Tag Archives: @Jane_Goldsack

You Only Spread Twice

‘From Tiptree With Love’

“The Man With The Golden Spread”

“The Spy Who Loved Toast”


@Tiptree #JamesBondFilms

@Jane_Goldsack supplied the lovely home-made bread.

Photographed by me.

Original idea from Ian Fleming

Filmed in Breakovision.

The Cat Who Can (Manxu)

Manx(u) Cat

Manx(u) Cat

The Cat Who Can (Manxu)

“Me? How?
You have to give me time!
Fine! Saus-a-ges


With many thanks to Jane for alerting me to this form – 2-2-1-6-1-4-! (Must finish with an !).

A little sack of gold

Contents: Naughty.

Contents: Naughty

A little sack of gold

If the truth be told

If I may be so bold

A tale may here unfold

Of goods and things so sold

Lovely to behold

And it’s worth will not grow old

Or fires blaze to cold…

It is our supper…

in a little sack of gold.

A Little Collaboration! (Jane’s Musings and I)

Not that the French say this.

Not that the French say this.

The invention
Of intention
One day
Purely by chance.
It added a new dimension
To my writing
And, did I mention
It happened
One day
Purely by chance?

It was at a dance
In France
A chanson d’amour
Was playing
For sure
On the juke-box
It was le chanson
Tous les jours
For the day
All day
Every day.

Nonsense Poetry in 8,6,4 Syllables.

Frying-Pan the Cat (her name, not an instruction, oh, no, no!

Frying-Pan the Cat (her name, not an instruction, oh, no, no!

“I am not a big fan of fans.”

Said Frying-Pan, the cat

And that was that.


She often made these strange comments

From her saf-é-ty-mat

‘She’ called it that.


“Nor am I! exclaimed Frying-Pan;

As she sizzled and spat!

‘Her’ name was ‘Cat!’


“It’s a topsy-turvy world here!

And no mistake!” said Matt;

A passing gnat.


But, it was just another day

In Rain-Cloud-Cuckoo Flat;

Where ‘things’ ‘do’ chat.

A Kind of Coffee


Fill up my coffee cup
With kindness
And I won’t miss my brew
I Fill up my coffee cup with you

How Goes The Day?

J. S. Goldsack

J. S. Goldsack

We talk via text

When apart

Each hard at work

But, taking a moment to touch

Across the miles.


We think via empathy

And the pathway spanning my mind is a well worn route

From your crossings and recrossings;

You know the way.

But, sometimes, when apart, we wobble

Because, sometimes, we are human jellies

And it is what we do.


Here, I say, never fear,

We shall be back in arms


Soon, my dear.