My Head Is In My Manuscript.

I am not going physically,

I haven’t a secret key to a special place,

but an agent wants a look at my hope for a book.

 For a while at least my work will be my feast.

 

 
 Keep your fingers crossed for me,

it’s a learning curve you see.

Giving it a go may teach me

something I don’t know.

So I thank you all for your patience, loyalty and friendship. I will give this my best shot and if, just if I am sucessfull I will celebrate with you all. If I am not we can commiserate and learn for the next time. 😇 

Quote

Shed No Tears.

image

Shed not a tear when I be gone,
Don’t wet your cheeks for me.
I’m in the ink you write with
That you can not seem to see.

I sit beside you daily,
as you go about your life.
Watching out for trouble
I try to ward off strife.

I whisper secret stories
In your ear for you to write.
I infiltrate your thoughts
When you put out the light.

So there is no need to feel lonely
Or to wander there in gloom
For I am in every corner
Of each and every room.

Colleen and Ronavan prompted with belief/believe thank you both.

I resurrected this poem because it fits perfectly, i wrote it for an author who was grieving and said she could no longer  write. It now fits me as the words my Dad would say to me when I doubt myself.  If we just believed in ourselves we could achieve anything. Leave a comment, place a word let me know what it was you heard.

Hope !

Click to visit and join Colleen and Ronavans prompt here.
Communication is the most important ability we have, as human beings we ignore this at our peril. The money that would be saved, the lives lived, and problems solved, if communication was used instead of weapons.

Often I am told I talk too much and I probably do, but take a leaf from my book, stop thinking your colour or creed puts you above anyone. There is but one race… the human race. Knowledge is power and know this, communicating clearly and calmly ‘will’ bring world peace.

We share the earth, and share ideas, which in turn  builds relationships and that can alter everything because it opens the way for peace.

For Ronavan’s challenge today, in light of the atrocities that man has committed  I felt this had a place.

Hope for new tomorrows

Open our eyes to true beginings.

Pleased to leave behind yesterdays sorrows

Enrich our lives with hope, peace and love.
An acrostic poem, please comment and connect i will get right back to you.

Why I write.

 

 

wpid-40edfabcb28a709069954eaefef30b42.jpg

Writing simply  helps me breathe,

Washes my soul before I leave.
Allows me somewhere to place the ink,
To show the world what I think.

Letters, words and rhyme
Are part of my being all the time.
Life without a place to write
Would be like sleep without the night.

A place for love, humour and pain,
Somewhere to be time and again.
Without the pen I wouldn’t be me,

To not exist, to not be free.

 

I would love to know why you write, why you do  what you do.

. Leave me a comment please.

 

As My Tea Gently Steeps.

alley-699197_960_720 hooddie

 

I saw his reflection as he slid a hand along the wall craning his neck to look at my back. I stood at the kitchen sink pretending oblivion. He bobbed his head twice, then continued upstairs.

We at the guild of women had been warned, don’t answer the door to strangers, keep them locked, chains on. They failed to tell us what to do if in broad daylight the bastard jimmied your door, knife in hand, bag up his shirt. I hummed gently, cloth in hand I wiped the sill.

The sun hit my Rhododendron as he dragged his feet down the landing. A squirrel chased a chaffinch from the feeder when he knocked Fred’s picture from my bedside table and said “ fuck”.

The kettle whistled, as he rushed from room to room. I put on the radio, the pot warmed, the tea leaves steeped. He slammed my door stealing my memories, leaving his stench in my home; Fred broken beside my bed.

hands-1209337_960_720aged

 

Precious Things.

.

This is my precious special item, you’ll think it a strange one I expect. My daughter and her husband gifted this rose bush to me. Mother of the bride they called, her words made eyes leak. The rose is a gift that will remind me always of their special day, May 23rd 2015.

I counted forty two blooms yesterday and I think each one represents a kind word, and a hug from my daughter. They remind me that however far in time and miles we are from her, she still cares and loves us, as we do her.

My Husband said they look like old ladies frilly knickers… what do you say other than, “When? When did you see… no don’t answer”. They smell of honey and vanilla the roses that is, the middles are a deeper leamon than the edges; my two tone frilly nice smelling knickers!

I hope they make you happy too. Do you have a precious something you would share? I’d  love to hear your stories or see the item you find so special. Leave me a link or a comment, please do.😆😇

City Travel.

 

passengers-1150043_960_720

Your always alone in a city,
on a tube a street or a bus.
No one wants to notice,
Give a glance or make a fuss.

Can you smell the stench of travel
As it seeps from Eccrine glands
Of bodies pressed close together
with no place to wash their hands.

Finally the noise is over,

Bodies fly out the doors.

No one makes eye contact,

As all eyes are on the floors.

I’ve Eaten My Post.

As I am away until the twelfth of July and  have scheduled a few posts so as not to dissapoint my visitors. I am planning an occasional coffee shop visit to beg wifi so do keep coming,  😇 😘

Today my healthy breakfast was even healthier than usual. In my strawberry pot little pops of goodness grew and  I chose this bright morning to pick them.

image

My breakfast mixed in a bowl waited in the kitchen. It waited for the topping that would make it look like muesli;  but in a party frock. Ths addition would bring beauty to the mix and raise the anti oxidants to levels supreme.

 In Anticipation of the breakfast I put out my favourite mug; the one with a picture of a fat strawberry slapped on its side. A coloured spoon that set the scene  was placed just so. The coffee pot pre – warmed and ready. My setting almost complete,  waited for me to photograph it,  A picture to finish off my blog, to proudly show my produce in its best light. A picture taken with a shiny new camera.on my phone.  I’m not a photographer or even a good snapshot taker, but this is brand spanking new and I was excited. After all what could go wrong.

image

From the deck outside the kitchen window, I plucked three juicy plump strawberries. They felt good in my hand, warmed by the morning sun. Their scent tickled my nostrils, my mouth filled with saliva and my tastebuds jumped to attention. By the time I walked into the kitchen they had disappeared. The only traces remaining were stains at  the corners  of my mouth. .I had eaten them, relished each one, I rubbed the achenes with my tongue,  they felt like goose pimples. Slowly I slurped, devoured and thoroughly enjoyed all three. That is why this  is incomplete, unfinished and left lacking. Because, I’ve eaten my post!

Post script…

I felt guilty so made a replica of said breakfast… minus the Yoghurt as It has gone too.. I snapped this second one just as my mouth began to water.

 To assuage my guilt I will leave you my breakfast recipe and maybe  the strawberries will get in to your bowl before being devoured.. .

One hand full of organic jumbo oats
Two desert spoons of chopped and sliced almonds, hazelnuts and walnuts.
Two teaspoons of already mixed, sunflower, linseed and pumpkin seeds.
Fresh fruit the sumptuous kind ( red or purple )
A dollap of thick plain yoghurt
Two desertspoons of fresh juice.
Two teaspoons of Agave nectar.
Mix, allow to sit for ten minutes
Then if you managed to get this far without doing so… eat.

wp-1466860978108.jpg

Have you ever left something unfinished?
Have you scuppered your own blog?
Or eaten your post?
Leave me a comment let me know what you think of my photographic skills, and my recipe. I’m away for a bit but will answer as soon as I can. Meanwhile enjoy the sun.

Quote

A Little Recognition.

image

On my blog I lay a cornucopia of words. This site is a constantly replenished offering, a buffet of stories, poetry and pieces of me. This is a place I choose; to show the shape of me.

image

As I edit my first full manuscript and one day soon novel, I try to grow and make connections. Coming here to breathe on my blog when the edit bites my bum and frustrates me, this gives me the distraction I need. I read and reply to comments left here, many urge me on and inspire confidence; I learn from you all. I seek out more followers, visit blogs and join conversations, in hope that they/ you appreciate something I write, or maybe begin to hear my voice.

image

I follow places and like minded people, honest writers and bloggers with passion and soul. “I thank you from me” for accommodating me and allowing my presence in your space.

To all who share and promote and care, those that take time to comment, I drop a curtsie, bend a knee, and thank you, I recognise your talent and appreciate your time.

image

If I could see you all gathered in one place I would share my picnic with you all.
Now if I did, what would you bring to my blanket? Let me know in the comments. Bye for now and keep coming and sharing as I do. 😘

    To Capture A Soul.

It came, a mist a fog with stench.

A beast grotesque, teeth he clenched.

He swooped across land and space

until it came upon her place.


Slyly skulking under the door,

she felt it move across the floor.

Filling her with fear and dread,

He flung her soul upon the bed.


Fog gathered thick and tight,

It had blood in his sight.

Evil stared her in the face

held her in its hot embrace.


Trembling she pissed upon the floor

her earthly self could take no more.

Ripping at  her from beneath,

grinding, crunching with its teeth.


Stood and gathered familiar form,

A look of man appeared the norm.

His glowing eyes  cast a light,

She bears the scars this eerie night.


He held her limp and lifeless self,

gently laid her on a shelf.

Where a vase of wild flowers bloom,

throwing spring across the room.


A tear, a shimmering stone,

He thrust it hard against the bone.

pressing into the gaping hole,

that once contained a woman’s soul.


She flinched as if a current passed,

Slowly sitting she looked aghast.

Evil  had taken the place,

Of beauty on this immortal face.


As daylight hovered,

they melted to the floor.

A  green fog

slipped 

silently

 Beneath

The

Door.

Another journey for me, a dabble with horror. Let me know what you think.

leave me your thoughts in the comments I will answer soonest. 😈😇