If you’ve got it, flaunt it.

I had my hands around a large latte, taking in the aroma, coaxing warmth from the steaming mug. We were downstairs at Wyong Mall, watching the passing parade; blue rinse matrons with loot from the op shop, mothers and red nosed babies, rugged up but still cold, girls in uggs and coats, then one young man, shirtless in the bleak July air.

I turned to Barney the Barista, indicating with my head.
“What’s that all about?”
His glance was as confident as it was brief.
“New tatts.”

Note: I intend to take a break from blogging while I concentrate on my almost completed novel, but know I will be unable to resist the occasional look at what you are all doing. Meanwhile, I invite my cyber friends to drop me a line if you feel the urge. And meanwhile, please take a trip to the Magpie's Nest to read contributions from some fine poets and storytellers. XX

Ode to breast feeding.

 A mademoiselle from Le Havre
Was heard to say; ‘I was in love!
But my man departed
Now I’m broken hearted
But at least the baby won’t starve!’

This must have been a bit risqué in 1898, but we know from art going back many thousands of years that the female form has remained a thing of beauty and a joy forever.

Take a look at what real Magpie poets have to say about this lovely Degas image.

Dysfunctional.

An organised kitchen it’s not… 
A cat on the stove that’s not hot. 
A pissoire at hand 
with nowhere to stand 
and a tank with a tap at the top! 

And that is just for starters!

The draughtsmanship is wonderful and the narrative intriguing. But to me, this kitchen is the Hell.
I don’t know how Tess manages to finds these, but they really are a challenge. Click on Magpie Tales to see what others had to say.