A Covid-19 Poem To Remind Us How We Made It Thus Far.

For all the people facing the dread,

standing tall making it possible to stay home instead.

For The packers and stackers

the fund raisers and the backers.

Clap for the Teachers for all they do

for the frontliners and vulnerable kids.

For those that are shattered

but still turned up to assist.

The cleaners and porters,

their sons and daughters.

The refuse collectors

the postie delivering parcels and letters.

The Care workers holding loved ones hands.

Together on Thursdays We’d clap.

The trades that are on standby for

emergency plumming and heating.

The door knockers with boxes and

a happy greeting, ready with smiles

For the people they are meeting.

The aged alone, some scared isolating.

The police the firemen the ambulance drivers,

To the paramedics, the nurses, doctors and cleaners, we give thanks.

To the politicians who try to sort it all out,

We clapped for the Vets who cared for our pets.

The chemist the grocer the butcher the baker.
We are proud of the Mums and the dads,

Temporarily wearing teachers hats.

The home workers that keep the economy fed,

For the corner shops, serving, doing their best

Clap for the garage mechanics delivering goods,

With no engines to build or MOT’s to test.

To Morticians and undertakers, the funeral directors.

The Churches and councillors stepping up to the plate

The volunteer groups working till late,

Those building temporary mortuaries and hospitals,

To pick up the slack, without you we couldn’t see a way back.

We clapped for our Forces who stand up for us all,

always prepared to answer the call.

Simple steps helped us to survive,

I composed this poem in April 2020 when the first wave of the virus took so many lives. October arrived, people had become complacent, believing themselves to be invincible. Once again, the numbers began to rise. I have posted this poem to remind us how keeping your distance, washing your hands and wearing a mask was not hard, it flattened the curve. Businesses then re-opened and Schools trickled back. People flouted the guidelines by coming together, parties were had, masks discarded like old chip-paper in the streets. Many were defiant and selfish, they screamed abuse at the ones still complying with the guidelines. Masses of people said, their civil liberties were being eroded, they caused uproar and refused to comply.

And here we are now! In our Winter of discontent. Made by covid-19 and exacerbated by selfishness and greed. But we know when we come together and care like before, we kept the pandemic from entering our door. I ask you this, “What good are jobs? if we are dead in our beds.” So this Christmas, when governments have tried to relax some of the rules … just remember, if you go too far we will pay for it in lives, not just tax.

Be kind and leave comments, but remember this is my home, my opinions. I wish for you all to be safe.

Cooking up a Sunday storm to kiss goodbye to Autumn.

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It never hovers long does Autumn, it sweeps in; on a Poppins like wind. When kites shimmy and spin on translucent threads. Winds whip and tousle unsuspecting children’s heads. They huff and blow like the bad wolf once did, stripping summer from plants and trees. A squall of winds screech as they undress limbs and bend boughs till they break; bringing gardeners to their knees.

Autumnal lawns are dressed in luscious shades of gold and red. Acorns and nuts are shaken free in time for creatures to harvest. Rains pummel the earth as colours slip from green to burnished orange and browns. Birds wait to catch fat worms, as they pop up from the sodden earth, pink and plump ripe for the feast.

Gardens give up their bounty, Root veg for soups and hearty stews, sustenance to keep out the chill. Autumn stocks our larders with hedge picked fruit, from bramble berries to rosehip and sloes. A new darkness crawls across the face of the evening clock … as thick as a London smog.

Long walks kicking leaves and collecting cones, puddle jumps, pink the cheeks of carefree folk. Kids join the huddle before a snapping fire, where tales of spook get told. Eyes soon droop, as kicking leaves and conker fights take their toll.

But no sooner it has arrived it’s time to go, it’s job done for another year. Now, we make ready for morning frosts and white sparkling roofs, as we Kiss another Autumn goodbye.

photo my own.

Sweet potato & carrots lightly spiced Autumn  soup.

My own photo.

Ingredients.

6 large carrots cut in four length-ways.

4. Medium sweet potatoes again cut lengthways. (about the size of the carrots)

I large onion

4 oz of split soaked red lentils

A head of garlic

3 pints of stock vegetable or Chicken

One large potato cubed.

Spices and condiments. All 1/2 teaspoon. Turmeric, red chilli flakes, ground cardamom, flaked sea salt, black freshly ground pepper, ginger grated or ground, cayenne pepper, a tablespoon of olive oil, a half stick of butter.

To garnish, either kale or Cavallo Nero de-stalked and shredded. A splash of soy, olive oil and a half teaspoon of flaked salt, to barely coat. one tablespoon of sesame seeds.

Optional: garnish. Crumbled feta cheese and a sprinkle of ground red peppercorn.


Roast on a baking tray or large shallow pan with everything on the tray coated in olive oil.
Carrots, sweet potato, garlic slices.

Gently fry:
onion Turmeric, ginger ground cardamom, cayenne pepper, until onion is translucent.

Pour fresh chicken or veg stock in a crockpot with ground salt and pepper and one cubed potato and 4oz red split lentils (soaked) and cook on med heat until the potato falls apart.



When the onions are translucent, add to the cooking liquid in the crockpot on top of the stove. and add the tray of veg soft from the oven breaking up the veg as you add it. Once stew-like add the butter and more water if required, it needs to be quite thick. Put the crockpot in the already hot oven. Cook low, 125°c in the oven for an hour.
Add red chilli flakes blitz with a stick blender add more liquid if needed.

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Toss the shredded greens in flaked salt and a tiny coating of combined olive oil, soy and sesame oil, ( do not soak) Then add enough to barely coat the shredded stalkless Cavalo Nero. Put on a baking tray 150°f (not on fan cook, or it will blow away as it dries out) ten mins should have it dehydrated.
Toast sesame seeds in a dry pan and put to one side.
Watch the Nero carefully as soon as crisp put in a bowl sprinkle the sesame seeds over and use to garnish the soup. Serve with hunks of warm buttered bread.

It is so ludicrously warming and tasty you will want make batches to freeze.

Do any of you have a favourite comforting seasonal food? I would love to read about it in the comments.

A little More Than Poetry Is Required To Make It Good

My goodness I am in awe. I can, get my brain around a poem, deliver an artistic > cough < free write, a passable rhyming piece, or a limerick. But the poetry I read over at Colleen Cheeseborough’s place, this is so far away from that.

I penned a rhyme to let the true poets know what I think of their work. And below is none of the following. Types of Poetry.

Tanka. … Haiku. … Cleve … limmerick. … lyrical poem. … narrative poem. … ode. … sonnet. … Ballad. … Acrostic. … A double Enneade. … these are just some forms that I can list, though there are many more I have yet to find.

I bow before you all,
Composers of life,
Love and lament.
Winding words with
Gold-leaf, painting
Architectural prose,
Like attempting
To cement back on
The Sphinxes nose.

How poor my attempt,

too ashamed am I to lay it here,

discarded like Vincent’s ear.

But yet I parry the expected blows

from fencer’s cries and a Sphynxes nose,

for who am I to try?

And so in this place I walk away,

I concede defeat

touché.

When you read sophisticated Poetry or verse, do you think … best concede defeat? Answers or comments down below please, I love to chat.

Tell it to the muse, because she is not listening to me.

Photo by Lum3n on Pexels.com

My muse loves to surprise me! She won’t be wrangled or shoved in a slot for my writing needs. It was three in the morning, I was poked from behind closed eyelids, her pencil sharpened to the stabbiest point.

from Pixabay

Did she not hear me say, “I will write from 11/4 three days a week,” I had thought about it long and hard. Once I decided on the most beneficial time I began.

At this point I will admit that since stopping work, I never plan anything but medical appointments, and family visits.  I no longer wear a watch, except for my fitbit, again I admit, I never look at that, except to see if I actually got up from my desk in the last eight hours. I eat when hungry, or when the husband feeds me. I  get up when I need a pee, or the dog squeaks a toy at my feet and presses her nose into my knee.  Oh, and I prefer ‘pantsing’ when I write, which I know,  makes for a much more difficult editing process.

On days that I am unable to write, unwell, preoccupied, fatigued or just not in the space, I read. Scrabble, the word game is also my thing. But even, then my procrastination involves me writing on my blog. So what you have learnt, is that I write to rest, I read and blog and scrabble to procrastinate. There is a theme going here, I am just a wordy bird.

So, lets get back on point.  I made the decision to be,  … more organised. The Husband laughed raucously at that bit. I shaded sections of my spanking new planner, set reminders and post-it notes on the fridge, my phone and laptop. Dog walking poop picking (a fur mummies job) and feeding 6.30 /7.30 bin sorting, (eco freaking the husband calls it). Shower and clean myself and the bathroom and sort the washing and kitchen  by 10.30. Thirty minute catch up with ‘The Husband’ shared kisses and moans, laughter and news, then settle to write.

Well that was the plan. I think that word, … plan is what done it, scuppered the whole thing. 3 am poke poke, my muse awoke. At first, I ignored her mutterings, but she was persistent. It started with faint whispers, ones I had to listen to with great care. The next thing I knew, was that there was absolutely no use in staying in bed.

from Pixabay

So that was that, wrapped in pyjamas with my lucky pen, at my desk my day began. Before I knew it, it was dusk my mind was empty my muse asleep. So you see there is no use planning without the agreement of your muse. Mine refuses to comply or to enter into any discussion. I rise, when I am woke by the mutterings. I sleep when they sleep and then there is life.

Myself, Gardening, … along with my muse.

Are you a planner? or a seat of your pants type of person? Do you have a muse? answer please in the comments. I love to chat.

Be Too Afraid to Scream when you Open the book Spellbound

click to purchase.

The nail-biting journey through the pages of this book will be a vacation from the norm; a holiday (for U.k. readers). The stories of Spellbound are wrapped in mystery. Each tale penned within is steeped in intrigue, magic, and mayhem. Written by a group of writers who each bring a different take on the theme. You will be drawn in by witches and sorcerers, have your head poked and prodded with warped psychological twists and turns. You will read fairy tales no longer fit for fairies.

There is something for everyone to enjoy. None of the Authors have suffered any permanent damage in the writing of this book, … <eye twitches>.
There are tales written by authors from across the globe, so expect some differences in Grammar and spelling. None of the language used within, Is deemed lewd, or unsuitable.
As a precaution, I suggest that people with a delicate nature may wish to adopt the safety measures that follow.
 Seat yourself in the corner, the sofa or a comfy place, hold firmly to a cushion,  to be used to muffle screams, or cover eyes, knees bent under the chin, feet pushed into the seat, to grip and prevent any involuntary leaping. A raised heartbeat is considered normal during the reading of this book.



All that is left to do now is to purchase. Press the link to take you to the book. While you are there, remember, it is one of a series of 4,which would make a great Birthday or Christmas gift. Purchased safely via Amazon and suitable for anyone to buy even if you are shielding, or socially distancing. Books can be delivered straight to yours, or a recipient’s door. Oh! in case I don’t get a chance … Happy reading. Once read, please be kind and leave a review either on your favourite story or the book as a whole.

To purchase in the U.K. Click this link. https://www.amazon.com/Spellbound-horror-anthology-stories-authors-ebook/dp/B08DM83XKR/ref=sr_1_1?dchild=1&keywords=spellbound+horror+anthology&qid=1601904407&s=digital-text&sr=1-1

To purchase from the U.S.A. click this link. https://www.amazon.com/Spellbound-horror-anthology-stories-authors-ebook/dp/B08DM83XKR/ref=sr_1_1?dchild=1&keywords=spellbound+horror+anthology&qid=1601904407&s=digital-text&sr=1-1

Finally, I thank Dan Alatorre, for the opportunity to submit a story and have it accepted. My third story included in the series “The Box under the bed.” I thank Robbie Cheadle for making the advert shown, with an excerpt taken from my story. “The Comeuppance Of Rob Kearney.” it goes without saying I thank, the editors, beta readers, promoters and marketers. without whom, this would not have been published.

I would love you to leave a comment, cheer me on, share, or both,

Now I am writing for sound.

Our local Theatre put out a call for writers of stories. They were to be set in locations where people live in the town or surrounding villages. Stories that could be fact, fiction, historic or contemporary. The one proviso was they must invite the listener to walk the tale, like a tour you get in the grounds of a stately home, or a museum. To encourage people to take a journey to a place that may be new to them, and immerse themselves in to the experience.

I researched the historic facts for authenticity. The costume from the period it was to be set. My idea was coming together, to help me think it through, I ran myself a bath. It is a foible of mine, to soak in warm bubbly froth; to think, and probably why I am somewhat vertically challenged ( maybe I shrink).

The pen twitched in my hand, the bath grew tepid, the skin crinkled on my feet. My pen scratched for hours as a tale began to form on the page.

There was a time limit, and it had to fit with health and safety in mind. “Turn to the left and beware of traffic.” Over the next weeks it was pinched and squeezed. It was lengthened and shortened and tweaked. Next, it had to be recorded as I walked, we needed to see if It would fit in the allotted ten minute slot. Eventually I entered my piece.

My flushed, excited face spent days grinning after I was told my tale had been chosen. Things were happening, auditions for readers, music scores written and sound tracks found to enhance the world as I saw it. An artist drew a map so people could print it off and follow it as a guide. And this was done for each of the seven stories that were chosen. Please click on the link below to download any story that catches your eye.

Click here https://www.theatreroyal.org/walking-stories/

If you click but are too far away or just unable to walk the stories they are still good to listen to and follow on the individual maps.

Have you found something new? A new skill you never had before covid-19, another strand to the plait that is life? I would love to know what it is in the comments.

P.S. If you listen to any of the stories do tell me what you think.

Ellen’s intention is to Persevere.

To make it through this year, as I am determined to do. I will strive to fight. The statement to show how I will get to the final day of this extraordinary year, Is “Ellen, Perseveres.” That is my intention.

Wearing an anti covid-19 mask,

I vow to set myself the task

that each day from now until then.

I will rise above the parapet

and repeat it time and again,

until it rings in my ears

and all can see,

she persevere’s.

The last few months I have folded myself into a the smallest space. Closed my eyes and hid, I have begun to surrender to the empty. I feel me fade away as if a smudged pencil sketch. My shape is real enough, my face still there. The essence of me is fading … it feels like whisps, or steam from a cup of tea on a cold day. Not quite sure you saw it slipping silently away. The person that is left is no longer curious enough to find out. So it will be a case of finding … me.

My intention is to learn something new. Today, I signed up to an online class. Together, we the group, will learn how to write and produce an audio play, with the Theatre Royal in Bury St Edmunds. I have also pledged to find myself within the words I write. To see it through, to excel the best way I can. Lock down and health issues have taken their toll, but not any more. Ellen will come through, As I Pledge to persevere.

I want to thank my blogging friend who encouraged me to set an intention and commit to it. https://youcanalwaysstartnow.wordpress.com/2020/09/14/setting-an-intention/

“If you were to chose a word to help you through the last four months, to inspire or motivate what would it be and why?” leave it in the comments I would love to chat.

Valentines 2020 Still giving.

Twisted sticks and grasses against a pinked Victorian wall.

No words were then needed, its simple shape said it all.

It’s weathered all the seasonal storms bashed against the brick,

Like our lives together, we hang on through thin and thick.

Our hearts won’t be weakened they will stay the test of time,

Joined in our forever, making our own sun, shine.

We are changing the colour of the house, and The husband got to the wall with my homemade heart and noticed, how bits and pieces had fared pretty well during this disheveled year.

Now, I am not a cutty sewy person, and the want to craft passed me by. So for me to put something together that he liked enough to still notice months later, is an exceptional feat. It is also our anniversary soon. These are the reasons for my poetic post. Sometimes it is the triffles that expresses our feelings the loudest.

Have you ever stepped out of the norm? to show how you feel. If so pop it in the comments, I would love to read and reply.

Thank you to Esme for sharing my link on her link sharing page press https://esmesalon.com/131-senior-salon/ the link to see many more or to join the fun and add yours