I have been lucky enough to have my poem chosen to be performed by Casey Lee Brock. A spoken word artist. Below is the result of that collaboration.
She wears the scars of the divine
They think she’ll forget given time.
that she’ll bow to the pain
And pray in his name.
But she won’t, instead,
she will cry in her bed
For God, on a mission,
Or ancient tradition.
The girls In her tribe
At the stain they see
On the six year old’s gown.
The heat in her face as
Infection slots In place.
Death is often the way.
Not saved from the cut,
Like a kick in the gut,
Her Mother held
Her hand that day.
It happens In a home
Just like yours,
Closed house doors.
When blood seeps
through the cracks,
it’s covered with a mat
Never to be mentioned
I didn’t think it could be,
Because I was too blind to see.
Not in a house that’s
Next door to me.
For those who can not open YouTube.
Thank you Casey for choosing to perform my piece I am very proud.
The article below was taken directly from Feb 2017 ITV news.
A case of female genital mutilation (FGM) is either discovered or treated in England every hour, according to the analysis of NHS statistics by a charity.
Between April 2015 and March 2016 there were 8,656 times when women or girls attended doctors’ surgeries or hospitals and the problem was assessed – the equivalent of one every 61 minutes.
Did you know this barbarity was so prevalent in the UK? Talk to me please. I will get back to you promptly.
Here Linda Hills stream of concious Saturday prompt. Press to join in or read
We heard the cheers through the trees,
The music carried on an evenings breeze.
Painted faces and flowered hair,
Dogs and children nap in wheeled chairs.
We raised our glasses nodded our heads.
Unspoken memories we shared in bed.
An earthy voice was the last we heard,
Interupted by the late night trill of a lowley bird.
A nightingale threw back its head
We listened lying in the motorhome bed.
The festival stopped with resounding cheers
But the nightingale stayed with us for many years.
Photograph taken by me at #RedRoosterFestival JUNE 2018 Held at Euston Hall Suffolk.
A VERY QUICK #SoCS
Have you been to a gig or festival recently? Do let me know in the comments😇
I catch a noise before I sleep
The whistlers skulk about
Spreading fear skin deep.
Chirruping secret calls,
Hiding behind garden walls.
Disturbing young girls dreamsI wake with terrifying screams.
I pull a quilt over my head,
Hide a torch beneath the bed.
Prepare to fight for my life
I take Mum’s vegetable knife.
It’s old and blunt, bent a bit
She stabs at spuds in the pot
To ascertain if they are hot.
Armed, I squeeze Emma tight,
Her yellow suit warm and bright
She comforts me as I hum
a lulluby learned from Mum.
Doll and me are doing fine
Until music starts keeping time.
Through the crack, behind the bed
I hear the tune, inside my head,
Sweet and soft hardly heard.
Matching me word for word.
Spuriously stuffing notes in a sack
My sleep is wrestled into the black.
Sheets tangle around my legs,
like on the line, around Mummy’s pegs.
I can’t escape, I scream at last,
Sodden sheets and whitened mask.
Tapping her foot beside my bed
Mummy glares, shakes her head.
washed and clean no longer soiled
Tea is made …
For those who want to listen to me speaking the poem click the link below…
Written for A Halloween poetry competition press here to see all the wonderful enteries here Thank you Auroura for the opportunity.
A little Halloween can go a long way… What were you scared of? Or maybe you still are? leave me a comment I’ll answer quick smart.
I take no credit for this tiny film, I couldn’t leave it where I found it please read and let me know how it made you feel. Thank you.
And most of all thank you Francine.
Thank you in advance to dream big dream often for sharing this post so hopefully more visitors watch this 4 minute story which is going to alter your day press Here to promote a post of your own. Thank you.
I pressed Facebook, I heard a ping,
I came across an extraordinary thing.
It wasn’t a cat or pointless meme
It was the love of humanity.
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I spotted a challenge on Charli Mills site press Here to see.
The challenge to write ninety nine words exactly, in the format of flash fiction on the word Gallop or galloping. This may not be what was expected but anyone who knows me I often make the box rather than think outside It.
A Gallop Was Heard.
Laying here,with my ear pressed to the earth I hear the drum of galloping, hooves pounding so loud with speed as they approach. Sweat breaks my brow as a cold clamminess envelops me.
I lay paralysed, wondering when hooves full of energy will arrive to trample and break my weary body, the one that chose this spot to fall, this sod to pillow my head amongst the grass. As the galloping gets louder and my body refuses to move I in that moment realise the sound is inside my head, as my heart reaches its last finishing post.
the photo is from pixabay.com
I wanted to celebrate with a post, the voices or sounds that have moved me and stayed with me since the first words I heard come from their mouths.
The voices of mesmerising qualities that we can hear in these two men are simply beautiful. There are others who have the “Voicefactor”, the qualities which make whatever they read feel true, and absolutely believable; the ability to make your legs wobble. The celebration of sound and tone of the ones I am sharing today, for me at least stand out as exceptional.
Not being able to show them all here today saddens me, but the wonderful tone of Dame Maggie Smith (just showing I’m not sexist ageist or anyother geist) Betty Davis another such voice, one that curled your toes and made a thousand new born spiders run up your neck ( metaphorically speaking ).
Some not many, but some singers voices resonate, and are remembered more for their voice than the music. Louis Armstrong, Barry White, Leonard Choen and the wonderful Joe Cocker. I am not sexist there are superb females with the same qualities Janice Joplin springs to mind.
Leave a word, be kind, let me know your feelings; do you disagree or know better?
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