[Allen Tice]

I greatly like your post #19 on the Interrobang, Ann.

[F.F. Teague]

Evening, John!

Any time is teatime at Freshtival, really. Inspired by Sarah-Jane's post on Insectageddon, I'm thinking all-day breakfasts and all sorts of little snacks too. Coo has a cookie for you 🍪

Have fun with Hunt the Teddy! Sir K is wearing a nifty little blue hoody at the moment, teemed with classic jeans. He looks very cool and thanks you for welcoming him to our gathering. There's an earlier photo of him here (you might recognise) and you're more than welcome for the poem.

Cheers to you,
Fliss, Sir K., Coo :>)

[Ann Drysdale]

Alexander Bear

I have a wondrous teddy bear, of monumental size,
with a round, protruding abdomen and little piggy eyes
and half a pair of trousers, and people stop and stare
when I go out a-walking with Alexander Bear.
He has a little jersey with a zip that shuts and opens
that he's been wearing since the days when clothing was on coupons.
His stuffing’s fast congealing and his shape is somewhat crude
and when you tip him upside-down the noise is rather rude,
so I tip him up in buses and I tip him up in trains
and everybody thinks it's me, so nobody complains.
His fur is non-existent and he’s really old and smelly
but without him I would be like two of eels without the jelly.
Whenever we have visitors my mother gets superior,
apologising right and left for him and his bacteria.
She says he’s unhygienic and she says he isn’t clean
and she says I ought to dump him ’cos I don’t know where he’s been.
She calls that valid reason, but it simply isn’t true –
wherever Alexander’s been, then I have been there too.
So we’ve reached a sort of stalemate, if you fathom what I’m saying –
“he goes,” I say, “and I go too.” So both of us are staying.
.

[F.F. Teague]

Oh Ann. Thank you so much for posting this. It's a delight! Alexander Bear does indeed sound wondrous and I particularly like lines 7 and 8 ('crude' and 'rude', lol).

Dear John is taking some time away (I'm sure he won't mind my mentioning), but I'm hopeful he'll return with Mrs I's teddy in tow, whenever he feels ready to return.

In the meantime, here's one from my Metabear series. A metabear is a special teddy bear. Here, he is feeding the birds. 'Thank-coo!' :>)


Birdfeeding

When temperatures freeze
and frost grips the trees,
kind Metabear fears for his friends;
for though they have coats,
they sound mournful notes,
and so to their upkeep he tends, he tends;
and so to their upkeep he tends.

On rising each day,
he makes up a tray
of breakfast-time goodies to eat:
some nuts and some seeds,
to meet all birds' needs,
then fruitcake as special tea treat, tea treat;
then fruitcake as special tea treat.

The table is set!
Their appetites whet,
the feathery persons arrive;
with grateful glad zeal,
they peck at their meal,
and so through the winter survive, survive,
and so through the winter survive.

All puffed up and warm,
they start to perform,
a beautiful thanksgiving song:
'Praise be to the bear,
who shows us such care,
may his life be cherished ere long!, ere long!
May his life be cherished ere long!'

🐥🐥🐥

[F.F. Teague]

🥂

Word-Bird and I are celebrating this evening, because the electrics went off earlier and I was helped by three wonderful neighbours. 'That is when good neighbours become good friends!' :>)

Now for another Metabear poem, part of the Hospital 2011 series and here a pred-dream (a dream while on prednisolone). The poem was one of Grandad Teague's favourites :-)


Sail Away

Drifting our way through a clear turquoise sea,
on board a pleasure boat drinking hot tea,
my dear friend Metabear singing to me,
wishing my cares all away…

Let the waves carry your worries away,
far from the currents of Hospital Bay,
onto a land that is breezy and gay,
sail away, sail away, sail…

Haling a flock of terns riding pink skies,
black-capped formation with dark twinkling eyes,
raising a descant with clear whistling cries,
wishing my cares all away…

Let the waves carry your worries away,
far from the currents of Hospital Bay,
onto a land that is breezy and gay,
sail away, sail away, sail…

Spotting seals daydream on tide-smoothed chaises longues,
grey, white and speckled in sleek furry throng,
sounding a bassline with gruff barking song,
wishing my cares all away…

Let the waves carry your worries away,
far from the currents of Hospital Bay,
onto a land that is breezy and gay,
sail away, sail away, sail…

Glimpsing fish fly by a blossoming moon,
rainbow trails dancing across the lagoon,
wings humming gently to Metabear's tune,
wishing my cares all away…

Let the waves carry your worries away,
far from the currents of Hospital Bay,
onto a land that is breezy and gay,
sail away, sail away, sail…

🍹🍹🍹

[F.F. Teague]

☕️🍪

Fliss and W.-B. return and tuck into tea and a cookie together. 'Coo-kie,' W.-B. coos :>)

Well, it's a pleasant change from Complan, I suppose!

Earlier today, I found a number I thought I'd lost, for a friend I made while in hospital. Her name was Annette and she was Irish. 'Instant besties!' :>)

I tend to make quite a lot of friends when I go into hospital. It's an anxious time for a lot of patients and there's some solace in sticking together. Anyway, the next piece here, written in 2015, describes Angie, from February 2011. When she left, she gave me her phone number with lyrics from Nat King Cole's 'Nature Boy', in which she'd changed 'boy' to 'girl', 'for funny old FT' :>)


For an angel

It's true, I travelled very far and over land and sea –
or so it felt, first night in ACU, with throbbing knee,
negotiating island bed, then grey-blue lino floor,
my single crutch in two clenched fists, a feeble sort of oar.

I hoped to find a nurse, as underneath my cotton sock
my ulcer wept large yellow tears, left undressed by the doc,
but all I found were rows of islands, home to sleeping souls,
and nurses somewhere out of range, not out on night patrols.

And so I turned to shuffle back to try my bell, ninth go,
when cries of pain came through the heated air, cries full of woe,
I turned again, and there you were, like me, quite sad of eye,
and so I held the hand you gave to me with ragged sigh.

I asked you if the pain was bad, and you said, 'Now, it's not;
I just need someone to be kind, about the hurt I've got.'
You had an ulcer, 'belly full of fire, burns night and day';
I told you all about my ulcer, 'just won't go away.'

'I'm Angie,' you said, grinning then, 'I'm not an angel, mind!' –
I told you my name, 'Fliss'; you said, 'Thanks, Fliss, for being so kind';
and I responded, 'We're the Ulcer Babes!', then I felt daft,
but luckily you liked that, threw your head back, winced yet laughed.

A nurse appeared and sent me back to island bed, 'It's late.'
We said we'd see each other soon, I left with fragile gait;
I went to bed and slept but heard you crying in the night
and in the morning you'd been moved to Side Room, out of sight.

Three days I spent in ACU, while you remained in Side,
then on to Gastroenterology – first night, Jean died;
they zipped her in a stout black bag and pushed her off the ward,
attempting to console her friend, 'Don't cry; Jean's with the Lord.'

And I felt frightened and alone, but in mid-afternoon
the porters came to fill Jean's space, while whistling random tune,
and it was you, brought out from Side – 'Hi Ange!' 'Hey, is that Fliss?'
'The Ulcer Babes are reunited!', laughter, hug and kiss.

It's true as well, the next two weeks, we spoke of many things,
of men and metabears, of joy and pain, of fools and kings,
and we agreed, of all the joys in life, love is the best,
you in your blue pyjamas, me in shorts and thermal vest.

You left on 14th February, 'medically fit',
though you insisted, 'I can't go, I still feel really shit',
then sighed, 'Alright', and came to hug goodbye, gave me a note,
the lyrics, changed a little, of a song Nat King Cole wrote.

I had your mobile number, but I didn't call for weeks,
at home and feeling wretched, hot tears running down my cheeks;
I told myself, I'll wait till I feel better, then I'll phone,
you weren't there when I rang, I left a message at the tone.

I never heard from you, but found out why November time,
when almost all the leaves had blown from off the garden lime,
the paper said you'd been out shopping, came home, fell asleep,
and never wakened, 'death from heart disease', how I did weep.

Four years have passed, I've kept my note, I read it, sing the song,
feel glad we met, were such close friends, though not at all for long,
and when I feel alone and frightened, then I sense you here –
although you've wandered very far, love seems to keep you near.

💕

[F.F. Teague]

🥂

Word-Bird and I are celebrating this evening, as I've just been thanked for my efforts in improving local accessibility. 'Good, FT' :>)

Now, W.-B. would like to post a haiku; except, it's actually a high coo. And more specifically, a


high coot

first egg of the spring –
the coot adorns her new nest
with little white flowers



Photo by Ron Cooper of Pittville Swan Watch :>)