FYBF - The Early Hours

I have no idea what the theme will be for today's FYBF. I have no inkling of what I should be writing of. It is 4.30 in the morning and I am up insolently insomniacing again.




I do not suffer from this as frequently as I once did, or maybe it is a lull in my slackening sleep cycle... a minute respite in the big scheme of my life? But it does not matter, for here and now I am awake once more.

I am not here often nowadays. The driven need for the written word has left me; well, that and the fact that I am quite aware of the poisonous eyes who peruse these pages, yearning for a tainted titbit, a morsel of information they can take and twist, a last minute grasp of evil to be used before we leave the school by which we are connected.
 *Waves* Grins* Laughs at how powerless and small these amoeba women are*

My life and the joy in it must seriously frustrate the fuck out of those two.

Life moves on.

It is 4.30am.

My younger son, for all the turmoil of this year and the actions of those who should know better, aced his Year 7 NAPLAN. Seriously ACED. My older son is blossoming more and more, thriving in the hothouse nature of his small private high school, the nurturing, student-focused, positive atmosphere suiting him to a tee. And he has a lead role in the local drama group's play. My son with ASD has a LEAD ROLE IN A PROFESSIONAL PRODUCTION.

I still miss my mum.

Oh, and my body is aging faster than my paper years. Which is why I wrote this:

*Madmother Ode*

I went off to me doctor

To get me bits all right

She prodded and she poked

Those bits all outa sight

Made me go have pictures

Of inside and of out

Drained me of my blood stuff

(All Twilight fans be proud)

Then she sat me down hard

Solemn and so glum

Told me I was broken

And need to stop me fun

Revealed my knees are dodgy

Some new ones needed soon

And no more derby dancing…

Well, that threw me into gloom

She hauled me off my grog too

Many, many months ago

But whilst my liver smiles more

There’s still a way to go

But I ain’t some little fairy

Not delicate and such

Not gonna go so quietly

It’s time to make a fuss

So, knees just suck it up loves

And liver, you’ll be fine

And if the pain is too much

I’ll just increase the wine!

~Copyright Madmother~

Apologies to those who already read it on FB.

Enough of the drivel. It is now nearly 5am and I am waiting for the sun to rise. We need to order water. We need to go to work. We need to ready the boys for the last day of the second last term of the year.

That is all folks. Toodles!

We Haz Fame!

Remember this little guy?

Before he grew all big and tall and confident? Well a funny thing happened on the way to puberty. As an intense part of his younger speech therapy days was daily rhyming and poetry. Now the young Boy 1 used to write beautiful poems and was quite unimpressed with his Madmother trying to make light of it with terms such as poo, bum, and the worst one - fart being used. Anyhoos, he soldiered through and with some one-on-one brainstorming sessions produced some pretty damn good poems. Most of which were lost in the drunk drive fiasco - remember that? No? Before blog time methinks.

Fast forward to the world of today. A writing contest is being touted at the school. Can be old, new, poems or prose. Both boys decide to submit older work. Boy 2's poem is one of the first things I posted when I started my blog. Boy 1's was even older. He wrote it in Grade 1, yes in those intense rhyming days. Now, I was so proud (as was his speechie) that I posted this on an autism poetry website. With copyright (whilst his christian name was on the piece, oh and age = 7, it was my name that appeared after the little circled c) held by moi truly! So, although I luckily had a copy saved in a file on my work pc, I figured save time google. Google is a very useful tool, let me say.



You wanna know what I found?

This poem (without permission I might add) has been used:

• in a brochure for an American university's autism programme
• in a sermon
• in a play
• on a FB page for a support group in Maritius
• in a school website
• in a book - this one gets me as it is a bestseller and the author should have known better. Am following this up as we speak.

Now, the site it was posted originally on is pretty clear about copyright, and my name and contact details were obtainable. Half of me is beaming in pride at my very talented boy, the other half is seriously pissed that people take liberties like this. The university has been great, and I have, with a few conditions, given permission to continue using it. The author - well, that one is pending.

I'm also wondering if the competition judges will accuse him of plagiarism seeing as you can google it and it comes up so many places. Am going to talk to the teacher today to let her know.

And no, I'm not posting it here, I've learnt my lesson on THAT one!

My boy haz famze!

Greeting Card Poetry and Other Drivel.

For those unfamiliar with me on here, or even irl, I am a bit of a puerile poem profligate. I call them my greeting card poems - you know, the sort of rhyming drivel that briefly charms then sours like eating a large packet of jelly belly beans in one sitting?

I also have been know to dissect a good song and mutilate transform it into my own little ditty. Prime examples are my Blog This Challenge winning rewrite of a Midnight Oil classic (yes, I did just sit and do spirit fingers dancing in the instrumental bit); and also my rehash of Hey Soul Sister by Train for a friend. The second was bloody difficult I might add. won't be doing THAT in a hurry again, let me tell you.

But it is my little poems of fun that tend to burst forth at the strangest times. Like the comp over at WoogsWorld atm. Don't get me wrong - the comment ditty I entered is all pretty damn accurate, it just is rhymingly accurate. Bit tragic I guess. Oh, and the rude versions of Christmas songs me and kids have made up. Those I best not post, or your view of me as a delicate little petal may be forever tainted. Really.

And of course I cannot leave out my fundraising efforts, and school projects.

Things like the magnet hand cut out with a marble on the thumb:

Happy Mother’s Day Mum,

I thought I’d lend a hand

Cause I know you are so busy

And always in demand.

On it is a marble

For you to have to put away

I KNOW you lose your marbles

As you tell me everyday.

So next time I annoy you,

And make you tear your hair

Just look upon the fridge Mum,

And your marble will be there!

Or the door hanger, again with marble:

Please Do Not Disturb

Do not dare to enter here

Cause inside is a madwoman

Known to you as “Mother Dear”

Today has not been good to me

I’m losing the whole plot

You know I love you dearly

But some space would mean a lot

I think I’m losing all my marbles

Nothing is very clear

But when you feel I’ve lost them all

You can show me this one here!

Oh, and lastly - my interpretation of the Jar of Nothing:

When I asked you what you wanted,

For Father’s Day this year

I know I heard growled: “Nothing!”

It was so very clear.

I’m sure I heard you right,

When at last you made reply,

Did you not say nothing

As I looked you in the eye?

Now, I searched all sorts of places

High and low and here and there

Until I found the perfect gift

(It is all full of air.)

So next time when I ask you

Sincerely what you need

Recall this Jar of Nothing

And answer properly please.

See, I should be writing for a greeting card company! Now, go to Woogsworld and have a go at winning her JVC camera giveaway.

Indulging the Child Within (a satirical look at being a...)

"If you lie down with dogs

You get up with fleas!"

My old Mum always said

When I would get teased

By people around me,

So-called friends at the school

Until they'd be influenced

By those they thought cool.

So now I am grown up

An adult it seems

Those days should be long past

Mere remnants of dreams

Well, I am disappointed

To find things just as bad

Friends turning their heads

Although mates are sad

If others attack

A friend, so you say

You cannot ignore it

It won't go away

And I must tell you

When you start to itch

If you lie down with dogs

You wake up a bitch!

Fresh Meat... Ooops, I mean Yippee: New Followers!

104...104... Oh how fun, I've made the score!

Beat the ton, and then some more,

Cannot believe it... 104!

105, 106... Oh I don't mean to be a bitch

But if numbers rise my fever will pitch

Could you imagine... 106?

107, 108, 109 I do await

What can I use to be the bait?

Would I be happy at 108...

201, no -  202, oh my lord, can I do?

A girl can dream, how about you?

Can you help me to 202?

1003, 1004... I'm starting to panic, can't handle more.

Cannot breathe, the excitement is raw

The room is spinning, 1000 and...

*Thump*     floor.

Bloggers Lament

It’s really pissed me right off

I honestly don’t know why

One minute I am popular

The next all seems to die

I have this little counter

To check who is looking when

It froze up for a day or so

Then soon began again

But since this tiny, short glitch

Something weird, it has occurred

My huge amounts of viewers

Have all gone south with the birds

So I really must now question

If I've lost my magic touch

My posts are they too boring

Do I sometimes spill too much?

It truly has me puzzled

Now I ponder, frown and pout

This blog thing has me worried

Could you please give me a shout

And tell me where I went wrong

To change a hundred down to ten

That must be a new record

Will they come back, if yes, WHEN?

For now my muse has vanished

She just packed her bags and left

She was too disappointed

To remain here all bereft

Shh, the echoes are quite scary

The shadows spook me too

I sit looking around here

And wonder: “Where are you?”

 
 

 
 

A Quick Link

to my creative writing blog.

Just in case you want it.

Madmother: Little Woven Words

An Example of my Bad Poetry

This was written a few months back. One of the few not on my MySpace blog of old.

PAIN

Can you hear that?

It is the sound of my heart breaking, again.

Like the arctic ice shattering

Or a fine crystal glass hitting the floor.

A thousand small shards shooting into darkened corners

They will be gathered and fitted jigsaw-like together

Bound tightly with tape

Only a few small pieces missed, unseen.

And my brittle smile will hide the piercing pain

As each tiny shard puncture internally when I move

Rupturing life, seeping blood, killing me quietly.

The Midnight Hour

Hush little one

The midnight hour approaches

Out comes ghouls and corpses

Covered in roaches

Crawling the earth

Without a sound

Hush otherwise

You are going down

Little one, it's almost over

Here comes a dead security guard

Little one you will find it hard

When you see an egyptian mummy

Now next time you will be,

Before you know it, a zombie!

Not quite 10 years old, I don't know where he gets his warped intelligence from. Okay, so I was a weird kid too.