Yeah! Another lovely, poety week with plenty of laughs.

Yeah! Another lovely,  poety week with plenty of laughs.

Giving it with the Dead Donkey story - Jane Sharp

Have you ever been to a Barnsley Wedding - Lee Pollard

Tales of Whatever - The Shakespeares, Sheffield 19/9
Tales of Whatever Sheffield mixes seasoned performers and speakers, all sharing true stories of first-hand experiences. Hosted by Mark Powell and Lee Moore.

Sean Morley fresh from his highly successful Edinburgh run.

Lee Pollard is a performance poet who has recently taken an enforced absence from reciting poems after badly burning the inside of his right ear with the filling from a steak and kidney pie.

Sile Sibanda is passionate about entertaining and bringing joy to people through performance and recently won BBC Radio Sheffield’s This Is Me competition.

Valerie Monti Holland has built a career using creative techniques in prisons, schools and organizations across the public, private and voluntary sectors to deliver workshops and training.

(And Jane Sharp - spoken word poet and author making an impromptu appearance)

And the fun didn't end there, me and my girls went to The Venue in Birdwell to see Martin Kemp DJ an 80s night. I have to confess I couldn't stand the pace, and had to abandon the disco/rave/gathering, call it what you will, in favour of my comfy armchair and a quiet cup of tea. Still it was so good to see my family all together.

It all happens in Birdwell

And today, David and I had a stroll across the park to Hoyland and back. We didn't linger to watch the football, but it was good to see a group of young men running up and down the field, you know, testosterone and all that.

And the purpose of our trip to Hoyland, was to visit the Tap and Brew to arrange a date in October, for my book launch and a spoken word afternoon. Well, the landlady was not there so no date fixed today, but watch this space.

So, I thought you may like to hear the impromptu story which I related to a lovely audience at the Shakespeares pub in Sheffield last Thursday evening, subject, Mishap!

The Donkey Is Dead

It all began with one of those crazy ideas. When we lived in Crete we bought an olive grove, and I, in my weirdly, wacky wisdom, thought it might be nice to have a donkey. Well, it wasn't long before an old farmer let it be known that he had a donkey he would give me. It was in a pitiful condition, hooves that were as long as Aladin's pointy slippers, making it very difficult for the old beast to walk, and a mangy coat that was full of ticks. We did try to give our Rosie a pain-free couple of months before she died, but die she did. 

Unfortunately I was in England at the time due to a family crisis, and David had to look after our dying donkey.

Knowing her end was nigh, he took her to our olive grove. The next day she was no more, so he (with the help of a mate) dug a very big hole on our land, slid Rosie into her grave, and covered her over. Unfortunately, someone seeing the grave, and me being off the scene at the time, put two and two together and the rumour went out that David had done away with me and buried me, on the land. It could have been a sticky situation had I not returned in the next few days. R.I.P. Rosie.

I'd be telling porkies if I said I wasn't interested in Brexit and Climate Change, but you know what, there isn't a blind fig I can do about either one, so I have resigned to becoming a passive observer of events. There are all sorts of arguments, for and against Brexit, and the politicians don't seem to be able to agree on one specific outcome, and that isn't just British politicians, the European lot haven't exactly been too helpful as far as I can see. I do find it all very interesting though, if not a bit tedious after three years of trying to exit the European Union. As for Climate Change, my personal carbon footprint, with not having a car, not having flown anywhere for two years, not eating meat, and buying most of my clothes at the charity shop, is quite minuscule.

I think I will make a cake tomorrow, and probably get my arms around Valentino, as for tonight, I'm not a Peaky Blinder's fan so I will just have to settle for The World's Most Expensive Cruise Ships. I like watching the lives of the rich and the slightly insane.

Have a good evening, dear reader, I'm looking forward to chatting again next week.

Love Jane x

I Keep Boris Johnson in the Fridge, and other new poems.

Today I've been to the Poetry Society Stanza meeting in Sheffield. It is held in the Library, and we get together with other poets to put our work forward for comment, and possible improvement. As there is a Harry Potter exhibition on at the moment, we were asked to contribute something on that theme. This is my effort, if you pass by the Library pop in, you may see my poem on display. Obviously, it is written from the point of view of a man. It's not all about me, you know. 

She Put A Spell On Me - Jane Sharp

The minute I saw the black cat, I knew.

I didn’t want to let on I’d clocked it,

so I feigned coolness, talked about the weather,

strange words tripped off my tongue.

latine loqui coactus sum.

The cat grew monkey bits,

a probiscus nose – Nasal Larvatus,

a long tail – Macaca Fascicularis,

and it’s claws began to morph into fingers.

I turned the conversation to philosophy,

‘You strike me as a very deep person’ I said.

Apparet te habere ingenium profundum.

I knew I was talking her language. And I could.

It didn’t go down well. The cat arched its back

like a medieval bridge, the Pont de Diavolo, hissed,

in cantatorum tuorum vehementem. Spells.

She must have sensed my fear, my battle with reality,

but she ignored it, handed me another cocktail,

saying, ‘Drink this.’ I knew I shouldn’t have, but I did. 

When I looked again, the cat was a tiger.

Et vidi cum Tigride Catus.

O Harrius Potter, ubi eras quando opus vestrum?

(Where were you when I needed you?)

Last week David and I did an Owl Walk with Steven Ely (brilliant poet) round Elsecar. We had a guided tour of the Newcomen Beam Engine and a night walk around the village. I fancy my ancestors may have been looking on, as I can go back four generations in Elsecar with my Royston blood.

 The next day, taking advantage of the bright Autumn weather, we headed for Birdwell woods and Rockley Iron Works. The colours were wonderful. There were lots of  ambers, reds, crisp golden browns and marmalade tinted leaves to crunch underfoot. And we were able to hike up a good appetite for lunch at the Cock Inn, before going home.



I also attended a poetry workshop which was about political poetry and how nursery rhymes are often based on politics, e.g. The Grand Old Duke of York, or Humpty Dumpty. It was a good chance to get together with other poets from the area, and hear their work. These is my 'political' poems, just to show I wasn't idle at the workshop.

Once Defrosted Use Within 24 Hours -  Jane Sharp

1.

I keep Boris Johnson in my freezer

just on the chance I need a blond geezer

who, like a packet of deep frozen peas

survives quite well at minus two degrees

It’s a wibbly, wobbly packet, but then

he’s noted for being one of those men

who can be shaky, in fact, unstable

sure enough when defrosted he’s able

to cause chaos, mayhem, turmoil, it’s like

watching a whirlwind whip snow off a pike

Sometimes, however he’s just the right bloke

to serve at a party, crack a good joke

2.   

I keep Boris Johnson in my freezer,

along with Chris Grayling, and Theresa.

They came in a packet of frozen MPs

I bought, to de-swell my arthritic knees.

Some say, deep-frozen are better than fresh,

and, if you can find them, back-benchers are best,

but even though my MPs ’re high profile

they’re about as sweet as a crocodile.

They’re a moribund bunch, a misshaped mix,

effective enough for a short sharp fix,

but I doubt even these stonyfaced MPs

will ever relieve my arthritic knees.

However, I’ll keep them in my freezer -

Bumbling Boris, Cross Chris and Theresa,

their packet is near to its sell by date,

and I’ll throw it out soon, at any rate.

Next time I’ll buy Birds Eye frozen peas,

go au naturelle, take vitamin Bs,

fill up the freezer with iced G & Ts,

and forget all about my arthritic knees.

Close Encounter at the Ritz – Jane Sharp

Mary Jane went to the Ritz

For supper with her daughter,

When old Wino showed his bits

She said: ‘you shouldn’t ‘ave aught – t’.

Wino! Wino! We know you,

We know what you are after,

Mend your ways you fat gnu

Or be prepared for slaughter.’

Well, I had lots of fun writing those. I hope you had fun reading them.

We are on the run up to Christmas, and I have written a little verse for my cards. All in all it has been quite a productive week. I'm going to relax now with a couple of episodes of Game of Thrones before bed-y-bies. 

I hope your weekend is going as week as mine, and that the sun shines on us all tomorrow.

Love and hugs,

Jane x

The South Yorkshire Adventure Begins

Homing is the inherent ability of an animal to navigate towards an original location through unfamiliar areas.

My mother was born at Monk Bretton near Barnsley, my father was born in Rotherham. I have certainly navigated through unfamiliar areas on my journey back to the gene pool, almost 20 years in Greece, and 3 years in London. 

Birdwell, there isn't much to it, a couple of pubs, a post office, hairdressers, a village school and a little Methodist Chapel, oh, and a Pharmacy and doctors surgery. What more does one need? Well, whatever more there is, can be found within a bus ride. (And I think there is a Chinese take-away, a little village shop and a classic car restoration garage).

This is our new home, and we love it.

 We decided to come to live in Yorkshire when it was quite obvious that the small pension we get was not going to be enough to sustain us in Bromley, where the rent on our one bedroom flat was just too much for our purse to stand.

Now we have a two bedroom little house, with a south facing garden big enough for a decent size man-shed. How good is that. And the rent is half the price.

OK, Barnsley is not Bromley, but Meadow Hall Shopping Centre is not far away, and Sheffield is only a short train journey. I am sure we are going to have fun checking out the many antique sale rooms, and garden centres in the area.

We are in the countryside and have already had our boots on and stamped our footprints along a fabulous bridleway. There are lots of horses and ponies in the fields. It's a far cry from the coal mines and coke works that used to fill the landscape around Barnsley.

I won't deny that it was a wrench to leave our daughter, Jo, and grandson, Jack, in the South, and I can't wait for them to visit. But now we are near to our son, David, our two lovely granddaughters, Star and Jade, and mum Tracy.

I shall continue to trip down to London every month, Beckenham isn't getting rid of me. I have church organ to play, and poetry to write, not to mention friends to meet for lunch, and plenty of mum-daughter days to enjoy.

So, the South Yorkshire Adventure begins! In fact it has already begun. Life is good!

Talk again soon, have a brilliant weekend dear reader.

Love Jane x