a nebula of apathy
dims the moral high ground
there is nothing enlightening to unearth
atop Mount Virtue
no reward at all
however cathartic
the climb

looking down from the crest
the ever open canopy
the lush savannah plains
a land the Blameless
claim to be a defiled Eden
a place of half-forgotten passion
of raw lust
of biased life

consumed with envy
he dropped to his knees and
wept tears of

the girl Lilith was
born of Mother Earth

once a self-righteous
poker faced nincompoop
named her an
‘unclean animal’

from the watcher’s chaste vantage point
and remorse riddled remembrance
‘animal’ was appropriate enough
he bore the scars to prove it yet
‘unclean’ an unfortunate
cruel satire

certainly, and
to his cost
he could verify her…
‘unrepressed appetite’
she who would and had
eaten him up and
spat him out
let her cleavage
do the talking
laughed in his face?
he was never quite sure
about that

yet each and every time
he left the stratus behind
went below stairs for
more of the same
she would smile mischievously
call him her archangel
lead him back
from whence he came
pull apart the crisp bedcovers
momentarily hesitate
dismiss the idea
guide him by determined hand
to the work table in the scullery
and let him feast

such was life for His Lordship
and his scullery maid

blue eyed cat full print cover

Herewith the ‘Blurb’ for my new book, a fiction entitled ‘The Blue-Eyed Cat’;
‘A book of mind boggling time-travel, feverish sex, syrupy romance, ho hum history, a dark future, The Moon, Constantinople, Paris and Berlin, human consciousness, infinity, a tongue in cheek take on all things carnal, art for art’s sake and three thoroughly mad yet oh so delightful gals’

Should it take your fancy it can be found at;
I am not entirely sure of other Amazon global links and thus I apologize for not revealing them here. However, were you interest in this book a search on local Amazon using my name should suffice.

31 thoughts on “THE SCULLERY MAID

    1. Very kind of you, Ms S. I still heed your advice, by the way. It was some time ago you pointed out that one should never eliminate unused words. Stuck within a maze of possibilities just a couple of days back, your advice did the trick as quite out of the blue I recalled a few hundred words on the back burner that fitted the thing I was writing like Cinderella’s foot did the slipper! You have my thanks. Best wishes, The Cold, Old Fool…temps have dropped this day in these parts.

  1. You are a very gifted and talented writer that creates images and stories that evoke real emotion. I admire your work…
    All the best to you and my greetings from Spain,

  2. Fantastic job Mike, this is so free, it tumbles and takes the reader with it. My favoutire lines appeared instantly . . .

    ‘a nebula of apathy
    dims the moral high ground’ – As perfect as it gets in wordage.

    This is not to say the rest isn’t just as good, I just always fine a couple of jewels draw me back repeatedly with good poetry.

    I read this four times. I’m going to read it again.

    – Esme Cloud tumbling through again

    1. I wrote this one back in 2013 then forgot all about it…as one does. You’re not of this world; you’ll understand. To say that you’ve made a little better the ruins of my day with such kind words is far too easy, although ‘tis meant. This, Ms Esme is the day fortune did not favour my dear Shirl. History always catches up with itself. You see back in the early 70’s, a slip of a gal, while heading home on a dubious aeroplane travelling back from the south of France she burst her eardrums. Only now, all these years gone has that event caught up with her. The nice perma-smile doctor chap heralding from New Zealand let her know deafness is her new tomorrow. I offered her my own ears yet she isn’t to taken with my lobes…a touch too large for a gal. Not since the birth of our son have I shed proper tears. A different variety of tears this time. Impotent, all I can do is make her laugh. Do stay your wonderful insane self. Once more a thank you. The Old Fool

      1. Oh my dear Old Fool, I’m deeply sorry to find this is the case, I understand your tears better than most, for, much as I give away little often, I am a little further down Shirl’s path, it has been gradual, and I too burst an ear drum a few years back, though the cause with me is linked to otherness, and my two hearing aids are going to be redundant at some point. I send you both love and no matter what, having each other and the lovely George will make a vast difference to going down said path alone. Also, subtitles on films can be bloody hilarious when they say completely different things to the speech (so my hearing Cloud telleth me). A little light for you there as best I can give it.

        I’ll stay nuts if you do. ❤

        – Esme hugging them both tight upon the Cloud Xxx

      2. Given that you are up there in the cloud having taken the punch of misfortune and are still standing proud most inspiring. Your words of positivity are magnetic it seems. Already she talks of an Edwardian ear trumpet with which to frighten small children. Twixt the pair of us, and just for the satire of it all, we have confirmed that we only share four signals in terms of sign language. There is Churchill’s V for Victory; the reverse of same for those we wish to go forth and multiply; the rigid digit indicating that its recipient should ‘swivel’…I sign that has little meaning to me as I question exactly ‘why?’ I would wish another to ‘swivel’ and lastly the constant wrist stokes used more commonly by white van drivers bent upon insulting others. Plainly the day will arrive when we shall have to invent some more of our own. As ever, she seeks fun over misery. Regardless, your words are words I have been touched by. My thanks.

      3. I swear she and I must have been related in another life readind this, I’ve been tooting on about ear trumpets for years, hahahaha. Out of all barring love, humour is our finest armour and largest, most comforting, bugs bunny onesie. It’s a family trait for Esme and for you three too (not 32).

        I promise to stop touching you if you stop calling the police.

        – Esme doing her best Marcel Marceau upon the Cloud ❤

      4. You both do sound rather similar. Ear trumpets tell no lies. What would this world be like were it not for kindly nutters? Monotone humankind with passions only for a worn out soap opera, I suspect. Yes, dear Shirl was touched with the funny magic wand at birth and her spell was cast for all time. All of this reminded me of a poem I wrote her, possibly 10 years back yet it didn’t climb into the blog until 2014.
        May this day be one in praise of those blessed with a healthy madness too few will ever understand. Good on you, Ms Esme


        – Esme Cloud loving the poem and glad they got a room and then a George

    1. I’ve never before been named a ‘blooming genius’, young Ms Holly, more often the exact opposite. It is thus that I shall dine out on this. My sincere thanks, The Old Fool

    1. Oh for those pliable halcyon days when spines were spines; when knees did not creak; when tables were one’s oyster. It mattered not a jot if they were dining, kitchen or Arthurian round tables. Passion takes no prisoners when it comes to tables…Plato, I believe. It was only when she said, ‘Would a step ladder help, dear?’ that I knew my table days were done with. When she added, ‘There’s always the carpet’ I was a broken man. Such cruel torture, one knows not whether to laugh or weep. Mostly I laugh. I do hope said post touches down soon. Regards, The Old Fool of Unyielding Spine

      1. I hate that creaking! My left elbow creaks.
        Not a lot of carpeting around here. It holds odours, and I’m not the best at housework. I like the wood floors. I just swab them down, smells great!
        I guess that just leaves elevators.

      2. I have a life long fear of elevators. Back seats are long since off the menu. I’m doomed. What I’d give for an elbow that creaks. Have a fine day, young Ms Resa. Regards, The Old Fool

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