Charity Fatigue

Charity Fatigue 

Actually I do feel like a beggar from time to time, in fact when I mentioned to an acquaintance recently that I was taking on a challenge for charity this year she said,

 “Oh not again, you’re always collecting, I have got charity fatigue”! Well I have just looked it up and it appears to have been in 2010 that I last had a charity stint. Apart from a collecting box in our office that we offer to people who get me to send emails for them or give them some wrapping materials or take in some goods, or something else to beg or borrow. This is why this choice as today’s little ode.

So if A. You are not suffering, ‘Charity Fatigue’. Or B. You like the poem a little bit; this is the link for the effort I am making to help children with life limiting illnesses.

www.justgiving.com/Daphne-Belt

Or if you would like to see a few more of my humble scribblings, as an insight into my strange little mind (I think we all agree about that). www.dafbelt.blogspot.co.uk

Beggars 

People seem to ignore beggars on the whole

As they wander past the down town shops

A beggar by a doorway or propping up a wall

How few of us even look’s at them, or stops 

“Have you got any spare change please”,

They ask, holding a cup, a pot, a hat, in place

They can see you are loathed to touch them

That much is written all over your uppity face 

The argument against is always the same

They’ll only spend it on drugs or drink

Isn’t that what you say to yourself?

Isn’t that what you deep down think? 

What if, when it comes down to it, it’s true?

What if your whole fifty pence goes in a trice

With the rest he has gleaned that day

And spent on continued ruin against all advice 

Understanding this widely held attitude

Is totally beyond anything in my mind

Don’t tell me you’d choose to be this man

Beg in the street, a bottle in hand to find 

Nobody aims to live that sort of way

Once a life has turned so horribly sour

You don’t choose to smoke dog ends

Or pizza from a waste bin devour 

Is this really what you think is true

Or could it all be heavens simple test?

Help a man or woman get through one day

Are you so much better or he worse than the rest?

Greetings

I'm not sure how long we all go on greeting each other with a jolly Happy New Year, I suppose until we have met all our friends at least once since the start of 2014. The weather however is making us all far from happy and the forecasts are more of the same. I guess we will all just have to knuckle down and get on with life, and work and training as it hits us.
my charity fund raising ground to a halt during December, when everybody had other things on their minds but has now started to move again. www.justgiving.com/Daphne-Belt if you like any of my poems so much you feel like justgiving!

Wind

Blowing on the window and through my cluttered life

Swirling leaves knocking down the flora, bringing garden strife

Blustering o’er me and them and you

This is what Madam Wind, you darned well do

Turn your ugly face away or blow until you bust

Then turn the sweet one round but one we cannot trust

That these gentle licks picking up, examining my hair, do not last

A waft of coolness, then too soon that delightful phase is past.

 

Moths 

Silent but deadly little things wouldn’t you say

They look harmless enough fluttering about at play

Tiny little flecks of beige wings like paper

When you clap at them they break up like vapour

Uninvited guests that move in when your back is turned

This is a lesson that only through time is learned

They hide in your closets and not by your leave

No rent is paid and they eat up half a sleeve

Of that nice woollen coat you kept so long for best

Might as well come back now and chew through the rest

Moths are the reincarnation of bad friends we’ve had so long

Don’t realise the damage until long after they are gone

 

 

 

Christmas Long Turbo Session

 

The Christmas Break/End of Year long turbo session in front of the ‘Big Screen’ raised £80 for The Chestnut Tree Children’s Hospice in kind donations from organising and participating members of Tuff Fitty Triathlon Club. Great job guys. It’s so nice in all this horrible weather, with the wind blowing a hooley and rain lashing spitefully, to get together with friends and still do some very useful workouts on the turbo.To suit this blog, here is a nightmare account of my fantasy worst bike time trial. Feel free to donate on this link if you have had things go this badly wrong.

www.justgiving.com/Daphne-Belt

 

Dream Number 23: Time Trial

We are going to do

A 100 mile bike time trial

The start was not that far away

Clapham Village Hall

A popular start point

Steve left home early in the car

He forgot to take me

I really wanted to do it

Since I needed to qualify

For the World Championships

In September, the event

is also a qualifier for the

European Championships in 2014

2013 is my seventy forth year 

So I set off

Ride the extra 5 miles

I get to the start.

When I get arrive

They have changed the start

To another point

Dial Post

16 miles further on 

I eventually get to the start

A couple of hours late

There are not many

Well none actually

Lady vet riders

Of my age

They let me start anyway 

As I get pushed off

By the start marshal

I realise what I am wearing

A very nice and warm

But totally impractical

For the occasion

Mohair and wool mix winter coat

Auntie gave me it before she died

It is a full length camel coloured coat

It has a high Peter Pan collar 

Whilst holding the flaps of the coat

To keep them from catching in the spokes

I notice that I have

To make matters worse

Put on a pair on socks

That my daughter’s cocker spaniel Louis

Had eaten a few days earlier

They are in shreds

And offer me no protection

My shoes start to give me blisters 

My husband Steve

Who is normally

My pre-event preparation slave

Has not even filled my drinks bottle

My usual bag of M&S fruit jellies

Are not on my bike

And neither

Are my normal salt supply

In the form of saltine crackers 

I carry on biking

But the wind gets in my eyes

I have forgotten

My sun glasses too

I look for a marshal

To give my cumbersome coat to

I don't want to just leave it on the road side

Because it is a top quality coat

It will last me forever

Because I only wear it for best 

I am now hours over the cut off time

But still have to get back to the finish

Another fifty miles away

It is then that I start to become

Distantly conscious

From my dream

But do not actually wake 

I know at this point

That the reason

My foot and arm ache

So much is because

I had a fall running six weeks ago

And have had problems

That have needed two trips

To the hospital to put right

The second was only yesterday

I am still a shaky from that

But on the other hand

I have more movement

I am starting to think

That I will get better

And be able to get back to training

As normal

This is confusing in my dream state

Because I am struggling

Through a hundred mile time trial

I think that I should stop really

It's too early after my treatment

They said that I should take it easy

For at least six weeks more

Yet here I am on a long bike ride 

I hope that Steve will come

To pick me up but he doesn't

I keep pushing on

Confused now

Why I am fighting the odds

When I should be having an easy day

I am coming out of my dream slowly

I know that I want to get back in shape

But do not really understand

Why my foot and arm

Ache so much on this ride 

The alarm goes off at 5.30 am

Steve is going to a turbo session

With friends

But I am not going because

I have just had a final (I hope)

Examination at the hospital 

In my bleary state I am not sure

That I have not been riding my bike

All night

In Auntie Paul's coat

It feels like I have

In the cold light of day

I do not need this dream analysed

I know that at approaching 75

I am fighting against the odds

But I still think that is a worthwhile battle

In case anybody out there thinks otherwise

 

Things just happen to me!

Things just happen to me! 

I had just popped into the Co-op in Ferring village for some yogurt, and had collected the few bits I wanted at the dairy section that was at the end of the first aisle. I turned to go round the corner and at the same time as another lady almost walked into me coming back the other way. I stepped back to allow her to pass, but then a man walked right into me from behind me, I turned and stopped waiting for both on them to pass. The woman turned back the way she had come and walked away but the man stood looking into my face and then asked “Are you alright…You’re looking at me in a funny way”. He still stood right in front of me, in my space. I smiled and said, “I thought for a moment that you were going to ask me to dance”. He replied that he wasn’t much of a dancer and that I might find him a bit rock n roll, but then added “I’ll give it ago though if you like”. He spread his arms into a ‘Strictly’ dance hold. I turned to go and he stopped me gently and said, “Can you dance”? “Better than you dear I suspect” I said turning away “But thank you for asking”. 

A few moments later when I arrived at the check out I noticed the woman I had seen earlier, she was fiddling in her purse, and had dropped a glove. I bent down and picked it up for her. “Oh, thank you so much” she said and continued “I wouldn’t have been able to get down there to pick it up myself”.

I smiled and took a good look at her while she paid for her shopping; she looked at least thirty years younger than me. As she stepped away, she dropped a glove again, turned and looked at me pleadingly. Again I bent and picked it up and handed the glove to her. She repeated the story that she could not have done that. She looked perfectly fit to me, and as she walked away, I began to wonder if I was on Candid Camera.

 

www.justgiving.com/Daphne-Belt

Cycle of Storms 

One after another they roughly the shoreline hit

Lasting almost two days then easing off for a bit

Then the next one comes in and strikes again as hard

Afterward with fallen trees and tiles the land is scarred

Flood water damage left behind with bits of floating debris

Brought menacingly in by another screaming banshee

Then follows a day that is still with sky of palest blue

But soggy dampness underfoot with mud upon the shoe

A heavy band of killer storms the weather girl relates

And each one is second hand from the United States

A strong November storm is something we Brits expect

And then again in March maybe another will hit us direct

Yet at a rate of twice a week they presently are blowing

A severe change in global weather cycles clearly showing

Have we brought this upon our selves with selfish ways?

‘The end is nigh’,  the doomsday preacher’s echo prays

Broken

This is the eighth month of this burst of self help by poetry. It started as an outlet for my anger with myself for being stupid enough to fall and break three bones last May. The file I kept them in was originally called 'Broken'.... foot, arm, hand and to a hidden extent, spirit. There were 27 'Broken' poems before I came back into the light and started to move on.  I kept the poems going though, and they certainly helped. There are millions of people in the world much worse off than me and some of them are children, with life shortening problems. Life is too short to feel sorry for yourself.

www.justgiving.com/Daphne-Belt

Out of the Woods 

Into the woods in fates dark sight

A less than easy path to take

Hidden there through fear and fright

Shadows sew a fiendish mistake

The cause and blame are mine outright

Acknowledged and unwelcome keepsake

Doubt careening uncontrolled, finite

What way, what way, what way retake 

Secret emotions held in tight

Slipping behind all standards fake

What ill disease has brought this blight

False impressions outward make

Terror tearing past contrite

In disorientated confidence quake

Lost and helpless lonely plight

What way, what way, what way retake 

Menacing phantom stands in limelight

Is it real this tight coiled snake

Despairing search up in starlight

Or can I from this nightmare wake

Take courage dragging soul to fight

And from the embers fire make

Take strengths firm hold to make all right

What way, this way your path remake 

Summon less feeble spirit bright

Come destiny flooding a smoother lake

Forge back the darkness push back the night

Pull back, the empty reserves forsake

All cowardice  in banishing excite

Responsibility is mine for pity’s sake

Out of the woods and into the light

Pride in this victory is wide awake

 

A River in Egypt 

Slipping from denials comfy space

Turn the tide running a more honest pace

A river in Egypt was a false haven

The cowardly mind must not lay craven

Face facts now

See true how

Good plans not meant to be

Cruel reality then I see

 

 

This morning I met somebody who said that he was not worried about breaking his new years resolutions because this year he had set the bar at a more achievable level and so would not be depressed if he failed to improve himself. It seems to me that this procedure would probably take the bar on an ever lowering level. It must be better to have aims and hopes and dreams to work for.
Mine for this year can be found on this link www.justgiving.com/Daphne-Belt

There you will seethe reason for my poetry. If you like any of them and are feeling flush please donate Think about just the last two words in the title of the charity of my choice...Children's Hospice.
 

The White Cardigan 

Whenever a white cardigan before my eyes takes a place

Instantly above it presents an image of my mothers face

Then, even then, the memory can be harsh

She won’t go away then I think, for a little while

And that thought alone in my head makes me smile. 

It was a big thing with her, I remember that well

Ingrained from somewhere in her past, you could tell

That the bright white must be what people saw

You must always have a new white cardigan every year

Even though her clothes were worn thin, they must not sneer. 

She sat knitting by the radio, in the kitchen, of a winter night

A plain one for herself but for me a daintier, prettier sight

Mum’s was nearly always a ‘v’ neck shape and mine

Buttoned to the neck with a wheat sheaf pattern or cable

Worn only for best, maybe to visit Aunt Lot’s, if we were able.  

There I am, cardi on, in all the old photos somewhere

Squatting in the chicken run with frizzy hair

But wrapped in long sleeved white wool

Unkempt blowing around me, my dirty blonde locks

Taken with the handed down family Brownie Box 

Every year as I too quickly for mum’s pocket grew

The old one posted to a younger cousin or a friend I knew

One day she switched me to a new design

A puffed sleeve angora bolero with bobble edge

Climbing like a boy, “Watch your cardi on that jagged ledge”.

 The fluffy bolero years lasted through those childhood ways

They warmed me through my junior school days

Mum glowed with admiration for her neat stitches

Her knitting looked like shop bought but for less cost

A slap round the head I got when my best one was lost.  

The hug-me-tight was forced into my young life

Starting ballet class gave mum just one more piece of strife

Wrapped around the front and neatly crossed over

With two long tails that were neatly tied

After slipping them through a little slot on the side. 

White goes with anything mum declared with firm voice

But as far as I was concerned there was not any choice

You would think I had said a really bad word

When I dared ask for a pink one or even green

Wide eyed horror on her face was for a long moment seen. 

So you see now why as the brochure page I turn

That the white one pictured is not what I yearn

Mum’s white cardi on a model there gives pause

There she is again, to myself I softly say

Once more her face will not for a while go away. 

She still wore them well into her old age where

Nothing had changed bar the colour of her hair

Then her silky white permanently waved tresses

As she lay, small and still on her death bed

“A perfect match to my cardi”, she would have said.

 

 

Negativity 

I must not be negative

I must not be negative

I must not be negative

I must not be negative

I must not be negative

OK, OK, OK, OK, OK

Get a grip woman

Please calm down

OK.OK.

I try not to believe

In mythical creatures

Though the movie makers

Think I do

BUT

There are Dragons

At the doctors’s surgery

At  the reception desk

REAL  ONES.

They are heavily disguised.

Of course they are.

Beware mythical fire breathing creatures.

What worries me is…..

That they must be

Breeding!

 

There are more of them

In the attached pharmacy!

Although,

Whatever other world

They have invaded us from

Must have

A Ministry of Evil Tricks

Because they can

Speak good English.

However……

They do not understand it!

 

 

Fresh start

Last night I closed the door on 2013 at around 10pm. With three broken bones and whole a bunch of sprains and an almighty struggle back to fitness last year, I am pleased to have moved on. So I bid you welcome 2014. I have plans for you. And I intend to move forward. While I was stuck in plaster I started to write a poem per day as therapy for an incarcerated fidget. Now, I hope they may help to raise some funds for The Chestnut Tree House Children's Hospice via this link:
www.justgiving.com/Daphne-Belt

Inside My World 

Life within a capsule, inside looking out

Enclosed in a vacuum, a great bubble

Nobody anywhere hears the pale shout

Efforts to change this, results in now't

Idea’s tumble down, a useless pile of rubble

Inside my world there’s hardly a sound

Still and quiet, to my design bespoke

Floating, ethereal in my kingdom crowned

With insubstantiality of will surround

I hang in less than air like an unfunny joke                            

 

 

 

Toy Boy 

At the age of sixty three

He hardly fits this category 

When we were first on the map

It seemed like a much bigger gap 

Ten years and eleven months to the day

Me older than him by that much, by the way 

When our ages have been brought up in chatter

His ‘Toy boy’ claims he would mention in the natter 

Now I point out that real Toy Boys are twenty two or three

And not approaching the pension book, at his age of sixty three