I met an absolutely gorgeous swoony sort of chap just the other day at the garden centre where I was busy fondling a sapling whilst at the same time shedding a tear for a wilting bonsai. With so many people about I had, of course, kept my kit on. Anyway the chap I met worked there I think. He said his name was Casper and he was ever so tall with blond flowing Nordic locks and a most handsome face. I ceased to swoon temporarily while we smiled at one another yet as I stood up from my bodily caressing of the precious baby tree and reached up to run my fingers through my somewhat matted tresses I noticed a change in Casper’s demeanour as he spotted the veritable rug of hair about my armpits. In point of fact his lips curled in horror and he turned his gaze to the floor. After that he made mumbled excuses and went about his way at a good pace.
Such is my luck…had it not been such a very hot day I would have worn my trademark woolly jumper over my sleeveless tie-dyed vest and things might have turned out so very differently for Casper and me. Woe is me once more.
Anyway, here is my new extra swoony poem. It may, nay most likely will, be my last.
THEY EVEN TRASHED MY BIKE
I’ve hugged trees in Sherwood Forest
I’ve hugged trees in Richmond Park
I’ve hugged trees in the twilight
I’ve hugged trees under moonlight in the dark
From mighty oaks to weeping willows
I think I’ve hugged the lot
I’ve hugged them in the coldest times
And in summer when it’s hot
Yet soon I feel that tree hugging
Will cease to be my quest
You see I’m going to top myself
For I think that’s for the best
Because nobody doth like me
I am so very alone
There’s not a single name in my contacts list
For my mobile phone
I’ve had a dozen lovers
Yet they all told me the same thing
‘You’re a fucking boring tree hugger
And in all truth your pits do ming’
My pets have all died horrible deaths
Under buses or by lightning strike
My bivouac was torched by activists
And they even trashed my bike
So I think I’ll go and OD
On cornflakes and green tea
Perhaps a pinch of cinnamon
Without fuss, the death of me
So my 54th attempt at leaving this mortal coil behind is upon me. I shan’t of course OD on cornflakes and green tea as that was just a silly billy idea I put in my poem to let my readers know what a dry wit I am. No, this time I’ve decided to try a blend of real ale, bran flakes and laxatives. I may suffer the indignity of dying of dehydration upon the lavatory pan yet it would have been worth the effort. However before I take the plunge through death’s door there’s a nice little cherry tree in a garden up the road that is simply gagging for a hug.
WARNING: Notwithstanding the fact that this is sweet, yet fatally flawed, Jessica’s favourite swoony song, it is with swooning overload in mind that I would strongly suggest you give it a miss. Additionally, should you be so foolish as to cop an earful there is every likelihood you may well feel inclinded to open a vein.
Herewith the ‘Blurb’ for my new book, a fictional story 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;
Amazon UK link: THE BLUE-EYED CAT – PAPERBACK
Kindle UK link: KINDLE EDITION
Amazon US link: THE BLUE-EYED CAT – PAPERBACK
Kindle US link: KINDLE EDITION
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.
- MIKE STEEDEN - 
MAma Mia Mike, I love your wit. I love your posts. Love your huggin poem. It’s awesome great.
My thanks, young Yasmin. In truth I rather like ‘swoony’ people for they do more to save this planet than any others…I just can’t help myself satirising them from time to time. They amuse me. Regards, The Old Fool
The sad demise??? NOOOOOOOOO. Still sounds liek she survived to hug another day
What can I say, Ms S? Oh to be a swooner for it is they who perhaps may save this dying planet of ours. I often wonder if the adorable swooning gal that Jessica is based on is alive and well still, even in her dotage, hugging trees at will like she did in the halcyon days of the weekend hippies. I tried to swoon once yet it wasn’t for me. I tried my level best but my problem was one of laughing too much…and besides I was not too keen on taking my kit off in the woodlands of Surrey as she was prone to do at the drop of a hat. Each to their own.
Mike, you wouldnae hug any trees up hrre right now. Well certainly au naturel. It is that bad. Just glad that comment did post. had torture with the net all day cos of the storm. Very iffy and bitty. Sometimes posting. Sometimes not. I love that this is based on a real person.
Oh Ms. S, according to my phone, the car, the stats on the BBC, this day in Dover was +14 degrees, no less. What none mentioned was the wind chill factor. My visitation to the Russians cafe resulted in frozen hands that felt no pain. Having said that, it sounds like got something much worse. I want spring to show its face.
Well right now it is perishing the wind that is cutting right through this house but what I am seeing on the TV looks horrendous and at least we are up a hill so safe from flooding.I hope your hands are ok. I have had a horrible week with mine.
It’s certainly been vile weather wise these last few weeks. If the wind alone coming in from the west through the Channel wasn’t enough, it’s day after day of rain. Depressing. I guess we should count our blessings as I see it’s freezing temps up in Scotland. Why name it Storm Denis? It has too friendly a title for a storm that roars. I do trust your hands discover themselves again. It’s been a tad on and off with me. The fingerless, copper thread gloves have made a genuine difference, most of the time. Enjoy your day, Ms S.
Enjoy your day too. The wind has dropped and the sky is clear . |First time in days so here is hoping. But it is freezing, you are right.
You are fun. I’m loving Blue-Eyed Cat, btw.
So glad you liked the book, Syd. A tad of lunacy on a wet, cold Sunday in England is the best I’ve got. Sincere thanks. The Old Fool
Do you have flooding where you are?
Terrible Terrible song, really, quite bad – scrolling forward, it somehow gets worse! A fine tradition! 😀
Bloody terrible song. Back in the days of weekend hippies I went to one of their gigs and liked it, believe it or not. What a fool I was. My thanks, The Old Fool
Ha,ha, the rhythm must have got you! 🤓
I believe an overload of dope…long since given up, I stress…and the hope of making it with a gal who, had I attracted her attenion in part or at all, would only mean I was punching above my weight gave rise to me ‘enjoying’ that load of swoony tosh. Such is life!
This touched me deeply. finally I’ve seen a poem as lovely as a tree.
Your satire trumps mine, young Holly. Poor Jessica, I think of her often, as do the trees for whom she writes. I was just talking to Resa about how Jessica is based upon someone I once new. I have thus copied and pasted what I said for you…hopefully…have a chuckle about! It reads: Imagine this. The shy 18 year old boy is walking the woods, a lovely gal at his side. She tells him the names of all the trees and what mushrooms are edible. Soon they reach an oak…a rather huge oak. She tells him it’s her favourite tree of all time. To him it’s just a tree. In an instant she takes her clothes off. The boy thinks his luck is in. How wrong he is for she is now hugging not him but the huge oak suggesting he should as well. ‘Just feel the vibe, there’s nothing else like it in the world’ she tells him, ‘Try it for yourself’. The thing is his shyness prevents this from happening, so he hangs around like an idiot, now averting his gaze and feeling most uncomfortable. He wants to go home but can’t leave the gal alone with nought on in case some weirdo’s turn up and horrible things happen. After ½ an hour she finishes her tree hug, saying, ‘You still here? What a boring life you must have.’ That was me. I still laugh about it all these years later……..I think you can see how Twattersley evovled!
You’re a fine young man to hang around while the tree hugger indulges her desire to sit naked on the bark of a tree. Get you get any pics?
Sadly no photographs. Had I known she was a tree-hugger prone to undressing in a forest I would have run a mile to avoid her. I was never the bravest type. Her words, ‘Are you still here?’ to this day summed up her indifference toward the shy idiot that was me. The good thing was my early ventures in matters of potential romance were so disastrous they are, to this day, amusing. I often dine out on them. I really should post another total disaster with the gals story…the epic (I hope it is, although it likely isn’t) tale of me and the stunning Zulu Sue (that’s not a racist tag I have to say as it was her name). By the way, shall I top and tail the Twatto piece and make it a blog post or do you feel we should add a little more? Regards, The
I always leave the major decisions up to my dear Twattersley! As You decide keep your gal Rosebud in mind, ahhh, such a prim and proper Rose she is.
Young Holly, having spent to last couple of days mainly attempting to ensure the house roof doesn’t get blown away in the gales and that Shirl doesn’t drown in the lake-like puddles born of the storms I shall be returning to the Rosebud and Twatto saga this weekend. I think I left it at the stage Twatto’s aeroplane was about to crash into the Med. I think we’ve got enough material for a fine post, it just needs a juggling around to reach a conclusion. Leave it to me for the minute and I shall get back to you shortly. However the end does pan out rest assured I shall do you proud. Best wishes, The Old Fool
Do take care , Ive heard about the storms bashing The UK. I leave Dear Twattersley and Rosebud in your capable hands. Should Twatts crash into the Med. Rosebud will carry on. Best wishes, Young Holly
It has been appalling weather here since before Christmas. We always get the end of storms that were born in the Caribbean and finally bounce off Florida in our direction, but they lose so much energy by the time they hit the UK as to be no more than a nuisance. Not this time though. The beast from the US east coast caught The Atlantic jet stream where it built up speeds of 280 mph. It’s speed slowed done as it hit land over here yet it remained fierce and full of rain. It was that big that when the front of the storm hit the UK the rear of it was still in the departure lounge on the US east coast. One airline pilot broke all crossing times records knocking 1 hour of the best ever speed across the ocean. I blame Trump!
I’ve haven’t heard of anything like this before. We are having the worst hurricanes ever coming off the African coast. It’s a nightmare from June to Dec. stay safe Mike. Yes, if it’s bad it’s Trump.
What a fun, sweet poem, Mike!
It’s been years since I hugged a tree with natty armpits.
Fashion school cured me of the hairy armpit spree, but not of hugging a very handsome tree.
Oh Mike, you remind me! I have a pic. I hope I can find it. Now where would that be?
The tree is dead… driftwood on the Pacific Ocean’s beach, w/ me. Like MM in the 7 Year Itch…possibly.
Uch…
I’ll get back to you.
I hope you read what I wrote about reading The Blue-Eyed Cat. Lots to go, but I’m loving it. So is N!
I was talking with Ms S (Shey) about Jessica being based on someone I once knew. Imagine this. The shy 18 year old boy is walking the woods, a lovely gal at his side. She tells him the names of all the trees and what mushrooms are edible. Soon they reach an oak…a rather huge oak. She tells him it’s her favourite tree of all time. To him it’s just a tree. In an instant she takes her clothes off. The boy thinks his luck is in. How wrong he is for she is now hugging not him but the huge oak suggesting he should as well. ‘Just feel the vibe, there’s nothing else like it in the world’ she tells him, ‘Try it for yourself’. The thing is his shyness prevents this from happening, so he hangs around like an idiot, now averting his gaze and feeling most uncomfortable. He wants to go home but can’t leave the gal alone with nought on in case some weirdo’s turn up and horrible things happen. After ½ an hour she finishes her tree hug, saying, ‘You still here? What a boring life you must have.’ That was me. I still laugh about it all these years later.
By the way, I’d love to read what you wrote. Best I go on a hunt and find it. Have a splendid day. Regards, TOF
Well, TOF, I get it!
The vibes are very important. You should have tried hugging the tree, then you might have got lucky. LOL!
Still, I commend you for hanging around to protect her.
You have a splendid day, too!
I happen to love tree-huggers (as I am a crunchy neo-hippie myself)… so I’m ehhh rooting for her.. but not in the end-of-life sort of a way…
My thanks, Tara. I too am rather taken with swoony types for they represent the best chance of saving this old, sick planet of ours. I modelled Jessica on a tree hugger I once knew. I like to think this post is more satire than a dig against tree huggers. I have in some of the other comments explained how it was the tree hugger I knew who made this once young old fool look the idiot he was. Good fortune to tree huggers everywhere, I say!
Oh, yes, I understood you weren’t actually commenting on the tree-hugger, per se… and I understood your meaning in the piece… and rather enjoyed it! But then I made my comment and perhaps made it sound as if I were standing up for tree-huggers everywhere… which I’m not.
Not at all, Tara. ‘Tis me being boring me. You are a diamond gal. Keep hugging your trees, a far better thing than most of the human race. Good fortune you young lady, Best regards, The Old Fool
Haha! Thanks Mike. I always giggle whenever someone labels me as “young” or “lady” so I got the double-whammy here. I wish you good fortune as well. *bows* errr wait… uh, *thinks “lady”* oh yeah, *curtsies and backs out of room properly* 😉
Whether old, young or in between all gals are ‘young’ to me, the way it should be. I’m older than the pyramids of Egypt. I don my hat, smile and wish you well. Yours, The Old Fool
After reading the usual dreary daily news your poetry puts a smile on my face. I’m happy there are writers in the world like you, Mike.
My sincere thanks. Nothing like a little lunacy to start the day. Sadly, a state of lunacy fills my each and every day. Regards, The Old Fool some now are calling me just ‘TOF’…am I become Tweetable, or even worse, a short cut on the Text Message?
I LOVE THIS ONE! (Jessica’s one of my top faves after Carruthers, you know.) The mobile phone part made me laugh so hard I spit my drink out a little. Thanks for that. 🙂
I shall tell of a story I told young Resa…do follow her, she’s lovely…by way of a copy and paste. It reads, ‘Imagine this. The shy 18 year boy is walking the woods, a lovely gal at his side. She tells him the names of all the trees and what mushrooms are edible. Soon they reach an oak…a rather huge oak. She tells him it’s her favourite tree of all time. To him it’s just a tree. In an instant she takes her clothes off. The boy thinks his luck is in. How wrong he is for she is now hugging not him but the huge oak suggesting he should as well. ‘Just feel the vibe, there’s nothing else like it in the world’ she tells him, ‘Try it for yourself’. The thing is his shyness prevents this from happening, so he hangs around like an idiot, now averting his gaze and feeling most uncomfortable. He wants to go home but can’t leave the gal alone with nought on in case some weirdo’s turn up and horrible things happen. After ½ an hour she finishes her tree hug, saying, ‘You still here? What a boring life you must have.’ That was me. I still laugh about it all these years later.’ There you have it, I’m both the young and the old fool!
I wish I had heeded your warning to miss Jessica’s favorite swoony song. Just dreadful. Kinda like Donovan, only worse.
You are spot on, Liz. I bow my head in shame as I once, of choice, attended one of their concerts. I loved it…true, yet almost unbelievable in hindsight. I was only about 18 years old and had just discovered dope so that probably gave rise to my enthusiasm. All these years on I cringe at the very mention of their name. If you think that one is bad then do not on any circumstance go into YouTube and listen to their song ‘Big Ted’ I beg of you!
Your stories so easily capture my attention, Mike. This one right now caught my eye initially because I am reading a novel where all of the characters have relationships with trees. It is delightful I think. You might enjoy it; it’s called The Overstory by Richard Powers.
My thanks, LuAnne. It sounds a fine book. I shall need things to read when I head of to France in a few weeks time. I shall put this on my list. Super stuff and thanks once more. Best Wishes, The Old Fool
What a wonderful sense pf humour you have.I like this very much
You are too kind, Katherine. I’m as dark as a tunnel to nowhere. Whatever, my sincere thanks and best wishes, The Old Fool
I suppose we don’t know others see us but I liked it
You are ever so funny old chap 😉
‘Tis the way I walk, young Melanie. Regards, The Old Fool
Ah, got the book – so cool, thanks. Now listening the song 🙂
Dark humour at its best. It seems as if you can take any idea and weave a satirical, humorous tale out of it. The poem had me in fits. I especially loved this part:
I’ve had a dozen lovers Yet they all told me the same thing ‘You’re a fucking boring tree hugger And in all truth your pits do ming’
Poor Jessica. She is based upon one I once knew. I’ve written many skits with her in mind. As to my skills methinks ‘Jack of all trades, master of none’ is applicable. That you liked it I am most pleased, Sir
I read this once again and found it funnier than the first time. I guess there were more bits of wit that did not appear to me at first.
I’m so pleased you liked it, Geetha B. My thanks.
You are welcome Mike.
I hope she’s not hugging any trees after drinking that laxative! Uffdah!