We were poor
dirt poor
but, my mother did the best
she could with what she had to
feed six kids and two adults.

I loved her cooking.

Taught by her mother before her
they all ate cheap and cheerful meals
which prevented going hungry
during the second world war
when food was severely rationed.

She made meals that seemed to
come from nowhere
probably took her hours to prepare
(if I had paid it any attention)

Curious once
I remarked that she didn’t ever
follow a recipe like the cooks
on TV shows so, how did she know
how much of this or that to use
she replied:
“Oh, I don’t need a recipe, I just
throw it all in and don’t even
think about it.”

And yet, what she made was
always such a delight.

She made bread pudding
from stale bread with fruit
and lots of sweet spices
topped with sugar.
Served with custard, it was all so yummy
and as soon as it appeared
it disappeared.

She made Roly Poly Pudding
filled with strawberry jam
or, for dinner
she’d make bacon and onion pudding
both of these she’d prepare and
shape just like a really thick
rolling pin
she’d wrap them into a clean
white rag to sit inside a pot to steam
(No fancy pots and pans back then)
and after supper when our tummy’s
were full
sometimes later my step-father would
be heard to say:

“I can’t find my white shirt
the one with the white buttons on it.
You know the one I mean Shelia?”

(the shirt stealing cook)
had struck again.


© Daydreamertoo *all rights reserved

Created as cheap meals both long before and, during WW2 as a way of feeding lower working class folks and those who were poor, all of these recipes are really old but still so well loved, mainly in England. Even today they’ve been handed down to new young cooks and yes, my mum did used to cut up my step-father’s white shirts (minus the buttons) to make the puddings… much to his annoyance!   LOL

Bacon & Onion Pudding How it’s made

Shared with dVersePoets Poetics: Button Button


When the world closes in
(as it frequently can)
lost, once again.
Caught in the headlights
panic will rise

Hard to release
let go of it all
heart beat increase
feeling so small
paralysing fear
claustrophobia arrives
choking the mind

That’s when our power
of free-will can kick in
to make sense of the nonsense
adjusting our fluid
to the rhythm of life
turning our trials to blue.

Blue for the sky
blue for the sea
blue for the peace
residing in me.

My soul-swims in blue

Surrounding myself in your
tranquil hue
I think my way back
to serenity.


© Daydreamertoo            *All rights reserved

Everything I love is blue.  It’s always been my fav colour.

Shared with With Real Toads Based on ‘Blue’ a song by The Jayhawks

The Dragon and the Moon

In days of old before knights were bold, much magic still was made, by witches brewing spells in pots that broiled up steam hotter than a baking sun and, once their spells were cast, well…. much of the time, they could never be undone.
A king lived in a castle, an eccentric, angry man, but he loved and lived there with his wife and Orlund, their only son.
Nights were dark and cold, no humans ventured out, for the rules were those of the king’s, of that there was no doubt, leaving the dragons to come from their lairs to freely roam with ease and faeries who would dance… and play among the trees.

The handsome prince Orlund…a very curious young man at this, left the castle to explore those lands that would one day, be his.
While riding through the thickets of the forrest deep, Fleet, his faithfull horse, stumbled and of course, immediately following, off his master tumbled, hit his head then fell asleep. Fleet grew scared, tossed his head and bolted leaving his master Orlund lost, inside a world of dreams.
Time passed and…
Silent, she hesitated at first, in the fast diminishing light, unsure what to make of such rarity …this mortal, within sight.
Luna of the Fae, non more beautiful than she…or, so the fables say, seeing blood upon his brow, bannished all thoughts of harm, knelt beside the sleeping man, gently took his hand, and, enjoying the warmth held it to her chest.

Orlund awoke to the most beautiful vision he knew he’d ever seen, began drinking in her beauty…. still thinking it a dream. When she spoke, her voice was as music in his ears, and Orlund fell in love as her smile allayed his fears.

Tears fell from her eyes as they gazed into his own pools, and sparks ignited between them, they were lovers at first sight, and this love would be so true.

Entranced… Orlund brushed the blood away and then he slowly stood, he took her in his arms and together they did sway, the moment was to last a lifetime, forever and a day.
Safe with Luna by his side she led him through the trees, bought him once more to the castle …when each of them did freeze.

The king was stood there fuming, his anger would not be contained. How could this faery fiend bewitch his son this way! He swore an oath to end it, right here, right now, before this end of day. He’d brought with him all the witches and with their combined might, had poor Luna changed into a great big ball of light…. then, sent her to the stars.

Despair took hold of Orlund, he felt his heart ripped out, he knew he’d never live without her, so he took a dagger and drove its blade in deep, knowing that now, they would never be apart.

Beside himself with grief, the king looked to the witches, begged them please …to save his son, promising them all his riches.

The witches conspired as Orlund lay there dying, to cast one more mighty spell and bring him back from dead but, to do this they told the king he would have to become a dragon, because dragons live forever, unlike his mortal son, who had just then tasted death.

Quickly the king agreed and, amidst a tumultous clap of thunder Orlund became a dragon, who, quickly roared to life with fire breathing air.
His memory still intact, he stretched out magnificent wings and flew off in all haste… without ever looking back.

Heading straight up to the sky, his wings took him up …oh so high.
Higher than the heighest heights and, headed for the brightest light.
He would be there soon, determined that once he was, he’d never leave her side.

And, when Luna’s night is full, if you look long and hard enough, maybe you too one day will see….

The Dragon and the Moon.

For those who believe….

©    Daydreamertoo     *All rights reserved

*A happy ending.. kind of…. lol

Shared with Poets United #103 Fractured fairy tales

Perfect Moment

Words slip through my fingers
like sands of time
with nothing to hamper their
Should I mourn their loss
once I’ve held the universe
if just one grain was mine.

Emotional pain hurts
can sometimes pulverize us
to curl into a ball
but, it also teaches
if true perception is gleamed
once we recognise its cause
as the harshest of
all teachers.

Touch me
don’t taunt

the earth has music for

those who listen 

I thrill at droplets on skin
Wash me clean of doubt
and all synthetic care.

With crisp and clear notes
sing loves music as
whispers to my waiting soul
and blow sweet, sweet kisses
which move with sensual play
in wind slow dancing over
lips come seeking the highs
of moonlight’s shimmering

Hold still the quiet yearning
and thunder in my heart
as she finally surrenders
her milk en glow
with all God’s given grace
to the sparkles of gold in each
fresh morning sun which
trickles its simmering heat
over this desire.

Your secrets are safe with me
as I yield to music of the
cosmic vibration

and freeze myself into one
perfect moment of time.


© Daydreamertoo          *All rights reserved

Shared with Three Word Wednesday CCLXXV111 Hamper, Pulverize, Taunt
Poetry Jam Mood Swings
With Real Toads Kerry’s Wednesday Challenge: Shakespeare Quotes


What we build
we eventually destroy

through the barren years
lean years
dead years
aftermath of some catastrophe
or other

Dust flourishes on all surfaces
in every nook and cranny
it can find
all that is left of a people
gone behind.

Greed, violence
just some of the elements in
man’s inevitable demise
common or rare
this fountain of knowledge
somehow still stands.

So good to be believed in once.
These books,
these imposing keys to imagination
but soon may crumble back to earth
while their truly original
means of birth are freely
growing once again.


© Daydreamertoo *All rights reserved

I cannot imagine a world without books. I came across this photograph somewhere online and it started me off thinking what would it be like after some type of global catastrophe had occurred.
I know some people love them but, I also cannot imagine myself ever loving these hand held kindles and other electronic readers. To a book lover, there is no greater pleasure than being surrounded by books, picking then up and holding them, old or new. The new ones, I love smelling that newness and, thumbing gently through it’s pages, reveling in that touch.  Can’t stand people who break their backs, write in them or, turn the page over to keep the place either!  That’s what bookmarks are for! …LOL

Shared with dVersePoets #50 OpenLinkNight
Poets United Vice Versa #4
Carry On Tuesday #161

Hard and Soft

Hard and soft
exact opposites
given enough thought
the two can blend into one
if we are inclined to let our
minds wander.

Hold the stone in your hand
it too, has a life.
A history to tell to those
with vision.

The wide open flower
breathes its truths in light.
Shares its fragrance with the stone
at end of day when it tucks
in for the night
will lay upon the stone
to the stones delight

Hard and soft combined


© Daydreamertoo             *All rights reserved

Shared with With real Toads Open Link Monday

Touch of Evil

A bully is a bully
no matter what their size or age.

He towers over his victim
to threaten and intimidate.
Even in black and white
the colour of fear is the same.

Is he saint or sinner?

He would claim he is just
doing his job
but then, so would
Hitler, Stalin and Pol Pot
to name but a few.

Maybe they have that
one streak which would seem
most highly believable
maybe they all have in common
a touch of evil.


© Daydreamertoo *All rights reserved

Shared with Poetry Pantry #104
Magpie Tales #123


A hint of sweet Jasmine carried in the
softest whistle of wind through an open window
as sunset settled across her enchanted domain.

She could relax once again
after more than ample help from her
loyal and loving tiger beast
the scrap of demons were trapped
(for now)
in a magical montage of granite
(in theory)
would hold them forever, unless
the hard-stone was somehow flawed
or, the spell she cast was broken.

Such huge responsibility
being a good fairy queen
and trying to prevent so
many different monsters each night from
invading young children’s dreams.


© Daydreamertoo              *All rights reserved

Another take on beauty and the beast story.

Psst: It’s my @#%^**** @& gazillionth  Birthday today 🙂

Shared with The Sunday Whirl #62

Tongue Tied

Google Images

As a young child I used to lithp.
Yes, lithp.

These days no-one would think of it
as a PITA (pain in the ass)

I ‘Googled it’ and it seems
there are even different types
of lithping too
and, I never even knew.

My mum never paid too much
after all, when I was an adult
she would get her own words
all mixed up sometimes too.

One time she said something
was con-fist-ticated
and, I didn’t have a clue
what she was talking about
so asked her to use it in
a sentence.
Turns out the word she was
trying to say was ‘confiscated.’

But, I digress

Sixpence back then was thixpenth
even good old sausages were thauthageth
but because of the different way the
sounds are formed
a ship was still a ship.

In this day and age people sometimes
think a lisp on a child is cute
my step-father on the other hand, didn’t
to get me out of the disgusting habit
he would make me say everything
through clenched tight-together-teeth
but if I slipped up and lithped
in front of him instead of
thinking it cute or fan-tab-ulous
he’d thlap me, repeatedly.

After tho many thlaps
I thoon learned not
to lisp anymore.


© Daydreamertoo *All rights reserved

The pictures are examples from Google but shows a new born baby and young child who are tongue tied. There are also different degrees in severity of being tongue tied too.
Apparently, if a new born is seen to be tongue tied, they usually snip the skin which joins the bottom of the tongue and the mouth. mine was never done and maybe it added to why I lisped. Still do at times despite the slaps…LOL
My step-father was a bully and didn’t have a clue when it came to being a good parent.

Shared with dVersepoets Poetics: Logophilia I think I used a few new-ish words in this Anna, hope it meets the prompt 🙂



Maybe even daunting
to a seeker of the truth.
Her eyes will penetrate your
deepest thoughts and you cannot
resist nor hide behind such
constant gaze.

Is she innocence, defined
by purest light…
an ancient Queen so true
but maligned by ‘his’ tory and
the powers that would be in
those olden times.


Oh the stories that they tell
of your wicked Pagan ways


Were you really full of sin?

A woman of such beauty
were you simply following
your own Pagan Goddess

For more than two millennia
‘his’ tory has decried, derirded
your name and,
all across the world you are
called, feminine femme fatale`
from lips that spit out words
of harlots and the fallen.


They say you teased, you taunted
you flaunted your beauty
and your wares.
Were you really unaware such
teasing can lead a heart to beg
for mercy from the spell weaved
within such passion and then
played out so well.

You could easily wound my pride
if I chose to let you in,
I’d worship at your feet like
the cat that got the cream.

I do not believe the tales
that ‘his’ tory has told.
The truth has been forgotten
or so badly misconstrued
but for that,
You must always carry the burden
forevermore defamed, unless
‘her’ story takes another look
at the one who bears such shame
conjoured simply by
your name of


© Daydreamertoo          *All rights reserved

They say everything in creation has an equal and exact opposite. If there is a God, why (mostly in the western world) is there little or no talk or belief in a Goddess anymore.

Yin Yang

Maybe because it was wiped out of ‘his’ tory as it was being written.

I think we all have a Goddess as well as a God residing within us. Maybe it’s time we women took a good look at ourselves, opened our eyes and saw our true worth, our value to this Earth, and took our rightful place as equals alongside them in this overtly male dominated and governed world.

Maybe if the Goddess’s came back as a peaceful, but powerful force to be reckoned with, we might all begin to learn to live in what should be a natural balance of love, peace and harmony once more.

Maybe it’s time we stood up again and shouted even louder in the light of these dark days



I for one, will still NOT be burning my bra

~  ~

More about Jezebel Here

Shared with With Real Toads Get Famous


Walking Timmy on a peaceful, breezy day
wind warm and therefore, kind
he was on his walk-of-a-thousand-pees
I was on the walk
in search of finding, me.

Thoughts all over the place
on the edge of
trying to deep breathe
stop the heart from racing
tasting salt on my tongue
and loosing the inner fight
as years of suppressed chaos
began to rise.

Let go, let go, let go.

I ran the whole gamut of emotions
from helplessness and frustration
to trials and tribulations
that had yet to come
the anger, all consuming rage
at the root of it all
the fear I’d learned to live on
and nothing else to survive.

A dark mood overwhelmed
which doesn’t usually happen
when I’m with Mother Nature.
I watched Tim enjoying himself
looked at the dark clouds
and knew they suited my mood
but suddenly, an inner voice told
me to turn and look again.

Standing perfectly still
with the sun behind me
the bottom of the clouds almost black
so dark and gloomy
but a little higher they switched
to dark grey, higher still they
turned light grey until eventually
the tops were the purest white
of white I’ve ever seen with a
hint of silver behind.


I knew right then it was a sign.

A message for me to absorb
that that which I am seeking
is in me and, has been all along
but I’d been looking in all
the wrong places.

At that moment in time
I felt the true ‘oneness’ everyone speaks of
as if I were being held
in someone’s loving embrace
and was being assured
I’m never alone.

I smiled, spoke out aloud
not caring if anyone was there
saw or, thought me crazy
thanked the powers that be
in the universe
and smiled
for those blessings that
are still mine.


© Daydreamertoo              *All rights reserved

This was the beach walk we were on when this happened about 18 months after my partner had died.  I was going through all sorts of inner turmoil. Mind in chaos of anger, rage, abandonment, all sorts of feelings because, for nearly three long years (for various reasons too lengthy to go into) I had lived on no other emotion but fear and had truly forgotten how to feel anything other than the need of survival. It took such a long, long time to re-learn what it was to feel happy, to be at peace within and, maybe another three years of deep soul-searching to discover we have most of the answers we’re seeking within us all along but, we just don’t tend to have time or, maybe feel the need to sit still for long enough to find them.

Life is the gift…Learning to love without condition, is the lesson.

Eventually, I learned that I was much more deeply spiritual than I had ever even realised, but not until I was forced to look for those elusive answers to once again find my balance/centering/peace, deep within.

Shared with dVersePoets with Victoria C Slotto Meeting the Bar: Where in the World am I?
Poets United #102 Labyrinth



Sun had burned off an early morning fog
the rest of the day would be lenient and
help smooth the jagged edges of our restlessness.

Back then, there was never a lack of anything
to do. Each day was filled to overflowing
with an abundance of excitement.

I was a young teen tomboy.
My friend’s, my younger brothers and I
headed off to the adventure playground
to spend nearly all day there, every day.

At that time I carried a pen-knife
knew I shouldn’t but heck, I was a tomboy.

There were thick ropes dangled from trees with
huge knots tied at the ends for kids to sit
on and swing and, we played a dangerous game
called splits.

We’d sit on the rope and swing back and forth
lean forward and try to stick the knife in the ground
furthest out from the rope would win.

My brother and I got into a fight over whose
was furthest away and both went to grab for the knife
which closed on his pinky-finger, almost sliced the
top right off.

He screamed and, scared as blood poured out
I felt so bad, closed the knife and threw it
as far away into the trees that I could.

Caught up with my brother who was still screaming
blue murder and someone had put a dirty old cloth
around his finger.
All I could think of was, “I’m in big trouble now”
and the little blackmailer swore if I carried him
home, he wouldn’t tell my step-father about
my having a knife.

It was such a struggle piggy-backing a seven year old
non stop for over a mile.

I had to own up to the truth anyway or, he would
have blackmailed me the whole time.


©  Daydreamertoo     *All rights reserved


My brother still reminds me that he has a scar on his pinky finger even to this day. We laugh about it sometimes but, it did teach me that playing with knives can be dangerous. Never played with one again.
Shared with Three word Wednesday CCLXXV11 Fog, lenient, struggle
Poetry Jam I shouldn’t have done that
Poets United Vice Versa

It’s Only Words

Sometimes we wonder
is there anybody there
but, sometimes it doesn’t truly matter
because words fly across a
vaccant page
hop, skip, dance or run
as fluidic as a river flows
in one shape or another
from a mind filled
with a single subject which
covers them all


…of LOVE

I write

Of heart’s that ache
and wounds which take
forever to heal in love’s own
mortal version of eternity

Of agonies and agonising

how a heart can break

Yet how it can also make such
sweet, sweet music as it beats
like a drum to the heady, steady
rhythm within loves

A voice


Moving me to smile
as I hear a tenderness
that falls into the
soft place of my heart
like the petals of a rose
caress a lovers cheek
from first pale
to blushing

I too bloom
in a swirl of
loving words which fly

Caught on the fragrance of
blossoms still out there

I thank God
for the gifts He freely gave

for I know souls which
live their love


and that is where our words
and our truest beauty


© Daydreamertoo *All rights reserved

Shared with Carry on Tuesday #160 Is there anybody there
dVersepoets OpenLinkNight #49

M C Escher Puddle

© M C Escher, puddle 1952

Puddles at my feet
stir ripples in my heart
liquid drops of thought
swell the droplets in my eyes
trickling out to greet
those falling from the skies.

Footstep follows footstep
in opposite direction
never destined to unite
tyre tracks go forth
back from whence they came

love can leave a stain
like rainbows blend in
broken puddles.
New footsteps will disperse
pieces of a heart
and time cannot stand still
for moonlit puddles of reflection.


© Daydreamertoo           *All rights reserved

Shared with Magpie Tales #122 Art of M C Escher
Poets United Pantry #103

The Great Omani

I was about seven and on a Sunday
as a family outing we’d walk
to the famous West Pier
which was just across the road
from where we lived
back then.

With his blend of humour
self confidence and very even temper
he was the English answer to Houdini.

He also rented a room in the house
where my mother was landlady at
the time so, we got to see his
act for free.

We’d go to the end of the pier
and soon with bare chest but
in swim trunks
the Great Omani would appear.

The gathering crowds would not
refrain from making such a racket
and without a trace of fear
Omani made a show of leaning
over and checking the current in
the green swirling waters below.

His helpers added to the
suspense and spectacle
made a great display of wrapping him
from head to foot in padlocks and chains
even asking one or two of the bemused crowd
to check each lock’s latch was secure
then, he stepped into a sack
which was also padlocked, chained
and, tied at the top with string
then fastened to a crane.

With a lot of dramatic flair
there was a crack as the crane’s
gear lifted him slowly off the ground
and despite a bit of a draft the
strike of a match successfully lit
a torch then, thrown into the water
which became a circle of flame
in the middle of which Omani
was dropped.

Too much time passed
the crowd gasped and I was sure
he’d drowned
he seemed to have been under so long
but without much more time to spare
the Great Omani suddenly
popped back up
and raised both arms
triumphant in the air.


© Daydreamertoo       *All rights reserved

The West Pier was the first pier to be built in Brighton. It even had a small theater where some pretty well known actors/actresses would perform plays. Since the 70’s, because of the cost of upkeep, this once beautiful pier has fallen apart and is just pieces of wood and metal in the water.

The Great Omani

Shared with The Sunday Whirl #61