131. The visits. (30/04/2016).

Surprising, sometimes, what will bubble to the surface during an hours session on a meditation retreat. Some of it’s not exactly what you would call appropriate either.


131. The visits. (30/04/2016).

A surprise visit.

“Hello there, it’s only me.”

Chimed the face,

Popping up,

From behind the garden fence.


“Bugger off, I’m not in.”

Grumped the behind,


From the garden chair.


Another surprise visit.

“Coo-ee, are you in?” she enquired with a cheery grin.


“What do you think?” he replied,

“The doors open, and you can see where I’m sat.

You can see I’m trying to read the paper from there, you daft bat!”

He raised his eyes all the way up,

To the top of the stairs and back,

“The other one’s round the back by the way”

He continued, trying to shoo the pest away,


“I am the other one!” Came the sharp retort,


By now, his temper was getting short,

“Well you should get your glasses fixed!” he said,

“And you see that house behind you there?

The one that stands next door?

That’s the one where, you actually live,

You nosey witch!

Bloody hell do I hate twins!”


“I know the bloody feeling” she said,

Rolling her eyes off his ceiling,

As her face started going red,

“My mother told me not to marry you, erm, I mean him”, she fumed.

“It’s a shame your mother hadn’t stayed a virgin!

Or your dad hadn’t pulled out the station early,

Bloody hell do I hate twins!!”


© Jim Laing 2016.


About Jim Laing

The Buddha said there were four kinds of people. Those who run from dark to dark, those who run from light to dark, those who run from dark to light and those who run from light to light. From a life going from dark to dark to having a few years running from dark to light, with scuffed hands and knees from sometimes falling, I may be getting the hang of it now. How it began is not now how it is, I need a quiet space, After the noise of the day, So I take sanctuary in the creativity, And my soul feeds, On sometimes dark, Sometimes light fantasy, And I dare like many to work, But stay up off my knees, To dream, perchance to suffer, But always still to dream. Here are things mostly lyrical and poetic, with nonsense sometimes, reviews and personal musings. The coffees hot and always black. The words not necessarily so.
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