Absent.

Wait for me when I’m gone,

Don’t forget I was here.

Come and read a while

There’s nothing to fear.

Life has other idea’s

That keep me away.

But please don’t

stop coming,

I still have a lot

To say.

I am having to take a break for a while. I can’t say for how long, but I hope to pop back and read any comments and reply when I can. I look forward to continuing to read your posts and banter on your blogs where possible. I will be back once I am fit and able.

But when life gives you lemons … you need to stand back and take in the scent, look at the whole tree; not just the fruit.

Into The Deep

 

He watched the moon glow red in the sky
Throw colour over ripples of  grey,

A whiff of a scent as if in a dream,

A flash, then he’s falling away.
Into the deep, green tentacles flap,

as if; happily waving goodbye.

A panic, an unheard scream,

bubbles bursting towards the sky.
Down in the grime the muck and the slime

beside the hull of an upturned boat,

Protrude  oars, like arms reaching out …

as if to get ahold of his throat.
An eel comes to look at the boy with a book,

who into the water was spilt.

Who struggles and fights,

his  legs disturbing the silt.
Deep down he plunges

The light disappears in a mist,

Like angelic detritus he floats,

intoxicated with heavenly bliss.
The dark clears, a nymph beckons

with barely a flick of her wrist,

A wisp of a thing, lures him deep

Her face he tenderly kissed.

He’s now way below,
Where tides ebb

And flow.

And dreams

Reappear

With

The

Fish.

This piece I have written in response to The Ink Owl with the prompt into the deep I plunge, using the theme of fantasy. Press Here to join in or read some fabulous entries.

Did I succeeded?  did my foray into fantasy work? or should I leave well alone? Answers will be most welcome *waves*

Breaking the Rules

photograph courtesy of Paul Miltiaru press HERE to see his beautiful photography.

feet

 

 He could walk a coastal hike

Take the road atop a bike.

Sail o’er the seas of old

On a ship that’s made of gold.

He could fight a hundred men

Chase a lion from his den.

He’d be a champion of men

The countries Olympian.

But let him walk along a street

Without shoes upon his feet

He’d  bring shame and despair

On the townsfolk living there.

You can win a Quadrathlon

but never flout a road sign.

Photo of British quadrathlon team courtesy of Wikipedia.

Which rule did you break?  (Other than a parking or speed signs )

sign

I flouted the rules of propriety with the above, as I thought one way, was my way…

March Marches On

Linda Hill challenges with the word March press here to read or join in the fun.

It was the sound and sight of spring,

That bouncing boxing lop eared thing.

He ruled his paddock won his mate

in his hole next the five bar gate.

The March hare mad as can be

Brings spring to life this morning for me.

Fox stalks his vixen flicks his brush

Jumps atop his choice in a rush.

Twice or thrice maybe more

grinds her into the floor

when her belly is round and full

another vixen he will pull.

March Marches to the beat

of Mother nature’s  drum

To procreate

We call her

Mum.

 

 

A bit of whimsy to warm your soul and tickle your fancy. I hope you liked it.

Love After Love

 

The time will come

when, with elation,

you will greet yourself arriving

at your own door, in your own mirror,

and each will smile at the other’s welcome,

and say, sit here. Eat.

You will love again the stranger who was your self.

Give wine. Give bread. Give back your heart

to itself, to the stranger who has loved you
all your life, whom you ignored

for another, who knows you by heart.

Take down the love letters from the bookshelf,
the photographs, the desperate notes,

peel your own image from the mirror.

Sit. Feast on your life.

By Derek Walcot. R.I.P. 17th March 2017 #WorldPoetryDay  couldn’t pass by without a bow or a curtsie to the painter, playwright, poet, English professor and nobel prize winner amongst his many accolades. He missed this day by four days so I would like to honour him in some small way. 

Auschwitz 1.

Arbeit macht frei” (work set’s you free)

 

Beneath a winters sun a biting wind blew,

Where nobody saw and nobody knew.

With tears in the eyes of our guide

Shock on our faces no-where to hide.

I couldn’t remove her words from my ear

The ones no decent human wants to  hear.

Watching through a fog knowing the reality

It slid beneath flesh and warped earth’s polarity.

Ramming evil home, planting it deep

like marrow into the bone.

Escape was not made for here,

corrections happened and slaughter… its clear.

They walked towards death one by one,

Without the fear of what was to come.

When water became gas, to help them cope,

they sang the  Hatikvah, their song of hope.

I see piles of  hair when I try to sleep,

the discarded shoes torn from innocents feet.

I see their faces before me as I softly weep,

Brush crematoria soot from a tear stained cheek.

This place bore witness to pure evil that time,

it can not be erased from the depths of my mind.

At the shooting wall I picture them standing that day,

Singing hopeful  prayers they refused to face away.

The Nazi machine, its power so strong,

kept the furnaces burning all night long.

Hundreds were cremated day after day,

Not fast enough to clear the piles of decay.

First their status then their pride

Ripped them apart nowhere to hide.

For all the souls that gather there,

Their fortitude, their pain and despair.

I beseech you all, to stand and see

the shooting wall… just like me.

The rose was placed on one of the beds that held six bodies in the barracks of Auschwitz one. Poignantly positioned, by someone paying respects on March the second 2017.

A  piece of me shifted that day, my eyes clouded and my heart cried. I thought long and hard before posting this and though I hope you leave me a comment I will umderstand if you don’t.

Ham!

Linda’s prompt for #Socs  is  Ham!  To join in or read some

fantastic responses click 🔜here🔙


I once laughed til I cried

over a song about ‘spam’.

Was surprised when  given a book

Called ‘Green eggs and ham’.
I was thrilled when  cooked

Chips,  beans and ham,

for the first time,

by a visiting man. *wink wink*.
You never know what form

memories will take,

or how we inadvertently

nudge them awake.
A smell of lavender

Reminds me of Gran,

reading the rhymes… you guessed it

From green eggs and ham.

The taste of pig does it for me

It rumbles my stomach

until i fill it with tea….

Anyone for a sandwich?

A whimsical ditty … My husband listened (as they do) and said “You do know you’re weird… dont you”?

Comments welcomed and responded to promtly.

.

A Present that made them smile.

I traipsed along the high street looking for  something cool,

Wanting to find the perfect thing the exception to the rule.

Searching for a talking point the item that would hold pride of place,

After fourteen shops I was sure to be losing face.

 

Tired from a six hour journey and legs that no longer wanted to walk.

I dialled my daughters number…   for a probing talk.

We beat around the bushes side swiped at my subtle plan

Then she asked me what I wanted “just say it if you can”.

 

Reluctantly I asked what the heck could I buy?

She said “a hat, you silly” I thought that I would cry.

Armed with an idea for the item I marched on once again,

On cobbled surfaces that would floor many weakened men.

 

A mother on a mission to deliver the perfect style,

It had to be special … after trying all this while.

I returned to my husband to update him on the task

He pretended he understood but his face was a blank mask!

 

It’s Christmas eve at three O’clock the sky is turning dark

My feet are burning and There’s one shop left across the park.

So I returned to the old town to the shop where I first began,

Where I asked for the hat, from a very puzzled man.

 

You see he told me quietly as his lip took on a twitch,

He wouldn’t disappoint me, pulling at his sleeve he broke a stitch.

But it isn’t a fashion statement, a cool item that is hot,

But a tea cosy that is worn upon a plump teapot.

 

“I know ” I shouted wildly, but it is all that you have got

That would look special on her head and not a pot.

So Christmas went with a giggle as my tale took a life of it’s  own,

Even two weeks later she is still laughing down the phone.

 

She stitched up the spout hole and the handle space too

And sent me a picture NOT! to show to you.

Her cosy is real cosy, her smile is more than just a smile

As she dons her new hat and wears it with panache and style.

 

 

This silly ditty is a true story! And the cosy was purchased from http://www.whitestuff.com/ … shh! We won’t let on that I posted her photo… will we? 

    

Have you ever given a better talking point at Christmas?  Do let me know  what it was and how it was received. I will get back quick smart with a response. Happy 2017. X

A Ballet of Books.

image

Words I read dance on my tongue
Library books join in the fun.
A myriad of majestic lust
Move in a flurry of mite dust.

Turning pages straightening spines,
Composure coreographed in lines.
Come watch the Pas de deux
Girls Pirruette in clasic tutu.

A library putting on a ballet
Watched by books in the alley.
It began with the arabesque
Pointe at librarians desk.

They Gathered all in croisè
Danseur with a grande jetè
Prima ballerina took a bow
Books that dance holy cow.

Shed Not A Tear.

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.

*finger to lips* Shhh!

Linda Hill Thank you for your prompt press here to join in. 

This I penned a while ago for a friend who said she didn’t think she could write now her mother had gone. She was her motivation and without her … In a stream of conciousness I wrote this and sent it seconds later, and I  am pleased to say she is writing once more.