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The Tale of a Guest House Grump!
There is a mob mentality at play,
Groups, gathered for festivities and fun,
Abandon all civilities and stray
From polite reason; a concept they shun.
They believe the customer’s always right,
Hospitality staff; personal slaves!
They fully own my guest lodge for one night,
They can do as they please, as they make waves!
There is the “spoiled princess’ type of guest;
Nothing is ever good enough for her!
She’s on her personal crusade and quest
To always complain, via her chauffeur!
Another; the penny pinching rich man,
Demanding of you a best price, best deal,
Lowering profits just because he can.
Yet eats three times his share of any meal.
There is the needy attention seeker,
Who must control all aspects of their stay.
This passive aggressive will seem meeker
But will whine and whinge to effect their way
As I get older, these guests get bolder,
And determined to bend me to their will,
But they know not of the fact I smoulder
And will readily turf them out like swill!
Hi Libby, I can relate to all of them.
When I travel I’m just so grateful for a bed, a hot shower and a hot meal. But not my wife, no no no, something will always be wrong.
The bed’s too hard, the room stinks, the air-conditioner’s too noisy, there’s too much light coming in the room etc etc. Each complaint is concluded with the request that I go see the owner to either change rooms or demand a discount.
That’s when the argument always starts.
Miglo, sounds great but I’d maybe add a good cup of coffee and maybe a glass of wine !!
Libby..so you have a guest house. How about a link so that when we’re in your part of the planet that we know where is the best place to visit
Pip, when we travel Jedda is adamant that drinking is a no-no if I have a long drive next day.
I find that traveling with her can be very restrictive.
Hubby never drinks when we go out..which is why we stay home so often
Staying home could also have something to do with the quality of what’s served at home vs what he gets when he goes out Min, especially after putting up with FIFO and camp catering…
Thank you Bacchus, yes hubby does enjoy my home cooking but he complains that when he comes home he puts on 2kg…well I don’t make him eat it!
Miglo…in my poem you could be the embarrassed and sympathetic “chauffeur” ( ie husband with cap in hand ) who is the only one to have had a worse experience and day than I.
True story…I once had a husband come to me to ask for a softer pillow for his wife, who found all four pillows too hard. I dearly wanted to tell him it was not the pillows but the pea I had placed beneath the pillows!
Min. Please speak with Patricia re my lodge. She has been a lovely guest.
Ah, but I wasn’t a paying guest! I took my own pillow too! :)=
Yes, please ask Miglo or myself if you’d like more details of “Libby’s Lodge.”
I was lucky enough very recently to be invited down to visit ‘libby’ some 200k south of Perth, a couple of hours drive away. Correction, I invited myself! I didn’t realise I’d be freeloading at very attractive resort lodge with luxury accommodation and gourmet food with great wine, set in a lovely valley with mobs of kangaroos hopping across the hills! The lodge specialises in fine local wines as well as its own home-grown prize winning vintage. ‘libby’ is a very creative hostess, not only in providing wonderful food and really comfortable accommodation, she also encourages local art with a gallery of pictures and other artefacts from which you can choose really original gifts and souvenirs. Much of this she has produced herself.
Not bad for a toothy teenager I used to know, what, forty years ago! Yes, we knew each other when ‘libby’ was at school and I was her French teacher! She was a bright spark then, though not a star pupil for me, which her best friend was. She was brilliant at English, which explains how she went on a few years later to become an English teacher at a school where I was Deputy. She became a friend then, but we lost touch when I left teaching and moved inter-state. Interestingly the Principal there has been her husband now for many decades, and is joint partner with her in their lodge/vineyard venture.
Just recently students in her year at high school set up a Facebook page and I went along for drinks one time. ‘libby’ wasn’t there but contact was made through her beloved old English teacher. QED! We started swopping my ‘pomes’ and her poetry along with constructive comments. I couldn’t wait to meet her again and we had a great time reminiscing.
Not enough time though, so I’ve organised to go back soon as a proper guest. Then she can see the real me! The paying guest from hell!
PS She doesn’t like my calling my stuff ‘pomes’ – thinks it sounds a bit posey or toffee nosed. What do you think?
Oh noooo, not more teachers!!! Love it. I started off as a primary school teacher (majors psychology and art), from there to be an educational psychologist, from there to be a disability advocate.
If Libby would like to post a link to her lodge then as a part of Admin of this blog I can’t see that any of the other Admin’ers would object (or they can hit me over the head with a wet hankie..Min waves to Miglo). That is of course, if Libby would like to.
Patricia, I love you calling it pomes..it’s an ongoing joke where the word poems was misspelt. To me the word pomes brings smile.
Hush yo mouth, Min!
I get the impression that TB’s personal journals would be more like a confession.
You make me blush. Or wait…. is this just another bloody hot flush? No…it’s a blush.
All Women Are Witches
From the depths of despair; the nurturing.
In times of crisis and need; the calm help.
All is cut to ribbons; see suturing.
A potion; a gift from the rich sea kelp.
Mother to daughter, the lesson is learned;
Strength is yours for the taking and making.
Your gifts, many fools consider unearned
But your power will leave them all quaking.
Only a woman’s blood marks such a change.
Fecund; child-woman must awaken.
Loss of carelessness; the adult exchange.
Banished forever; child’s play forsaken.
From such knowledge comes the witch’s power.
No longer will this witch, hide or cower.
“The Family Well”
Look down into the well.
Below, an ancient mirror.
Time is stilled and shushed.
Familiar faces float and nod.
“Hush little baby don’t you cry.”
Echoes of gentle motherhood.
The depth cannot be fathomed,
But the chant is soothing and deep.
Reflection, recognition of the past.
Here, reach for a grandmother’s face.
Answer with a greatgran’s cadence.
Deliver another wish into the well.
The water ripples, shimmers, spirals,
The guardians of our childhood whisper.
Old soft fleshed hands stroke.
Perfumed nursery voices murmur.
“Mummy and Nanny thank the Lord.”
All are there in the pure water,
Total parts of the reflection.
Your face, her face, our good night.
The circle of illumination.
No beginning, no end.
A timeless familiar face,
A promise to remember.
I tried to post the above free form poem as a concrete poem in the shape of a well or wine barrel. The format here will not allow this. You will just have to imagine the shape poem.
A man died here the other day by his own hand.
Was he trying to make me understand
What it was he had in mind, what it was he planned?
With hindsight now, it feels more like a threat to me,
When he said, “Just wait, you’ll see!
You’ll be sorry that you weren’t more kind to me.”
His family say they had no clue
That this was something he planned to do.
He didn’t say to anyone, “I’m going to punish you.”
But that is what he’s done.
Now, and long after he has gone,
His wife and children will have no relief
From the guilt and the remorseless grief,
The horror and the shock beyond belief.
Hi, Suzette…. the Cafe is indeed a gem. the coffees not much chop and the wine list isn’t the best, but you really ‘must’ try the crepe’s.
excellent poem patriciawa…thank you
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