Writing and a Ball Pen

Over the past couple of weeks, when I haven’t been conveying kids to swimming, netball and such things,  I have been very involved with writing — someone else’s. My novel way of earning a living has had me glued to the computer, but trying to avoid the temptations of social media or entertainment while shaping up a manuscript of a devilish fantasy for submission to an interested agent who provided the introduction. The writer is talented, qualified, and experienced, but I think both of us have been surprised at the number of issues which arose nevertheless. One often reads into one’s own work what one’s imagination is expecting to see, which doesn’t always tally with what is actually on paper.

I enjoyed the ‘away’ netball matches below, featuring young (now 9) J near the centre. She certainly gets around. She would throw a ball from one end of the field, and then somehow teleport herself to the other side of it to catch the next throw. or so it seemed.

Not that this field is in a pen, but the ones at her own school are.

Anyway, let me read turn to the manuscript …

© May 2017 Colonialist
Posted in Africa, Editing, Grandchildren, Personal Journal | Tagged , , | 9 Comments

Party Politics and Boiled Sprats

The grandkids’ birthdays seem to last
For several weeks on end;
With parties they will have a blast —
Two, schools; one, family’s;
Two, Spur (on anniversaries);
One big one all the friends to please;
Which send one round the bend!

The preparation which goes into all of this boggles the mind, as well as the political machinations regarding who and who not to invite, and to which party.  Then comes arranging, preparation, and transportation of food, decorations etc. and setting-up. Then there is the time spent on the present-handing-out and appreciation sessions. Finally the careful tally of whom to thank for what.

Many of the presents boggle the mind. J got one a bit advanced for her: an underwater camera which can also be bicycle- or helmet-mounted. I’m sure she’ll come to appreciate it soon.  Apart from her new bicycle R  got a smart watch which seems to do everything but make tea, and grasped its complexities in two seconds flat. It is a pedometer, a computer with access to internet, a phone, and a movie and stills camera. Oh yes, it also tells the time and acts as a stopwatch!

They really are utterly spoiled brats … no, to be fair, they aren’t really brats at all. Only now and again.

© May 2017 Colonialist
Posted in Africa, Grandchildren, Really Awful Rhyme | Tagged , , | 9 Comments

Primitive Family Fuel

(Wordle 298)

Snapped branch, born ash, ash again,

Where smoke-spirits origins show;

From lit limb stories rain

Thin rings from cave that radiates glow.

© May 2017 Colonialist
Posted in Challenge, Poems, Rhyme, Wordle, Wordplay | Tagged , , , , | 6 Comments

Cycle of Birthdays

The day before yesterday young R turned 9 and got a new mountain bike with 21 gears, and tomorrow J turns 6. We went riding at a local Eco Park, which added a spell on a bike to the climbing and swimming and boogie boarding I have done lately. R elected to go to Spur in the evening — kids seem to be much attracted to such Burger-areas.

© May 2017 Colonialist
Posted in Grandchildren, Mountain Bikes, Personal Journal | Tagged , | 21 Comments

Hi, bun, for May Day!

On the first day of a month, the delighted utterance of ‘Rabbits’ is customary in some cultures. These long-eared animals are seen to scamper with particular energy in April, from association with Easter Eggs. When the next month comes, one has had enough, so Mayday is uttered. This comes from the French for ‘Help me’.

M’aidez is what you say
When call for aid should be made …
S.A —Worker’s Day.

(With apologies to all those who take the haibun form seriously.)

© May 2017 Colonialist
Posted in Africa, Poems, Really Awful Rhyme, Wordplay | Tagged , , , | 2 Comments

Repeating Like Beans and Soda

The final prompt for GloPoWriMo for 2017, and one which will enable me (after frantic catching-up) to qualify as having written 30 poems in 30 days, is to write a poem about something that happens again and again’:

This poem should not be about,
I think it quite safe to declare,
The taking of ones false teeth out
Or brushing of ones hair. 

For greater depth, perhaps It should
Go in for political stuff,
Like voting-in for greed, not good,
Those who cant get enough. 

Or else, religions that crop up
With those saying that theirs is right,
And that all others sell a pup,
And all such, one should fight.

 Or scientists who theories claim
Are proven without any doubt,
Until someone some new ones frame.
And throws those old ones out.

Like ones who species must rename
Because of a difference slight,
And cause those who deserve the fame
To vanish out of sight. 

Or those who mega-bucks will rake
From being on stage or in sport,
While folk who some real difference make
Get nothing of the sort. 

Or history that repeats itself,
And people who then will declare.
No more such things come off the shelf!
(Until that shelfs next bare!)

© April 2017 Colonialist
Posted in Challenge, GloPoWriMo, Really Awful Rhyme, verse | Tagged , , | 7 Comments

Esoteric Wordle on Life, Universes and Everything

For Wordle 297, some simple linking of the words in order given produces a piece which could be total nonsense … or a deeply profound thought. It all hinges (as with so much poetry) on how widely the imagination is allowed to roam.

Life’s spiral chips from sum

To list and settle life of saints,

Sing prayers to stem itch come

When tangled lace makes run its paints.

© April 2017 Colonialist
Posted in Challenge, Philosophy, Poems, Rhyme, Wordle | Tagged , , | 9 Comments