til the end of the road. Surely not her own!

Drizzle emerges out of woods dripping with rainlick and the yellow squirtz wot marks his territory. Countryside gives way to West Pid. streets lined with hedges and brick walls, behind which are hindlegs housedens, families, and happy fourlegs.  He can snifz the head-patting happiness inside those housedens.  Raising his muzzle to the sky, sniffing, searching, wondering wot his own head-patting hindlegs are doing.  And where they are now?

Snifz yuz. Get away from here  fourlegs growl from housedens 

Earflaps drooping under the brief summer rainlick Drizzle remembers being inside his own houseden, warning off streetlegs outside his territory.  Memories give way to reality.  Now he’s a streetlegs. It is wot it is. He trots on.

Snifz yuz. I’m gonna hurt yuz when I get out

No packmates? No one cares, mate

My hindlegs, mine!

Snifz any closer and lose thems plum bobs

Fourlegs bark, paws banging against windows. He ignores.

Drizzle don’t miss his hindlegs family.  That’s coz, everything is always in the heres and nows for fourlegs. Any moment nows his pack family will return to reclaim him.  Any moment nows. No worries til then.

An ugly black and white scratch arches its back and hisses.  Drizzle passes by without a snifz, in no mood to be arguing with Scratch so early in the morning. He’s famished and wants noshing. A brekkers of sausage and bacon is just the ticket. Two fat pork sausages: gone in two fat bites.  Stringy bacon held down with paws, shredded between teeth.

Drizzle trots through The Cut and into Westley Piddle High Street, snout pointing full speed ahead towards Greggs.

That’ll work!  


So long it’s not true. Wanted a woman…

Sparky stretches out on the end of KevLeg’s bed, happily eyeballing him air guitar in front of the wardrobe mirror.


Soul of a wom–

“wascreatedbelow,yeah!” KevLeg’s strains his back under thems massive chords. His wind-milling hand bashes the Monsters of Rock lightshade on the bedroom ceiling, swinging it all over the place. 

“ready!” KevLeg’s packmommy scritches from the kitchen – also from below.

Sparky pricks up ear flaps at all the scritching but KevLegs own tiny earflaps on.  “Oi.yer.useless.git” she scritches with every thump “getdownhere,muppet!”

Oi, Jimmy P.  Brekkers, mate


Nosh init, yer spanner Sparky jumps off the bed and snoutz open the bedroom door. Packmommy is standing there, mug of tea in handpaw.  Seeing her in the mirror, KevLeg’s wind-milling pose becomes a lightbulb fixing pose in the Monsters of Rock lightshade. This surprises Sparky. The Monsters of Rock lightbulb works fine, dunnit?

rightmuppet” Packmommy snorts.

Rockmuppet Sparky agrees.

Sparky lies under the brekkers table alert for bits of cornflakes, toast, or bacon butty. His head on the kitchen linoleum, snout touching KevLeg’s footpaw. A constant I’m here and hungry reminder.

“yerdon’tgetit,mom,” KevLegs is scritching through his munching “notlikegoingtothesupermarket,izzit?” he munches, “can’tjustpickcrumpetoffthefrozencounter,canyou?”

 Crumpet? not sure wot sorta nosh that is but there’s right juicy sausages down at the su–


Thickly buttered crust of toast drops in front of Sparky. He inspects it with a critical snifz before noshing it.


A big legged woman

Packmommy’s chair creaks as she grabs for something across the table. 


“rightmom,checkitoutlaters,” his handpaw reaches down and sticks a rasher of bacon in Sparky’s eye “won’twe,Sparky?”

We will? the orange-sniffy bacon almost masks KevLeg’s purple-sniffy farts.  But Sparky knows the purple gas snifz is always there.  Gas flowing throughout KevLegs lyk those Tinylegs do under West Pid’s pavements.  It don’t matter.  Wotever KevLegs does don’t matter one bit to Sparky.

For some reason, packmommy wants KevLegs to meet a female hindlegs.  Wot Sparky thinks ridiculous, lyk. Coz he don’t need any hindlegs female. 

Coz yu got me!

“anicegirl,yerdaftmuppet” she scritches hopefully, dumping more toast on top of Sparky.

To squeeze my lemon till the juice ru– yuck, Marmite’s on this bit!

Sparky noshes it anyways.

KevLegs toys are scattered ‘round abouts Sparky’s sleeping mat.  Teeth-bitten ball KevLegs loves throwing that Sparky must forever go fetch. Slob-covered leather bone KevLegs loves to try and pull from Sparky’s mouth. And, KevLegs favourite, that well-chewed sqwarky chicken leg.  Sparky forces himself to rise to the occasion, pretending it’s him who really loves chewing it.

KevLegs stands at the front door of the houseden wearing his bestest T-shirt, an over-washed Jimmy Page on double-necked Gibson. 


Sparky leaps into the air, spinning all four legs to land perfectly on the sleeping mat and scoots for the front door.

“let’sgodownHerdwick” KevLegs scritches, Sparky’s lead in one handpaw.

More to come from Usual Muttwits.

Song Lyric Sunday: Prepositions of Place

It is Sunday again and time for Jim Adams Song Lyric Sunday. This week the prompts are Above/Below/Between So here we go!

Below the surface,buy Griffinilla appears to be a song from a game. I have tried to research it but did not trust any of the sights it lead too so not much information for you. Other than I love the tune it’s so catchy 💜

Next up is my favourite Imogen Heap and Between Sheets. From her Ellipse album.  Ellipse is the third studio album from British singer-songwriter Imogen Heap. After returning from a round the world writing trip, Heap completed the album at her childhood home in Essex, converting her old playroom in the basement into a studio. The album got its name from the distinctive elliptical shape of the house.The album’s title was confirmed by Heap via her Twitter page on 25 April 2009, after being leaked onto the internet on 23 April. On 15 June, Heap confirmed that the album would be released on 24 August 2009 in the United Kingdom on Megaphonic Records and 25 August in North America on RCA Records and Epic Records and distributed by Sony BMG. More information here.

Thin Line Between Love and Hate” is the title of a 1971 song by the New York City-based R&B vocal group The Persuaders. The song was written and produced by the Poindexter brothers, Robert and Richard, and was also co-written by Jackie Members.This was the group’s biggest hit song, spending two weeks atop the Billboard R&B chart in late 1971. It also reached #15 on the Billboard Hot 100 chart and was a certified Gold Record by the RIAA.[1]

I could not pass up Thin line between love and hate by Annie Lennox released in 1995. Annie is one of my favourite singer songwriters 😊

Lastly Above all by Michael W Smith . I am not particularly in to what is termed “Christian” music but I really like this guy’s voice .

Michael Whitaker Smith (born October 7, 1957) is an American musician, who has charted in both contemporary Christian and mainstream charts.[2] His biggest success in mainstream music was in 1991 when “Place in This World” hit No. 6 on the Billboard Hot 100. Over the course of his career, he has sold more than 18 million albums.[3]

This is part of Jim Adams Song Lyric Sunday. Prepositions of Place

Happy Sunday Everyone 😁

Comming Soon Westly Piddle, International Dog Day. 26th August.

Hey Ruby what are you snoutzing out?

© willowdot21
© Zozo &Jools

Stream of Consciousness Saturday. August 22nd 2020 Brush.

Good morning, it is Saturday and time for LindaGHill’s Stream of Consciousness Saturday. This week’s prompt for us to make fast and loose with is : Your Friday prompt for Stream of Consciousness Saturday is “brush.” Use it as a noun, a verb, or an idiom. Have fun!

It’s 7.20am and I have been awake over an hour, looking out towards the trees opposite I try to brush the cobwebs out of my head. They are very stubborn cobwebs they do not want to be brushed!

So many thoughts are swirling around in my head not many happy thoughts in there though! Can I , should I even, brush them under the carpet. I could do that it’s the easiest way to deal with problems just brush them aside, pretend all is well.

No, it’s no good even though I don’t feel up to it I must 🎶dust myself off, brush myself down and start all over again 🎶. Yesterday 49years ago I married the love of my life yes we jumped the brush.

© willowdot21

So even though I am tired and not being well is getting me down, and hubby is feeling down coping with his mother’s estate and his awkward siblings we must brush everything aside and just get on with life.

Okay let’s pick up life’s paint brush and create our own canvas, let’s make each brush stroke count. Like the dog brushing past my legs, the squirrel in the trees opposite with his brush tail, we’ll grab the brush and sweep up the pieces.

That’s enough I am slipping in to Madness here so that it for this week folks! I am not giving you the brush off.

This is part of LindaGHill’s Stream of Consciousness Saturday. #SoCs

Usual Muttwits.


Sherbet, the pukey yellow scratch that cohabits with Mister Park, is waiting.  And Mister Park knows it.  Any moment now, once he’s outside with Profit&Loss on walkies duties, Sherbet will stop waiting and get up to mischief.

Honestly, yuz two, how about keeping Sherbet locked up and away from my breakfast plate and water bowl?

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