2/27 RELATIVELY SPEAKING

Here's a prompt to describe a relative or family member. Does not have to be from personal experience could be of classic relationships or stereotype's.

In my Eyes.



In my eyes, she’s really beautiful
In hers, she’ll say she’s not
Her hands are always freezing cold
While mine are always hot.
In my eyes, she is perfect
In hers, she does her best
Until she’s got her household right
She’ll never ever rest.
In my eyes, she’s still my baby
In hers, a hectic mum
A house of demanding children
But still a house of fun.
In my eyes, I adore her
And will until I die
In her eyes, I’m eccentric
But that’s ok….I’ll get by.



© jinettyx2012

Where mountains were capped with coaldust,
lived a boy, who loved cricket the game,
he had no bat ball or wickets,
from a family of bakers he came.

He practised day in and day out,
to make cricket, his profession,
without doubt,
but a family that came
put doubt on that game,
so a baker he was and grew stout.

He kept up his loved sport of cricket,
played every spare minute and day,
was well known for his fast spinning ball,
when a club found him called Ebbervale.

He played for Glamorgan, so proudly,
wore their jumper with daffodill proud,
he loved the rewards of their praise,
and the crowd, when they cheered so loud.

He was one of their most feared players,
his off spinning known country wide,
went with Glamorgan, to stardom,
when they beat english players, Surrey side.

The tide turned, on welshman, George Shaw,
when he moved, with his wife, and four more,
to London, he went, to broaden talent, AND,
he joined Surrey side, with UPROAR !

He moved to a country, with new hopes,
brought his talents, of baking and sport,
had certificates for,pastries and bread,
though cricket was all that he sought.

Australia's sun topped green mountains,
were a change from coal dust and small warmth,
as he settled in warm vivid country,
he pined for his sport,with heart torn.

He coached a small club in Para Hills,
found his name in the papers again,
George Bernard Shaw proves a find,
as Para Hills find their glory and fame !

They described him a'' RED FACED WELSHMAN''
who took 3/55 from 27 overs,
from rag balls, to red balls,
stick bats to real bats,
My father, he lived for his dream.


It wasn't long hours that took him,
while he worked in a bakery, so hot
nor the cricket,he lived and he prayed for,
as he spun cricket ball with torment.

Was a car with mechanical problems,
that took him to heaven above,
now he plays his loved sport in the sky,
he always said, cricket was heaven sent !





© by Sue McDonald 09/07/97

Peter, you definately take after your Dad...lovely tribute to him. xx


Sue, very well thought out poem, enjoyed reading yours as always. xx

wow guys, you've really taken to this..loving them all...well done, keep 'em coming..x

Very nice prompt Lucy! And VERY nice responses from all of you:-) Keep it going . . ..

Hugs everyone . . . bev

she was small by the terms of an adult
but her tongue made up for the rest
she went into the deep end
and never let go as a test.
she alwys had an opinion
you had to say aunt what is that?
she would alwys give you an answer
if you wanted one or not.
so you learn to walk round the topics she dropped on the day
you walked to the end not letting on that you know
but the daily paper alwys had her say
even if she was small and never got her way
her voice would drop you as if hit by a knife
she was very lonely and never anyones wife.
she said i am a christian
but christians do not have a tongue like that
she may have gone to church each week
but again her tongue wagged about people
and its sad that she didnt have many friends
right from the age that i knew her and right down to the very end
her rabbitting on would drive the best to drink and the words would flow as if coming from the sink
but she was still my aunt

Nicely done matey

Fred, that's sure a great story poem! Nicely written, the flow and word choice is super . ..

hugs, bev

Pete, can you write a poem about Old Cranleighan?

my aunt mary

Half way there Bev
Bur why Cranlieghan ?

He lived alone atop a big hill that was about a mile short of being a mountain, but some of the locals called it Joy’s Mountain just the same. It was the highest ground in the “Down Neck” area of Maryland’s Eastern Shore. And atop that hillock, my mother’s grandfather, my great grandfather, Edwin Allen Trammell, built the large house and filled its rooms full of stuff the family had collected over many generations. It was a veritable museum of precious, odd, and exotic artifacts and I loved spending hours looking and touching and trying on the persona of their meaning.

“Have you got your toothbrush,” mom asked for the third time and then slipped a tube of Ipanna “Bucky Beaver” Toothpaste into my sack. “And here are your pajamas,” she continued. “Be sure to wear them. It gets cold of nights in that drafty old place. The wind across that knoll from off the water will sometimes take your breath away, even on a June night.”
I nodded, pretending to understand, thinking she meant breathing in the fog and how it’s supposed to cause folks to get the consumption. I knew from school that most of that was pure superstition, but I still respected the old ways and my mother enough not to argue. I was anxious to be away for another summer adventure with my “Uncle Joy.”

It was raining when we got to Uncle Joy’s house. An old watering can stood filling at the spout runoff. How efficient, I thought, that way he didn’t have to draw from the well to water his front plants. Of course the rain was doing a pretty good job of that at the moment, and in a day or so, when the plants needed watering again, the can would still be pretty full.

The coat rack stood behind the disembodied elephant foot umbrella stand as a kind of modern approximation of a tree on the stubby branches of which we humans hung our outer skins. I slipped out of my galoshes and again saw how little my rubber boots seemed next to that big hollow foot. I hung my jacket on a branch peg and caught the stare of a stuffed parrot’s silent gaze. I could still see how beautiful the bird had been. Long after Nature would have recycled it back into the earth I could stare into its glassy eyes and pretend that it might speak if I learned to hear. I couldn’t wait to visit the Den. It was by far my favorite room of my Uncle Joy’s old dilapidated mansion home.

My Uncle Joy had spent his life at sea and on the water. He came home to rest his sea-legs, stash his collected treasures and go back to his travels again. And all of the stuff he had collected over the years filled every room, the basement and attic, too. He loved to tell me about the things that I discovered. And I liked seeing the sparkle in his eyes as he talked.

Uncle Joy never liked being called “Great Uncle.” He said he’d never liked being thought of as a great anything. But he was to me anyway, and is yet today, as in my memories we yet walk the marshes fishing his traps.

Michael Schultz © June 14, 2010 (1131)

What a beautiful and intreging read.. I only wish this were a novel so \i could continue.
Mike you write so well. I would have been in my element to explore such a stash of hidden treasures.
How nice that you still hold them memories so dear and relive the fishing trips by heart.
Thanks for sharing.

Oh, I don't know Pete:-) I saw it's not far from where you live, and I like the name of the town!

I just love it I can throw a prompt at you and AWAYYOUGOOOOOOOOO

Beautiful writing Mike. I sure love the old days and old ways. Don't know if you knew, but I was born in Olney, Maryland. My mother Esther, and brother, Lee Scott are buried in The National Cemetery in Baltimore. Maryland is a beautiful state. I want to take David to the Inner Harbor and also, Fort McHenry!

Interesting vignette, Mike. Thanks for sharing in our prompt . ...

bev

It is closer to where I lived as a child than where I am now

Wonderful! Wonderful writing description:-) Thanks Pete. So there isn't anything there anymore . . . wow. But the name: Cranleighan, sounds so appealing. Sounds full of history too.

Again, thanks for humoring me. I guess I like to show you off every now and again .. ..

bev

I looked at it on Google Maps I lived about 20 miles from there at one time, and worked in that area for a while.
Sue went to Tolworth School not far from it either

Cranlieghan has been engulfed by London now but has a history of sport going back over 100 years

Lucie wrote:What a beautiful and intreging read.. I only wish this were a novel so \i could continue.

Mike, You are such a wonderful story-teller..I agree with Lucie that this could be the beginning of a great novel, I wanted to turn the page and continue reading about your adventures in the old house and all its treasures within.
A Fantastic read!! well done and lets have more!!! xxxx