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Saturday, December 31, 2016

Before I Go

31st Dec 2016.

That will be the last time, unless by accident , I write 2016.
It's the end of another year.

I've not been writing much on my blog but I'm amazed that during the last month there have been over a thousand visits bringing the total to over 26,000. Now that's a wonderful thing to think that people are reading my words, such as they are , even when I'm not paying attention.
I would like to post more useful stuff, but I am what I am and what I post I post.
Thank you to those who follow me and write beautiful comments. Keep them coming because it encourages me a great deal to know that you have taken the trouble to write a few words for my benefit.

Have you got a wish for 2017  ?  Mine is that I get to write a lot more and get better at it .

So bring it on , 2017 !! Let's see what unfolds ...  And ...


Before I Go

Look back on the old year
Only to take the lessons and the good
Look forward to the new year
Hoping all works out best, as it should.
But live in this moment, be happy 
Now is your time to love, if you would 






Thursday, December 29, 2016

A Year Ago, the Tears Flow

29th Dec 2016

Feeling a bit reflective about the past and how, no matter what we do, it stays with us.


A Year Ago The Tears Flow

Although I try to keep away,
 to dwell only in today,
 my thoughts  go back to this time last year.
All  shadows, purple pain,
internal black rain,
often I'd look for a place to shed a bitter tear.
So much to endure,
it was heavy for sure,
with  so many  of my days  stolen by fear.
But even looking back,
and following the track,
I'm left with the fact that things are still unclear.
But I need to let go,
at least not let it show,
and welcome  the start of this brand new year.



Tuesday, November 29, 2016

Scaffolding/ Leaf

29th Nov 2016

This morning the rainwater that had collected in the garden tray had turned to ice. Yes, it is official it was freezing last night. But the clear blue sky, if you could ignore the cold seeping into your bones, was like a Tuscan summer sky, the morning light filling the garden helping to create the illusion.
With reds, yellows, oranges and browns set against the blue I could almost put up with the cold for the sheer beauty of it. But I will go out with scarf and winter coat and breathe out a foggy breath and it will not be pleasant. No, no matter how wonderful the scene outside , there is still ice in the tray.

Now for some words:


Scaffolding

This old building needs restoring after long grey years,
scarred with use and abuse, concrete slabs crumbling,
broken windows of shattered dreams, vacant eyes staring.
Shape a scaffold with forklift and crane...
and mascara  ...
Cover the cracks, the tracks, from every tear that smacks
of fear -
who hears anyway.
Fill in the holes of memory loss, though no one gives a toss,
that it's going that way.
Repaint the facade of this body, scrub white green slime-
disappointment and pain, stand tall again,
proud to be noticed.


Leaf

You were born in springtime, mama tree pushing you out as a brand new bud on your branch.
Delicate baby leaf, you unfurled to become a sweet, green promise. 
Fed by your tree with water and nutrients absorbed from the soil of ancestors, you grew 
And you, in turn, produced sugar sap - nourishment for your tree.
You opened up in the rays of the sun, played and danced through the summer 
of your life, veins giving you your particular leaf shape - individual to you.
You gave pleasure and hope to those who came by your wood in those fruitful long days, 
many who came went away refreshed and replenished by your colour, your light.
You, only being yourself, unaware how much you touched so many hearts.
This was your time, your season and with others you created a tapestry of wonder,
waving from your branch , giving your magic  to all who would see.
So when the temperature dropped and your green started to fade it was hard to take.
The first signs of yellowing took us by surprise, halted us in our tracks.
But with the shortening of days, orange specks appeared all over and a weakening began
with your edges getting brittle and other leaves falling to the ground all around you. 
Suddenly it was your turn, you let go and fluttered to the earth,
And you died in the autumn as it is right that you should, but it was hard.

Thursday, November 24, 2016

Pork Chop/ Stir Up Sunday

24th Nov

More about food:


The Kidney

I just fancy one of those pork chops.  You know the ones,  
 thick meat on  bone-  juicy - with  kidney still attached. 
Of course, they don't sell them like that any more 
something to do with cross contamination.  
I loved that chop with kidney and generous helping of apple sauce.
 Didn't the meat taste better in those days? Or is it  the passing 
of years, as in "nothing is the same these days." Well, it isn't!
My mouth drools remembering -
 fat around fleshy pork-crispy, crunchy, crackling.
Served with mashed potatoes-

so full of butter - the taste as good as cream
        




Stir Up Sunday

It was that time of year again,
Lined up on kitchen worktop twenty pudding bowls,  empty, waiting.
 On the white, worn, pine table, holding years of family history, the tin bath,
the one passed down from mum’s grandma, that she had from her own grandmother,
the one that mum’s dad and  grandfather were  bathed in once a week -  father first, 
the one classed as vintage  now, which made mum laugh
Five eager, powdery, faces peered into the old bath filled with a mixture
of fruit, flour, tallow, eggs, breadcrumbs,  brandy and stout,
not forgetting the secret ingredient, which only mum knew and wouldn’t tell,
a delicious  treat for Christmas day - dad’s favourite.
A yeasty, musty, malt aroma filled the kitchen like a brewery.
Five little wooden spoons took turns to stir
always from east to west -  the way of the kings - each time making a wish.
Five little children asked questions - mum told them the story
of  Stir Up Sunday



Tuesday, November 22, 2016

Eternal Flame


21st Nov 2016

We had a moving service at church on Saturday to remember and pray for those loved ones who have died during the last year. Like an automaton I went along, not  feeling particularly happy about being there with all those others who also suffered a personal loss so recently.
 But that was, of course, the very thing that made it a moment of special Grace. A lady I knew there whose  son died just a few weeks ago was  with her daughter and grandson, being healed a little . Many of the others were friends who were also grieving and in some way the strength to be gained from us all remembering together was hugely powerful . Many of us shed a tear and comforted each other. 

Eternal Flame

Lit a candle for you both today,
And sat and had a little pray.
I miss you when I make the tea
I miss your jokes and revelry
I miss the stories that you told
Even if they were ones of old
I miss the way you knew all the news
The way you always shared your views.
I miss all our walks in beautiful places
The sea, and the hills, left smiles on our faces
I miss the way, mum, you made apple pie
I couldn't repeat it - how hard did I try.
And dad with your skill and intelligence
I was lucky if I'd got a bit of common sense.
One day we'll meet again I'm sure
When I find the way to the room next door
Image result for pictures of lit candles you can take for free




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Saturday, November 19, 2016

Slippery

19th Nov 2016

Prompt :
To use the word slippery in a five line story or poem

Slippery

You slide about on russet and gold,
An autumn evening turning cold
Leaves slippery with  fresh damp ice 
Your tread measured , slow , precise,
You head for home- he'll pay the price.

Friday, November 18, 2016

Story in Six Sentences / Light

19th Nov 2016

I'm going with a prompt today . It's to write a story in six sentences. The other constraint is to use the word light in each sentence . First time for everything. Here goes:

Light
That morning we woke in the early hours, had a light breakfast of a cereal bar and a few gulps of water  packed our tent away and set off in the dark.
Walking by the light of our torch to avoid tripping on the uneven terrain we hoped to get the eighteen miles completed before the heat of the day made it impossible to go on.
 After an hour or so, with  only the sound of our movement breaking the silence, we passed through olive groves and vineyards and spotted a mysterious light coming from the old hermitage of Cuevas .
We thought it was a trick of the eyes until we realised that the cloud cover was thinning and the light was coning from the early morning moon  hitting something, maybe metallic, in the ancient church.
Wanting a short rest and  to have a look around we lifted our rucksacks off our backs and immediately felt light and free.
We set off again, putting our torch away because the soft yellow light of dawn was creeping up over  horizon.