Love is:

There is a story behind my new love affair of the high heel.  Up till this year I have been ony wearing flats and running shoes.  Then I got this new casual business dress job and I had to wear more dressy shoes, enter the wedge.  I started there and then this pair is my first heel, high heel.   I love these shoes and wore them for their first time today.  They are Kumfs in amazing condition and I only paid $8.00 for them in a secondhand shop!

I feel longer and stronger and just feminine in these shoes.  I now have these, a gray pair, a red pair, a black cloth pair and my latest that I will try tomorrow a gorgeous blue leather which are the highest yet.  Scary but I will up date you on whether or not I break an ankle in them – fingers crossed I do not, as my broken ribs are more than enough at the moment!  Photo of the blue dreamy shoes to come.

I also fell in love with the London Fly shoes that I found in a little boutique shoe shop. These shoes are incredible and I must, simply must have a pair (yeah lets go with A pair).



Lamenting Love

Day 2 —Tell about a character who lost something important to him/her.

Louise had been busy all day.  The secretarial pool was buzzing with all the edits of the latest novel to be published.  There were a lot of pages with red marks and the suggested changes that the typists had to implement.   It is odd with this type of work, the typist jumped from red mark to red mark making the required changes but not really reading the work as a whole.

Louise had been working on the first and last chapters, it was a random assignment on who got what part of the work.

Jeremiah looked at her.  

Really looked at her.  

Not past her or through her.

She felt his every observation like a whisper thin caress on her skin.

The words “Jeremiah looked at her.  Really looked at her.  Not past her or through her and she felt his every observation like a whisper thin caress of her skin” broke through her concentration.  She stopped tying and considered what that would feel like.  To have the man she loved or even just the one with her, to actually look at her.

In that moment, Louise realised that in her 50 years this had happened to her.  A man had looked at her like this and that she had felt the cool caress of his thoughts.  It was so long ago but suddenly it felt like yesterday and she mourned the loss of it from her memory as she returned to typing her assignment.

Later than night, in her home with a glass of red wine, Louise looked through her scrapbook from her teens.  She came across a photo of her younger self in a bright red strapless dress with matching high heels, standing on a dance floor facing her dance partner.  The other people on the dance floor faded into nothing but her partner and the look he was giving her, which she could still see in the old photo was a look she had dismissed at the time.

Too much alcohol and the giddy influence of the threshold of adulthood, Louise had dismissed the look and the accompanying expression of love. She had returned home from the dance, packed her bags and left for secretarial school, leaving her dance partner, Mathew, behind. Suddenly, Louise tasted tears on her lips, mingling with the wine as she remembered her lost love.  Realising in that moment what she had lost.

On a desperate whim she rang the number of the house Mathew used to live in with his parents.  A dwelling in their home town from so long ago.

“Hello?” responded a deep melodious male voice.

“Mathew?” she gently whispered back.

“Louise, is that you?”

Author note:

I am not sure I answered the prompt correctly.  My story is more focussed on the loss than Louise who lost it.  I might need another attempt at this.

A Noble Dear Real Entity

Love can be a very layered gift

Without which we feel bereft

We should receive it from each relative

Which they should want to freely give


But when they don’t the pain is deep

Every moment from then can seep

Doubt, making us question our value

From a life well lived we withdrew


We have a picture of who we are

Through a pain diversified, traveling far

Every relationship is questioned

Learning a harsh unnecessary lesson


You may not have those who should

Instead you have those that would

Love you as you truly deserve

Without judgement or reserve




Chicken works out

Now you may find exercise a trial

But look at the extra mile

That Chicken will go

To let me know

That she loves me

And wants me happy

She just makes me smile

When she contorts for a while

Showing her white belly

More entertaining than telly

Till she falls and we all must pretend

That this was not the episode end



Her sit ups – she can get quite high before falling back



Her twist


You can just make out her tail on the side of the chair in this last photo (she may or may not have fallen off the chair – I can not confirm or deny at this time – yes she is watching me)

The plea

Unwrap me before you decide
Your words cut through my pride
Don’t judge me on my size
I am no booby prize
Or the noises I make on moving
My voice is very soothing
I don’t think I smell but maybe
Look beyond what you see
Please listen to what I say
Do not interpret another way
Be there for me as I am for you
Always say words that are true
Please never mock me
This is who I be
Get to know me first
I will never be your worst

In cells we sit

Third Rate Romance

Tell us your funniest relationship disaster story.


Our eyes met through the bars of our individual cells.  It made getting a full impression of how we looked disjointed.  Even jockeying to get a better position look just moved the position of each barrier to our view.   Face it, where we were was only ever going to offer a disjointed perspective of who we were.

We could almost touch through the bars, but being constantly jostled meant that touch was fleeting.  We couldn’t hear each other over the constant noise of this place.  All we knew was what we saw and it seemed we both liked that.

Eventually the wardens changed and we were “cared” for by a single inept individual that somehow mixed the populations.  I managed to slip into his cage and fought my way to him.  I could see the need in his eyes and he was equally fighting to get to me.

While everyone else was seeking escape in this unexpected moment, we sought only to be together.  To move beyond simple eye contact to full contact and all that might bring with it.

We finally touched and found our corner of intimacy.  I will spare you the details of our blending but lets just say it was satisfying!  The wardens returned and righted the chaos of the inept individual and we were once more separated.

However I was gifted by pregnancy and in time gave birth to 22 splendid blends of me and him.  It was blissful (I choose to forget the details) and in time he was able to greet his male offspring.  And even when they left, we had our moments of sight to keep us enthralled.

Such is the love of rats, brief and fertile.





There is no reason to be late
My love for you cannot wait
I care for you down to my soul
This love will take no toll

Do you need to know my name?
Or is this a guessing game?
Guess who your stalker may be
Then hope they set you free

But is that what you want most 
Or can you learn to love the host 
Staying with them forever more 
The host you come to truly adore 

Can you really choose to leave?
A loss you will surely grieve 
That missing face when you turned
Photos in your memory burned

Do not spend your life alone
Manners you begin to hone
So you can go on a  first date
And find your near perfect mate

I wish you well and hope you find 
Something that will ease your mind 
Hand in hand through the ages
Foretold by the ancient sages 

Um ! ?

Hate to Love:  Tell us about a guilty pleasure that you hate to love.

I am completely stuck on this one.  You have guilt and pleasure, hate and love but putting them altogether is just confusing me.  I have never understood “guilty pleasure”.  If its a pleasure why would it make me feel guilty?

I guess if I watched Coronation Street (I know this is like a cult thing for many people including my parents, but … err … why?), Shortland Street (I spend the whole programme correcting all the poor medical inaccuracies, not much pleasure in that and I was banned from watching again … sigh) or Geordie Shore (Even though I only watch the television advertisements of this – I am seriously like what the heck?).  Maybe concern for my IQ means if I watched and enjoyed these images I should be found guilty of something?  Poor television censorship maybe?

I love food treats, comfort eating etc etc but although I obtain great pleasure in consuming them, I am an adult.  As long as I could pay for them, I don’t feel guilty in doing so.  Maybe if I bought my beloved iced coffee, rather than paying the power bill (and yes iced coffee is getting that damn expensive) I might have pleasure, followed swiftly by no lights on in the house and an irate hubby, and I guess guilt because I stole from the power bill fund.

I do experience delayed guilt.  I will do something for pleasure and then later, way overthink the impulse of doing so.  Guilt sets in, ruining long term pleasure derived in that moment but I still have the actual moment. I just see little point in doing something for pleasure and then letting guilt ruin it.  Often, I can feel like I do not deserve to feel pleasure because I am so messed up but that guilt resides in another place, than in the pleasure I am trying to simply enjoy.

So, maybe if I slept around on hubby but it was really, really good sex, then that pleasure might be tainted with guilt.  But then if I willingly go for sex with someone not my hubby, is guilt really something a cold hearted cheat is going to care about?  Okay – maybe if I get caught and my whole world falls apart, guilt might be the smart way to prevent a homicide situation but um this is seeming a little calculated.

I am also confused by the love to hate part.  I love things and I hate things (well 2 people) but I don’t love that which I hate.  Although, since one of those 2 people is my abuser, maybe I love that now I can hate him.  Back when I was under his control (and stupid!) I guess I loved him but hated how much he hurt me all the time.  Does that qualify.    I think I just got more confused.

I might leave this one right here before I feel guilty for the pleasure I am getting in confusing my own thinking, while thinking.  I almost feel the urge to sneak a peek at some one else’s answer to see if I might sort this out but then the guilt of cheating and um …


Love/Hate - love Photo

Source: Google search – Love/hate


A reflection of strength

This poem is dedicated to Andre who requested the theme that it explores.


What gives me the strength to carry on?

Amidst the inner turmoil, illness and fear

It took me time to really consider this

To step away from the negative thinking


The first source of strength is my husband

He understands me and loves me still

He walks beside me, but never for me

Giving me the room to find my own strengths


The next resource is the brother of my heart

His enduring belief in me a source of strength

That I can turn to and never be denied

Unconditional acceptance, a true privilege 


The third source is a woman of grace

She growls her challenge to my assumptions

Quietly asserting what she sees within me

Her friendship is a gift without price, an honour


Number four is a very stubborn woman

One who heals through her life experiences

She speaks with quiet dignity and strength

Calling me sister and embracing my challenges


But where is my inner strength, the core of me?

It is derived in my sheer stubbornness

Tell me I can’t, sure fire guarantees I will

The only limitations are really my self belief


Much of my inner strength is genetic

The women in my family are strong

Confidence in their own capabilities

Enhanced by the mates they choose


I gain strength in the words of others

A phrase, a meme, a comment or a book

Words weave relaxation, escape and joy

Strengthening me in countless ways


Strength can wax and wane like ocean waves

But like those waves, strength not being ‘seen’

In no way denies its continued existence

Always there for me, I just need to reach for it



A challenge to my readers – give me a topic and I will give you a poem about it.