Lost In Autumn

18th Dec 2017

Lost In Autumn

Born in springtime,

 mama tree pushed you out 

a brand new bud.

delicate baby on bare branch,

 you unfurled - sweet, sacred promise. 

Life water and nutrients absorbed

 from the blood of ancestors fed you

 roots reached down  into times unknown 

you, in turn, produced sugar sap

 nourishment for your tree.

In the rays of the sun,

you opened up,

 danced and dallied

 through the summer 

of your life, 

strong veins forming

 your  particular self  shape -

 you.

Happiness and hope you  gifted 

 to those who wandered  your wood

  fruitful, filled, days, 

some, satiated by your colour, your light 

went away refreshed, replenished

you, only being yourself,

 unaware how  your warmth 

 touched those souls.

It was  your time, your season - 

with others you wove

  a soft web of wonder,

waving from your branch ,

 bestowing  magic on all

 who wanted to  see.

So,  when the cold came

 and your green grew dim

Your sparkle diminished 

 it was hard to take.

Signs of yellowing

 took us by surprise,

 halted us in our tracks.

With  shortening days,

 orange specks appeared 

 and the  weakening began

 your edges getting brittle , 

 other leaves falling

dropping  to the ground 

all around . 

Suddenly

 it was your turn,

reluctantly

 you let go ,

 fluttered to the earth,

you died in the autumn 

as it was right that you should,

 but it was hard.

Feast of St Nicolas

6th Dec 2017

Aren't the days moving swiftly through December ??? We'll be in January before we know it and Christmas will be just another one of the many that we've celebrated over the years.

I want to share two blogs with you. I hope you take the time to look at them as I think they are wonderful. They are by two of my daughters, one of whom says that I am biased. Well, of course I am, but that doesn't take away from the fact that there is some great  content there.

They write very differently ... well, you will see:

godwheresthemanual.wordpress.com

and

adventuresfromthesofa.wordpress.com

I hope you enjoy them. Please let me know what you think. Or, better still, leave a comment on their blogs.

Now, I'd like to tell you another story about a homeless man. The weather has been bitter these last couple of weeks, the nights being particularly icy. It was on one such night , last week, when the temperature was below 6 degrees c that a homeless man died on the streets in Birmingham . So, so sad...

But that is not my story. My story starts last Saturday morning in Oxford.

We turned up early for our grandaughter's confirmation at the Oratory, and,  passing a man sat at the gate, walked through to the big doors at the entrance where we got talking to a very jolly chap who was waiting to talk to the priest. It turned out he was going to be getting married later that day. I left my husband talking to him while I went into the church.
When I came out hubby was with the man at the gate chatting away.

I felt a bit awkward as I always do with homeless people . You know, not quite knowing what to do.
Anyway I was dragged into the  conversation which was about homeless shelters. This tall man, who was standing now, his long, tangled, matted hair falling over his shoulders ( a Billy Connolly look alike),  told us that they charged for them and he didn't usually have the money to stay in one . Well, I thought, what homeless person would, living hand to mouth on the road and all that.

Then he and my husband proceeded to tell me of the good fortune which befell him while I was in the church. How the chap getting married that day had asked him what size shoes he wore - unfortunately his feet were two sizes too big -and then what size waist he was. Ahh , better luck there.  And what about corduroy, did he like brown corduroy. Of course he did . Reaching in his holdall bag,  the  "soon to be married" took out a smart pair of trousers and feeling in the pocket found a ten pound note. "It's your lucky day," he said beaming and handing him both the trousers and the money.
As the man of the road told  me this tale , he also had a huge smile on his face.
At this point I took his hand in mine to see how cold he was. He was cold...

"Give him my gloves,"  said my husband . He had let me borrow his gloves earlier . I feel the cold more than he does.
And of course your man  was delighted to get the gloves too.

He wasn't there when we came out after the service and I just hope that he is still doing OK and that he will survive through the winter.

Walk By ?

27th Nov 2017

I'm joining the six sentence story challenge this week, for want of any inspiration.
 The word we've been given  is "mate":

Walk By ?

"Got any change mate?" he pushed his hand forward in front of you and you noticed that the creases in it were lined with black grime, a sign that he'd been sleeping rough for some time.
You went to move away, to avoid contact, your heart rate rising, your stomach turning cartwheels, but something kept you rooted to the spot, even though everything was telling you to just brush past him.
You were about to say "sorry" and walk on when you looked up and caught his gaze, pleading , sad , honest, so instead you said, "hang on a minute," while you rummaged in your pocket and pulled out a fiver.
"Thank you sir, thank you so much," he took the money and kept bowing,  "I'll use it wisely, promise."
As he walked away, bent over with the burden of his belongings in a sack on his back , you tried to compose yourself, to get back to what you were doing, to catch your train, but you were disturbed.
You wondered what had brought him to this point, so instead of catching your train that day you turned around and went in search of him, in search of the man who got under your skin, to hear his story and maybe do a little more to help.


I know it's another one about the homeless. It's just that it's winter and I hate the thought of anyone not having a home and some food to keep them well.

No Going Back

26th Nov 2017


The temperature recorded just above  freezing in the car this morning.
 I shivered.
That can't be right. It must be at least a little below freezing point.
But I've always been a cold mortal. I turned the heating up high hoping it would
 soon kick in and warm my nose and my fingertips.

Anyway, later, on this bright winter morning, home at last,
wrapped up in layers, drinking warm coffee, I tune in to radio 4.
 They're telling the  story of a homeless man.
 I sit up, listen more carefully, look out at the grey skies.
Is there snow on the way?

Apparently this man  finds a ladies handbag in the centre of Bolton.
 Now, you might be tempted to think  think he counted his blessings
 and  rifled through the bag to find anything that he might be able to use.
For sure he could make his life a bit more comfortable even
if only for today. Keep the cold out with a pair of gloves.
At least buy some hot soup.
I mean, it fell into is path, so to speak.

But no, our man decides  he wants to find the owner and return it to her.
He thinks she'd be upset,  be missing it. It's got her bankcards in there, after all.
Maybe she'll be going without food herself. She needs her her purse.
No, he'll find her.
For two days he gradually makes his way, mostly walking, 
in the direction of the address he finds on her driving  licence.

When he thinks he must be in the vicinity he begins to ask  people
 if they know the  place. He shows them the licence.
Eventually he stops  a young woman, tall, dark hair, knee length  black skirt
under a three quarter red coat. He steps in front of her when she tries to pass
him by without making eye contact.
She looks at the licence he holds
Forced to look, she her eyes dart back to the little card.
Turns out she knows this girl, we don't find out her name,
and messages her on facebook.  She pulls her phone from
 her coat pocket,
begins messaging, arranges a meeting between the two
in the coffee shop just around the corner.

 The young twenty year old is delighted to get her handbag back,
all the  money, cards and sentimental, personal belongings still in place.
She was touched, surprised. Our homeless friend didn't take anything.

They kept in touch.
She went on to create a crowd fund site to help him get off the streets.




Such a heartwarming tale on this bitter morning

A poem:

No Going Back

Determined to save your sanity

You left

On that crisp, cold December morning

You left

With nothing but the clothes 

On your back

And the whole of your world in a

Very small sack.

You had no idea where

You might go

You just kept on walking

Hoping you'd know

That was over a year 

Ago now

You've got used to the road

Got some 

Know how

Wrapped in your blanket

You're there 

Outside the  Station

Sloane Square

Creases in your hands

Deep set in grime

Hair molded against brow

matted with time.

The cup at your feet waits

Waits for passers by

To see

But they all rush past

Without a glance though some will throw 

Ten pee

You left that day and 

Though it's hard this way

There's no going back 

No going back 

For you
You left

Bastille Day

23rd Nov 2017

On these cold days coming towards the end of the year, in my mind I dream of the wonderful  summer we 

spent traveling through France and Spain. 

The fireworks in November in the dark, damp cold evenings with warm bonfires take  me back to Bastille

Day in France. Celebrated on 14th July, it is an important date in French History, marking the storming of the

Bastille in 1789, during the French revolution. They mark the memory with parades, festivities and huge

celebrations, which cause the whole country to come to a standstill . Much of the revelry is broadcast on 

major television stations.

When we came off the main road to look for an Aire in which to stop for the night, little did we know that 

we would end up being caught up in the Bastille Day celebrations of the town of St Germaine. 

People waiting for the fireworks 

/

Stalls like we'd have at a funfair.

The day was hot and during the afternoon we had a cool lemonade at a bar which looked over the square where we could see the action was going to be. We watched as equipment was brought in but after a while went for a walk and then back to the camper to have something to eat .
Coming back later we were delighted to be entertained by a group of drummers - absolutely mesmerizing. Also there was a communal tent where they were serving  local homemade  alcohol, made with apples ( no, not cider) . It was delicious, almost a liquor and the best of all they were giving it to us for free. Yes, I did have a few and it drew us into the atmosphere of the occasion.
More entertainment with a group of little girls dressed in pink tops and swinging pom poms. They danced their hearts out. It was so moving .
The buzz about the place was amazing. The restaurant where we had our lemonade was full to overflowing to the extent that they brought extra tables (from somewhere) and put them out all over the square . It was a beautiful evening to be eating outside.
And then, at last, the fireworks. And wow, what a show! I mean, we have lots of events here in our seaside town and there are numerous occasions when we have fireworks displays, but, I can honestly say that I've never seen the likes of what we experienced that night . The sky was lit up with the Bastille colours of gold , red , white and blue . The noise was just like a battlefield ( I imagine) . It was just another of the many brilliant days of our adventures in the camper. Can't wait for more...

The Paint has Dried all Blue

9th Nov 2017



Prompt from six sentence stories :

Baked

The Paint has Dried all Blue

Lily fell backwards and turned her face away to avoid the hot air as she opened the oven door.
"Be careful," called her father from the living room where he sat, surrounded by papers, old photos and  plates and cups with food congealed hard into them.
She carried the tray with a tea towel, stepping between all the debris and stood in front of him, her fair hair falling in wispy waves down her red face.
"Look dad, the paint has dried all blue," she frowned as put the figures that she'd baked on the floor in front of him and knelt beside them.
"They're lovely, hun and mum would be so proud of you carrying on her tradition," he stroked her head with one hand whilst wiping away a tear with the other.
Lily's mum had died of cancer eight months before at the age of thirty seven and Lily struggled to do everything she thought her mother would have liked , including making crib figures out of salt dough, which was an activity they normally did together.

Work Ethic

5th Nov 2017

I have found a list of poetry prompts for November so I thought I'd give it a go.. It'll keep me going as I don't seem to have much inspiration of my own.
Today's prompt is "Work Ethic", which is very timely as I've just discovered a book I want to read entitled "Deep Work" by Carl Newport. ( Rules for focused success in a distracted world.)  Has anybody out there read it? It's a bit expensive to buy, only having been released last year . I think I might see if the library will get it for me.

Work Ethic

Having a real job would be easier
than sitting here trying to motivate myself
to do the work I must.
With no boss to answer to or oversee me
I procrastinate and use avoidance techniques
do anything but the thing
I should be doing.
Come on now, get to it, focus
you've got this
you can do this
OK a cup of coffee forst
then I'll start.

What do You Carry?

24th January

Everywhere seems to have snow today ,but here in Herne Bay we just have grey skies and cold...

A poem from a few years ago. 

5th Nov 2017 

It's so cold today. I've got four layers on but my fingers and feet are still like polar ice.

What are we carrying ? Do we feel it to be burdensome? Could we let go of some things,  rearrange others ? Are we weighed down and would we like to feel somewhat lighter? These are some of the questions that came to my mind with a particular poem we pondered at the Poetry for Wellbeing workshop that I attended last week.

It was interesting what came up . I remembered a time when I had all the children at home. I was always chasing my tail trying to keep up with everything and had an enormous pile of ironing which , no matter how hard I worked, I never seemed to get to the end of .
So this poem came out of that:

The Ironing

And the whole pile is slipping,

it'll end up on the floor

it'll get all dirty 

and I'll have to do more

washing.

My husbands shirts

ten or twelve

my four son's school uniform

trousers - cotton

the girls skirts - pleated.

It's the first thing I see

when I enter the room,

this mighty monster

prophet of doom

looking at me,

goading me

daring me

I'm not going anywhere

until you make

time to get round to me

I'll keep you awake

But today I've decided

I'll not do it anymore

for all I care,

It can fall on the floor

Ah no, that's no good

Instead,

let's fold it neatly

 put it away

get rid of the bully 

yes, that's the way.

Right, clear the table

and away we go,

a pile for each person

they'll never know

And before I know it 

the jobs all done.

Now, time for a cuppa

and a currant bun

All Saints

1st Nov 2017

All Saints Day

I wonder how many children, or adults for that matter, celebrated Halloween yesterday evening. We saw some children trick or treating and later adults all dressed up in rather ghoulish costumes, no doubt on their way to parties to have lots of fun.
Well that's great,  but will any of them know what Halloween means?

The word Halloween literally means the evening before All Hallows Day or All Saints Day which is celebrated on the 1st November ( today).
There are varied sources for the reason for the traditions that have grown up around Halloween and you can easily search them on google.
I just want, today, to focus on saints. What is a saint?
In the Catholic Church we have many canonised saints held up to us to inspire us to get closer to God ourselves. Who are these people and can any of us be one of them? Wouldn't we need to be praying all day in a convent to be worthy of the title, saint. Wouldn't it be impossible in my busy profession, in my hectic family life to reach the heights of sanctity.

Well, no. St Josemaria, a modern day saint,  canonised as recently as 2002, called by Pope John Paul 11, the "Saint of Ordinary Life"  said:
"God wants us to be saints.  You and I belong to Christs family, for he himself has chosen us before the foundation of the world, to be saints, to be blameless in his sight, for love of him, having predestined us to be his adopted children through Jesus Christ according  to the purpose of his will. We have been chosen gratuitously by Our Lord. His choice of us sets us a clear goal. Our goal is personal sanctity, as St Paul insistently reminds us, haec est voluntas Dei: santificatio vestra, "this is the will of God: your sanctification". Let us not forget, then, that we are in our masters sheepfold in order to achieve that goal. "      ( Friends of God)

Each one has their own path- the scientist , the shop worker, the mother at home looking after her small children - all are called to the same life of holiness through their work, turning everything they do into prayer and love for God.  It is at the same time both the easiest and the hardest thing.
But it's also a great adventure .

Today, we don't just celebrate those saints who've made it to the altars but the many more ordinary , holy people, who are living their lives and giving Glory to God. You might know some .

Octpowrimo 31 Water

1st Nov 2017

So, we come to the end of October and the end of the octpowrimo challenge. I have enjoyed ot so much and looking back on the month I can see that some of my random words might be worthy of a revisit , so that'll keep me busy.

So here is my last offering

My theme for these two poems

Water

I am the river
travelling
sometimes strong, fierce,
sometimes a trickle, almost
gone
I am the river,
wide, winding,  full
then rushing, gushing,
down from the
mountain
I am the river
many lives depend on me
I am the river


Clouds, close can almost touch
white wisps blotting blue
or, slate grey and green.
Down the scree a waterfall steps
depositing pools in plateaus
dropping in sheets - six,
seven metres
filling the air with whooshing
background sound
Along valley floor
flows the water
it snakes its way more slowly till
departing, disappearing behind
A mountain

Forbidden

30th Oct 2017

Where on earth to go with the prompt today .
Oh well, here we go then:

Forbidden

She thought it was forbidden
so she always kept it hidden
and only when she'd died
did they find out

She was a quiet one they said
finding the box under the bed
who'd of guessed this was
what she was about

One and all they told their story
how they thought her grim and gory
but none had thought her
capable of this

They put the suitcase on the bed
right beside the girl  now dead
and while they pondered each
gave her a kiss.

Octpowrimo 28 and 29

29th Oct 2017

So the clocks have gone back and I lay in bed awake for a bit and now am up and it's only just gone six. How lovely to see the day break through the black  that was night. I do love to get an early start.

We are coming to the last few days of the octpowrimo challenge and although I didn't manage to write everyday I have produced the right number of poems, at least till now.
I have enjoyed reading some of the other participants work too . All so varied .

If you want to have a look go to:

www.octpowrimo.com

Day 28
The theme for today is belonging:

                                                                          A Haiku:

Ancestors

Rub between fingers

stems of lavender flowers

breathe in lost loved ones

Day 29

October 

On the ground now  leaves -russet and golden

Crispy, crunchy underfoot

The last few to surrender  remain 

On the tree, mottled green, 

Bravely hanging onto the bare skeleton 

Even they will fall before long 

Remember no more the fruitful warmth of youth

Taste of Satisfaction, Held, No Roses

28th Oct 2017

Good morning. There  is certainly an autumnal chill in the air this morning, with chimneys puffing smoke heavenward.
I went to a writing for well being workshop yesterday. It's the first time in ages that I have written with other people and I found it immensely liberating . You writers who follow my blog if you don't already meet up with fellow pen smiths, then I would highly recommend that  to do.  The creative possibilities are increased tremendously. Now , on to catching up with octpowrimo. Here's three . I'll be back later to actually write today's. Enjoy...


Day 25

Taste of Satisfaction

To love what is mortal is no easy thing
Autumn turns green leaves golden then brown
From soft and stretchy to brittle and broken
All things change , make their unavoidable departure,
So, how to love that mortal thing,
And in the process keep possession of the I that is me,
Is it in the giving up or the giving in that the I is diminished,
Or is it otherwise -
Is it that the sacrifice makes the I into the strongest
Mountain, majestic , magnificent
And is there any sacrifice at all if all is joy when given
Yes, to love what is mortal is no easy thing

Day 26

Held

Eternal
only now,  holding everything in being
you are to my I am
my soul held beneath your wings
held against your softness
held as present
held everlasting




Day 27

No Roses

Stepping into the old house into a cold wall of empty
climbing the rickety stairs slowly, each  creak magnified
peeping round the bedroom door, daring to breathe -quietly
looking at her there in the bed as if asleep
smelling the strong scent of roses  filling the room
smiling and thinking no flowers have been here.

Octpowrimo 22, 23 and 24

26th Oct 2017

The prompt for the 22nd Oct:

Purposeful Passion

You Are

When you are gone I close my eyes, I close my eyes and think of you.

My inmost substance sees you there, encounters your presence.

You are  -  the light that brightens my gloom.

When I think of you I cannot breathe, mysterious shivers cascade through me,

I tremble at your touch, am caught in your embrace, a warm flame rests within me,  I want to stay

You are  -  the Place I want to be.

I taste your words, wondrous sweet, relish every morsel, true delight, honey from the bee,

You are  -  the only sustenance for me.

I hear your gentle voice, wisdom whispering love, words I long to secrete,

Somewhere in my memory to be retrieved at times like this,

You are  -  music to my ears,

The echo of my dreams,  murmurings that comfort me.

Prompt for 23rd Oct:

What is the Message

It was too late 

She was too late

If she'd come sooner maybe she would now 

know what he wanted to tell her

she kisses the cold forehead 

wipes it dry of tears

he waited for hours they said 

but death came for him 

in the dark of night 

he wanted to speak with you they said

no one else would do

what was the message she thought 

did no one know but you

Prompt for 24th Oct:

When Lovers Meet

She just a girl bringing in the sheep

He the new neighbour son of the vet

Her - hair greasy, complexion hidden in sweat and dirt

Him- bumbling along, first time sent to help with the lambing

She, sat waiting patiently a problem  with a mother

He, glanced down and in that moment loved her

She met his gaze and heart racing returned the thought 

He in that unspoken look knew he'd found the one   

Octpowrimo 19, 20, 21

25th Oct 2017

I've no idea how to respond to the prompt for the 19th Oct . So I'm going to try another acrostic.
The prompt is:

Fox or Foxy

Feeling a little heated, red .fur getting redder
One little fox wonders how he can use his cunning
X raying the seen with his eyes he finds he has to use

Other means today. He devises
Rougher ways to find his

Food. He gives it all he's got
Obstinate till the last and then,
X marks the spot
Yes, he will get to eat tonight.


 










More about remembering than desires, here's a poem I wrote a while ago and now post for the prompt for 20th Oct:

Desires and Remembering

Am I Being Clear

Am I being clear?

Things have changed around here,

Life was more peaceful, less stressful,

The three of us, Pottering about, Knew where we were.

Then you came to stay!

Didn’t realise I was so controlling,

But, three eggs for breakfast (with bacon, saved for the carbonara),

And after a large bowl of porridge and along with four slices of toast!

The budget doesn’t run to it!

Am I being clear?

Then we were told that when we were out,

The two of you , made dinner,

Used all the chicken breasts, and had a whole pizza,

Without a second thought - Too much at one time,

Am I being clear?

And the washing machine – it goes on at night-we save on the ‘ectric ,

And can you not be in the shower for more than twenty minutes?

Am I being clear?

The prompt for the 21st Oct is Nothing Remains the Same.  And I've got a little song this time:

Enjoying the Dance                                    

Embracing, Gliding likes swans on a lake,

We took to the floor, a couple to make.

Quick stepping through galaxies, up with the stars,

Fox trotting on Saturn, Jupiter and Mars.

And they said we could never be

Happy together, you and me.

But we’re still here, proving them wrong,

Enjoying the dance and singing our song,

Enjoying the dance and singing our song.

At times we twirled and danced too fast,

 Feet hardly touching the floor, such a blast.

Our feet would be bleeding our body’s sore,

But we carried on across the dance floor.

And they said we could never be

Happy together, you and me.

But we’re still here proving them wrong,

Enjoying the dance and singing our song,

Enjoying the dance and singing our song.

Our dance has slowed but we still glide,

Gently moving, side by side,

Our adventure will come to an end one day,

But we’ll move on, we know the way.

Chorus

Octpowrimo 18

23rd Oct 2017


Feeling cold today makes me so grateful
to have warm clothes
and a house to live in.
But it also brings to mind those who have
no home,
those on the streets of our towns and cities
who are
homeless and possibly sleeping
out in this inclement weather.

The prompt for Octpowrimo for 18th Oct  is 

Everyone Went on Eating.

So I think I'll leave it with the above because isn't it true that we all carry on eating
 while our bothers and sisters are cold or lonely or hungry. .

Octpowrino 15, 16 and 17

22nd Oct 2017

I am up to the 15th October and the prompt is :

Fighting The Urge to Vomit

How come the fragrance of soap,
before, so welcome after the more human bodily,
undesirable stench of patients on the surgical ward
now causes nausea
way down in the pit of my empty stomach
rising up to try and escape over the beds
I try to make, at least completing one before
going to the bathroom to be sick
this is how I knew

I cook dinner with peg on my nose
onions are the worst, seeming to penetrate
every obstacle to keep them at bay
unstoppable churning brings me again
to my knees
I decide salad in future, but still
every delicate smell adds to the urge
who is smoking in the road outside
and will they please
desist


Well that was a reflection of being in early pregnancy. In one of  those times I couldn't eat anything but fruit and uncooked veg and lost lots of weight whilst pregnant, being a stone and a lighter at the end than at the beginning.

And on to the prompt for the 16th Oct:

Losing Your Fears and Tears

My God gives me rainbows
a flood of thankful wells up
from the deep,
a river that bursts its banks
and overflows with joy.
At the beginning
a rainbow
At the end
A rainbow
There you are

And the 17th:

And The Dragon Chose

In the caves way up in the mountain
lived the Thunder of dragons called Grafeond .
They ruled the land from East to West
And were feared by all creatures around.

Fierce they looked, their wings outstretched
they commanded a fearsome sight
and when their fiery breath they breathed
others quickly took to flight.

One little whelp from this Thunder,
thinking his flying he'd practice
stepped off the mountain, spread his wings
but  landed in an terrible mess

His dear mama came to his rescue
you're not quite ready said she
and she gathered him in her wings
And took him home for his tea.





Oh well, that was that then. A bit out of my comfort zone with that one. But I gave it a try.

Octpowrimo, 13th and 14th

19th Oct 2017

The prompt for the 13th Oct :

Art In The Wayward Mind 

This wayward mind wanders
off course
an interminable inventor of wild
imaginings
remodeling, reshaping a woeful
reality
tortured until it turns again to
truth
and finds the narrow
path
and
follows

And for the 14th Oct:

Movement And Words

He gently rubs  the damp cloth over 

his trainers 

revealing a white area on the 

old canvas

one by one he slowly unravels the two

 blue laces.

Dreamily he watches a fly walk nearby on 

 grey tiles

And thinks, you have no idea how lucky 

you are 

Out on the downs he runs, runs, slowly

at first

Then, words fight inside his head, explode 

back , forth

He speeds up , they get louder, his breath

gives out 

He stops,

Falls to the floor,

Sobs softly





.

Day 12 Octpowrimo Imagination Stands In The Road

12th Oct 2017

Today I've take the prompt for the 12th Oct . See what you think. Looking out at the rain and the dull grey , It seems a good idea to imagine ....

Imagination Stands In The Road

She looks down the road

It curves,

disappears into dark trees

where maybe goblins live

and frolic with fairy friends. 

Or is there a secret, stone 

in the middle of the wood 

where lost leprechauns 

can find their way home.

She might follow that way.

She looks up the road

It leads 

on as far as the eye can see

long and straight

until it fades into the 

tall mountains

where maybe there are bears,

waterfalls and a winding trail

 that takes you  to the top 

 an adventure

Move Your Body Move Your Words

18th Oct 2017

Reading at the prompt for day 11 left me cold. I thought, right, where can I go with this? I was completely stumped and my little grey cells were snoozing away and not in the least bit interested in the problem.
But I thought I must write something as some words are better than no words. Aren't they?

Move Your Body Move your Words

I nearly missed the train this evening.

With a sea of commuters I ran for the 6.0 o'clock
train
A seat tonight was out of the question, that fact was
plain
Bodies hustled, toes trod on, shoved, not admitting to
pain
Damp smell from clothes polluting the air, all got wet in the
rain
The seated make no eye contact, arriving early was their
gain
They ignore the pregnant, the old, the infirm, eyes closed in the
main
Some are on  phones, others read books and in their seats they
remain

I am not young and with my poorly hip could do with a
rest
So when a lot get off at the next stop I feel I'm now well
blest
I take a seat in first class  in  a comfy chair like a
guest
Let's see how long I can keep my place, it's like a little
test
No one comes to remove me -  home, that's always the
best

  

Octpowrimo days 8, 9, 10,

17th Oct 2017

I can see that I might actually be able to catch up now. Maybe by the time 25th Oct comes I might be on the right day.
But, for now I'm on the 8th Oct and the prompt is:

What do You Know and How do You Know it

Is everything that  I can see, known by me 

and what of that which our eyes can't view 

yet people tell us are there and they're true

and we can see a picture of them in a book

but, for whatever reason we can't actually look

at the real thing.

Is all that is in my head, all that I have studied

and learnt since I was small and just little seed 

from all the world around real knowledge indeed 

that "how to" gleaned from father and mother too 

and then, even  years later  more gained from you

my true computer fling  

Prompt for 9th Oct :

Tapping into Your Creative Mind

It's what I would like to do if I had one, a creative mind, I mean 

it would make it so much easier to get down to the writing

something would always be there, in the depths, to be retrieved 

lurking in the recesses  , behind all the goings on of the day

I could just tap, tap, dig, dig  a little bit and be sure

 to come up with an idea or two that I could work with.

But, alas, it's not to be , for I only have the mind I have

I'm afraid that'll have to do for me.

Prompt for 10th Oct:

Power and Control

In  letting go lies the power
giving control of every hour
of our life