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Fig boo obba do
Uptar guivbar
Ceeb zoop gabba
Koop neeb wabba vo

Muck pocket locket bug
Even sub lubbet dug

Ibber tug vagga dug
Neek mug dar rug

Towel
How well
Ew shell

Angus meat funk
Skunk eats the big dunk
Seeba doob la lunk
Anais Vionet Aug 25
I should’ve had a hedonistic summer, a roundup of long, sun-kissed days and even longer, undulant, kissing nights.

There are no riviera pics this year - set against the blow-out backdrop of Saint Tropez or Heraclee - with their sunlit-deliriums, cracked plaster beach bars, aromatic trailing Jasmine, lavender, umbrella pines and baking Socca.

No nights of dense, optimistic nihilism on neon-painted open-air dancefloors, or gritty, underground raves, in dark, brick-clad, light-strobed basements.

And no timeless, sun-drenched, beachside early mornings, with their moments of stillness, beauty and reprieve.

Summer feels can’t be vicarious - you have to get out there and get *****, hmm, sandy anyway. Are there ethical implications to basking under a climate-crisis sun? Maybe, but if so, do we care?

Let’s wax poetic..

Summertime often sees us jetting off to different places.

If I could travel anywhere
let it be outer-space
not floating in darkness,
for years and years
let’s find a better way.

I’ve traveled to the moon
- on a little friction -
that isn’t even science fiction.

I’ve traveled simply by turning pages.
It didn’t take fuel and it didn’t take ages.

That was travel at the speed of thought,
but better yet, let’s travel at the speed of sight
- that’s faster than light.

.
.
Songs for this:
Relationships by HAIM
Summer Sun by Koop
Summer Girl (Bonus Track) by HAIM
BLT Merriam Webster word of the day challenge 08/25/25:
Undulant = things that rise and fall in waves, or things that have a wavy form, outline, or surface.
My rowe lê al spore
Op my palms wat klou
Aan die yster wat my brand
Ń vlam
In die droewe kou
Ingehok, binne my eie land

Tralie hart staan ongeweer
Teen vloedwater emosie
Wat verbeeldingloos probeer
Om te rebuleer teen die seer
In my terugslag verval
My moed. Ek sal dit
Bymekaarskraap
vir ń Volgende keer.

En my vingers trek nog
Lyne en koppel my
Sondag-oggend sins
En versprei my laaste
Bietjie dignity in
Die zoo se trash bins
Terwyl ek nietig gan confess
-"Oh Father I have sinned"
Kom Jesus more weer om
My in my verlore toestand te
Kom vind....
Koop maar ń seisoenkaartjie
Vir versoening en vatsoene.
More sin ek weer.
Eks mos die duiwel se kind
Anais Vionet Aug 16
I’ve spent the last couple of weeks in Paris settling in. My every appliance, gadget and charger have been bricked by the weird, French electricity, which bobs when it should weave or something - but you still can’t stick a fork in the sockets.

I’ve also been meandering the right bank* arrondissements for fashions. Students at Université Paris Cité, in the everyday, dress more chicly and elegantly than Yalies or nerdy Harvard ‘barneys.’

I’ve noticed a lot of Asian, selfie-taking tourists in Paris. They come in like waves of invaders as the river-cruises dock. Now, anyone that’s known me for some time, will tell you that my friends and I’ve been taking selfies for decades.

Just not in the middle of the street or with total strangers trying to relax on crisp, cool, early summer morning, while sipping an espresso hangover cure. Was COVID deadly? Well, it certainly killed off the last etiquettes that separated us from the animals.

I’m not anti-tourist - nope -  I just moved back here myself - but these smiling, terribly polite, middle-aged people, think nothing of stopping someone abruptly in the street to ask directions, in a foreign language - as if they’re at Tokyo-Disneyland where the locals are cast members simulating real life.

Would you expect anyone on a busy, work-a-day Manhattan street to happily stop and converse? Not a chance. Women would recoil like snakes and the men would dodge like O.J Simpson or shoulder you to the ground. Still, they call Parisians rude.

I am becoming more serpentine and evasive as I shop, as-if I were a spy in occupied territory. Charles and I form a one-man phalanx, with me following in his wake, like a dolphin trailing along a great ship.

They may need to put up signage, like, “Look (at the locals) but don’t touch,” but in what language?

Let’s wax free-versely… freever-ishly?

It’s a pleasure to walk the banks
of the dark, reflective Saine again.
and watch the warm, evenings for
the first cool stirrings of fall.

Once you’ve visited Paris, it stays with you.
Nothing’s simple here, not the moonlight,
the serene european atmosphere or
the better-than-you sense of right and wrong.

I’m young in a very old city.
I like dessert crawls, and “rock’n’roll clubs.”
Hemingway wrote, that
‘‘You receive in return what you bring to Paris.’


That’s probably not an exact quote.
but I think that’s where they got “What happens in Vegas.”
.
.
Songs for this:
Come to Me by Koop
Leena by Caravan Palace
Right Now by The Creatures
BLT Merriam Webster word of the day challenge 08/15/25:
Meander = to follow a winding or intricate course.

*The right-bank is the north side of the river Saine - if the river’s flowing away from you - north’s on your right.
C Jan 2023
op die eerste oogopslag geweet
jou skewe glimlag gaan my heel insluk
met jou prag bruin oë het jy tot in my siel in gekyk
saam met jou sal ek die teerpaaie plat rits,
want dit maak nie saak in watter een van die vier hoeke van 'n padkaart ek myself bevind nie
jou hart sal altyd my tuiste wees
ek sal die koue asem van die winter aanpak in die vroeë oggendure
net om vir jou grondboontjiesbros te koop as die dag te veel was
op die eerste ontmoeting geweet
jy gaan 'n groot rol in my sprokiesverhaal vertolk
jy is goed vir my
en ek hoop van harte ek is goed genoeg
vir jou
Amanda Shelton May 2020
When I was younger I flew
the koop, no cage could keep
me from flying this *****
grave of doom.

Life came to make friends
with me, I agreed to stay.

It was great until the storm came,
it washed away the sunshine,
it drowned my mind in love
and pain, it stole my
jars of broken hearts,
it broke my wings and forced
me down, my chair became
the cage now I’m back to
being a slave to my health.

That’s life, you live and die,
you suffer and fly, you climb
mountains, float down rivers
and lakes, you surfe the
biggest waves.

In the end we end up in
the grave.

Don’t forget to breathe,
take longer breaths,
just take your time;
you’ve got unknown
amounts of time.

This asthma induced disease
we call life has no insurance
or warranty.

So live well and you won’t
go to bed regretting your
dreams. Don’t cover yourself
with the dirt from the roads
you’ve built.  Instead let go
of all regret go to your dirt
bed clean.

©️ 2020 By Amanda Shelton

— The End —