Brockeye…? The noo!!

Mental Health, Random poetry Add comments

Hey 🙂

I am well aware that one of the reasons I decided to write my poems inside 15 minutes, using a generator, in its decreed order, blah blah; was to curb the inner critic.  But today?  That just ain’t working for me, and I’m in a funk about it!

I don’t think it helps that it is a Jimpix day, either…

From Jimpix

I looked up puddling and shortstop (definition 14!) and brockeye, wrote down their meanings at the top of my notebook page, and got to work.  It only took just over seven minutes to come up with my poem, but I hate it.

I picked out one bit that I kind of liked, then went grrrr to myself about the whole situation for a while, then decided that the only thing for it was to write another poem, using the same words, in another 15 minutes – to talk down the critic.

I hated that a little less, but not much.  My toys went flying from the pram, and straight into the freaking  road!!

I don’t want to put the poems in this post and show my lovely readers my ‘ugly’ work.  I don’t want to have to put my lovely blog through the shame

I want to rip out the notebook page and pretend it never existed, pick out all the pesky bits that get caught in the spirals, pretending I’m plucking out its heart or something – and then breeeeeathe. 

(It’s not like I’m numbering the stupid pages, or anything.  No one would know)

I have random poems that haven’t been published here yet, ones I wrote before I started taking screenshots of the generators.  I could substitute one of them, surely?  Say it was today’s work, and I lost the generator pic. 

Or claim “artistic temperament” and just tell you that you are NOT getting to see my drivel, I have my pride, too!

But all the above is not true to the spirit in which I started this venture.

Once, I was neglecting to write anything for weeks and months at a time. Now, I am producing quite a lot every day

It’s not always going to be any good, it’s just meant to do me some good. 

So I am sticking to my higher goals, and I am posting the poems my inner critic loathes.  I hope you judge them a little less harshly than I have 😉



Obtainable  Flakey  Machinist  Stuffy  Puddling  Shortstop  Curse  Magic  Brockeye


I am beginning to think

Peace is not obtainable

To a flakey mum like me;

When every move they make

Rattles through my head

Like clanging metal from

The great machinist of doom.


This house is stuffy –

I’ve been puddling about

With numerous stupid things –

Every time I get somewhere,

Some kid performs a shortstop!


Curse this blinking role of mine

They think I’m magic!

While they give the tablet ‘brockeye’?

I their lives all organise…


So that was the first (hated) one.  Below is the poem I wrote to try and see reason:



Obtainable  Flakey  Machinist  Stuffy  Puddling  Shortstop  Curse  Magic  Brockeye


On days like this, what is obtainable

Is filtered through my mood.

The flakey head is on,

And no amount of compromise

Is shifting it.


But that’s ok because, I know,

In a few tomorrows –

Or even by sunrise –

I’ll pop on a new one;

Sewn by a gentler machinist.


This pokey, stuffy outlook

Can be blown away

By something simple.

It’s not a lifechoice,

Even if it looks ingrained.


These tears, puddling ‘round my feet,

Will dry on shoulders.

These things I deem

So important today

Won’t always meet a ‘shortstop’.


Just now, I’m under a curse –

But in books there’s magic!

In YouTube, there’s humour.

In writing, there’s release.

(In chocolate…?!  Brockeye!)


Rest assured I am about to toddle off now and eat my way through a big bit of cake and some Teaser bar! 

Have a great evening, folks…




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