The Blade

Soft the iron that falls,
fragile
to the blaze,
full of potential
malleable…
as the bellow
breathes life
to glowing ember
dull red now to amber
whiter now
blinds eyes with heat
strikes hard, the hammer
in sparking beat
this virginal ferrous line
a carbon violent combine
folds fire, force and time
in unyielding chime
that ceases
sudden
silence
bidden
plunged to ice cold water
taken
to extreme
from flame
temper’s frigid claim
binds pliability with strength
this balanced steely length
caressed with hands and sands
it shines
this blade
forged
sharp, true:
bright edged.

‘Am I Your Husband?’

You’ve got to give Facebook and other social networks credit for intelligent advertising.. I mean, you fill out your profile and it custom fits advertising to suit your interests or needs. Well, it tries to. Gmail does it regularly – filtering recent email content to align advertising sidebars on your screen to match with your recent discussions with friends, family and business.

But…

If you enter ’single’ in on your profile in Facebook, they go into matchmaker overdrive. Every advert that pops up each time I log in, asks… Are you eligible? Do you want a husband? Could I be the one? Do you want a rich single man to date? Come click on this convenient link and find the man of your dreams. Are you 40 and still have it?

Still have it? Have what, exactly? My own teeth? A libido? A pulse?

It’s getting a bit tired. To the point I am seriously considering changing my profile details to something a bit more vague, like: ‘if someone turns up that’s rather cool, I could be interested’ rather than being constantly profiled as post-40 and desperate.

Right now, I’m post 40 and laissez-faire. Which roughly translated means… in my own good time. Without the manic man mad adverts.

Time for the edit button.