they tuck you up

Some poor innocent thought Larkin must have had meant, tuck instead of fuck. So some kind soul wrote a parody of the original, "This be the worst".

This be the worst

They tuck you up, your mum and dad,
They read you Peter Rabbit,too.
They gave you all the treats they had
And add some extra, just for you.

They were tucked up when they were small,
(Pink perfume, blue tobacco-smoke),
By those whose kiss healed any fall,
Whose laughter doubled any joke.

Man hands on happiness to man,
It deepens like a coastal shelf.
So love your parent all you can
And have some cheerful kids yourself.

I forget who was the author....so no credits for now.

poem unquickened

As promised.

They fuck you up, your mum and dad.
They may not mean to, but they do.
They fill you with all the faults they had
And add some extra, just for you.

I have it on good authority there are Hitler and Mao Tze Dong mums and dads around. But wait. I digress. There's more.

But they were fucked up in their turn
By fools in old-style hats and coats,
Who half the time were soppy-stern
And half at one another's throats.

Man hands on misery to man.
It deepens like a coastal shelf.
Get out as early as you can,
And don't have any kids yourself.

Philip Larkin-
This be the verse.

A gloomy view of life for my little girl. There is always, always another side to the coin, and we will get to that other view another day. Post to come as counterpoint to Philip Larkin's world view

poem quickie

Ok super quick one, bit from the first line.

They fuck you up, your mum and dad

Post the rest later. Firefox not playing nice today.

poetry quickie

Ok. Posting another poem, except I've decided to quickie it. Just the opening paragraph....

Give me the strongest cheese, the one that stinks best;

and I want the good wine, the swirl in crystal

surrendering the bruised scent of the blackberries,

or cherries, the rich spurt in the back

of the throat, the holding it there before swallowing.

For desire-Kim Addonizo

Food and life, in XXL proportions. Whats not to like.The rest of the poem is pretty good too. If you make it this far, it continues...

Give me the lover who yanks open the door

of his house and presses me to the wall

in the dim hallway, and keeps me there until I'm drenched

and shaking, whose kisses arrive by the boatload

and begin their delicious diaspora

through the cities and small towns of my body.

To hell with the saints, with the martyrs

of my childhood meant to instruct me

in the powers of endurance and faith

to hell with the next world and its pallid angels

swooning and sighing like Victorian girls.

I want this world. I want to walk into

the ocean and feel it trying to drag me along

like I'm nothing but a piece of scratched glass,

and I want to resist it. I want to go

staggering and flailing my way

through the bars and back rooms,

through the gleaming hotels and the weedy

lots of abandoned sunflowers and the parks

where dogs are let off their leashes

in spite of the signs, where they sniff each

other and roll together on the grass, I want to

lie down somewhere and suffer for love until

it nearly kills me, and then I want to get up again

and put on that little black dress and wait

for you, yes you, to come over here

and get down on your knees and tell me

just how fucking good I look.

nasty picts

Papa got to trying the little cam on a moving object without the zoominess of Summer. Results as follows.

Original but resized too big to fit otherwise


Crop of original.


Not going to crop again, as things look scary enough....

Back to the original but with a bit of retouching and a bit of crop