I Can't Help It

30th April  

Thought I'd just do the last day of napowrimo . The prompt : to write a poem about something that happens again and again...

I Can't Help it

It's only with the bathroom
The rest of the house I clean once a week
Or if it gets dirty and needs  it, a bit more often maybe,
But the bathroom I do every day

The changing of sheets I can leave for a fortnight,
And the oven gets done when it's grimy
Sometimes the food is baked on and crusty,
But the bathroom I do every day

Well no, that not quite true, I'll not lie
The bathroom I do at least ten times a day.
 It pops into my mind the moment I wake
And I have to get up there and then
Whether it's five or six or, if I'm lucky,
Nearer to seven - doesn't  matter when
I just have to get at it
It's a compulsion, you see.

I scrub and I spray and I polish
Till everything  gleams and I'm happy
Then, even when no one's been in it at all
And only an hour's gone by
I'm back and I start all over again
I can't resist though I try.

SSS- Well

27th April.


Six sentences and using the cue n- "well"

Packing

Jackie sat on his bed and helped Daniel to  pack his suitcase, slowly folding each jumper and t shirt and handing them to him, brushing her fingers against his and wondering how they had lived  together in the same flat for the last three years without getting close romantically.
"Pass me those books, please," he put out his hand without looking at her, seemingly oblivious to her grief, which, to be fair she was trying to hide.
Why hadn't she done something before, she thought as she passed him the book of poems they used to read on rainy evenings whilst drinking a glass of Rose. 
Was it too late now,  she thought, after all the train to Doncaster would leave Bath at four o'clock and then he would be gone forever.
"I'll miss you," she whispered, reaching for his hand, their eyes meeting, each pouring into the other the longing that, secretly, they held between them.  
"Well,"  he said softly, pulling her towards  him, "you can always get a job in Bath and follow me down and do you know what, I'd like nothing better"

On The Practice of Writing

26th April 2017





On The Practice Of Writing


There is a lot of advice out there for writers.
From where to, when to and for how long ...

• Read everything you can lay your hands on - I'm not actually keen on fiction, but love memoir and poetry.
• Always carry a notebook - when I want it I've always left it at home. I very rarely need to use it when I do carry it.
• Protect the time and space in which you write - Having a large family there's no point in trying that one. Sunday afternoon, when everybody is happy I might let myself do something for me ( I am getting better at that one)
• Have a writing room or at least a designated place                      of your own - I thought this one would solve all my problems of leaving my work somewhere where I could go back to and mean that I would be "left to do my work". It hasn't happened. Even though I have a purpose built writing room, I am often found writing at the dining room table on my laptop or in a chair by the window ( the sun streaming in) 
• Write at least five hundred ( 200, 1000, etc etc)                            words a day  - well actually, if I can get started , the numbers of words don't seem at all relevant and it seems more important to get down what needs to come out.
• Write for one ( two, three , etc etc ) hours a day - and again, Sometimes I can write for half an hour and I've done what I set out to do and other times I will write for nearly two hours. I never get to three or more. 

These are just a few of the ways I fail at writing . 
No wonder I'm getting nowhere.
No wonder there is no book to boast about
No wonder I feel that I am lying to call myself a writer at all.

But, I do have nearly 30,000 visits to my blog.
So someone is reading some of the things that I share .
And that is good, isn't it.

So, I will start tomorrow. 
I will plan to write 500 words in 2 hours .
I will write in my writing space .
When I go and have coffee with my friend I will take my note book.
And I will do the same the next day and the day after that , until I have something worthwhile written.
I will 
I will...

Emotions

25th April 2017


This was some fun in writing group this morning.
Working to the pattern :

ABAB, ABAB, ABAB
   s    t   s  c t     c                When s= square, t=triangle, c=circle
  

Using the emotion "Fear"

It makes my hands clammy,
This feeling of fear,
It has me running to the loo,
My stomach churning

This feeling of fear,
I'm rooted to the spot
My stomach churning
I can't gather my thoughts

I'm rooted to the spot
Can't wait to get out of here
Can't wait till this is over
Can't wait till things are clear.

Same thing, but using the emotion "Joy"

It makes my heart sing
This felling of joy
Makes me want to dance
And run through a meadow

This feeling of joy,
Puts a spring in my step
And run through a meadow
Looking up to the skies

Puts a spring in my step
If only It could last
But I know it's a fleeting spark
But I'll take it while I can.

Elevenie - Sun /Goldfish

23 rd April

The challenge for napowrimo today is to write an elevenie poem. Eleven words. Here's my double elevenie, which now makes twenty two words.

Sun / Goldfish

Sun

shining brightly

in clear sky

caressing earth and bones

warmly



Goldfish
circling around
lily pond chasing newts
swimming

The Studio

22nd April
A day behind but this is for a prompt from napowrimo - "Overheard Speech".

The Studio

No, the studio's great man - I've got it three days a week
And that's enough for you, enough time to fit in your,
you know, your creativity.
Yeah, I sit in the armchair and ponder,
I look at the canvas, then my eye sees the brush,
And then, I close my eyes.
And then you start painting?
Grief, no man, no painting, just sleeping, thinking and maybe,
Smoking...
Smoking?
Yeah, smoking, y'know, getting mellow, that's when it happens...
It happens?
Yeah, it happens...
What, what happens?
Well, I see things, things that will be my paintings
That's great. And then you start painting?
No , man, then I go home and have a bath and maybe,
maybe the next day I might remember something
And bring out a piece of paper
A small piece of paper,
And draw something.


how do you work

Question - SSS

21st April

I'm afraid I haven't done much writing on my blog lately .
I will be back soon.
I was at the  funeral today of our dear friend Fr Charles. He was a very busy apostle, making friends wherever he went. That was evident in how many people came to celebrate his life and pray for his soul.
He was chaplain of our little catholic school, giving of himself to the children, the staff and the parents without a care for himself. They all loved him dearly and wanted to be there for him.
So we had two services.
The first last night when the body was brought into the church  and when nearly all the staff turned up as well as many of the children and their families. Maybe about 250-300 altogether. It was such wonderful mass, full of joy and singing.
And then today for the requiem mass. Again a packed church- 300-400 people again. And again such joy. Fr Charles had chosen the hymns and readings . It was fabulous .I've rarely  seen anything like it.
As part of our parish lunch club team I was with a small group preparing food from 8.30 this morning, which we served to a huge crowd this afternoon, finishing about 5.50 pm.
We are exhausted, but happy.

And now, for the six sentence story challenge for this week:

Question

In Praise Of Sound.

10th April 

Unfortunately I'm still a day behind.  Hopefully I'll get two poems written today .
So the first one, for yesterday :

9th April :
For a few months I have been troubled with poor hearing. It was probably wax and has since cleared up - well almost. Whilst not being able to hear that well I discovered how much I value ( or should value) that particular sense.

In Praise Of Sound

It occurs to me to be thankful 
That I can hear those sounds.
The voice of my husband,
A whisper,
"Are you awake?"
Delicate song of birds greeting 
The day.
Welcome sound of water running 
In the kitchen,
Kettle boiling,
Cups clattering, 
Soft steps on the stair,
When he  brings the tray
With morning tea.

Buzz of a bee circling the garden,
Water bubbling in pond 
Disturbed by fish.
Engine of aeroplane 
In distant blue.
Revving of neighbours car
Like clockwork.
Fluttering sound of trees 
Rustling in the breeze.
Screams of joy from children 
Two garden down.
And the doorbell ringing
Calling me urgently 
To come and answer 

For all the above 
And much, much, more,
I am so thankful

7th April The Mountain

7th April ( but written on the 8th)

A bit late. Preoccupied yesterday with family coming to stay.

The Mountain

I build a mountain , a monument to passions,
Daily piling on more earth,
The soil of attachments,
Keeping me from getting close
To you

So much stands now in the space between us
The space that isn't space
Filled as it is with life's distractions
Cannot even get close enough
To see you

And all of a sudden it all seems like dust
A pile of nothing but rubbish
And what's important I see now
Is how will  I get  close
To you

So, with a teaspoon I begin to dig at the face
Of the huge mountainside
And little by little with each swing of my arm
I Throw the dirt behind until I get
To you

6th April- Strangled

6th April


Strangled

Ivy and brambles grow tight into the structure,
Roots going deep into mud walls
Concealing the entrance.
With hacksaw and pain in equal measure,
I attack the wildness with vigour,
Thorns tearing at my flesh.
Driven by an impulse I can't ignore, success
Depends on this challenge and though blood
Drips all around,
I carry on.
I fight my way through the years of misery
And with every cut, with every root discarded,
I get nearer to the self I lost.
Then a gap, a small hole and I peer inside,
Squint to see what is there  in the dark
And carry on, renewed.
I will find my way in, the way to the present moment
And with God, find peace.

April 5th Walk By The Beach

April 5th 2017


Walk By The Beach

Two boys, about eight maybe, kicking up the pebbles,
A dog paddling  in shimmering water, black head stretching
Towards a red ball thrown out to entice.

Gulls squawking madly, fighting over luncheon remains,
Fly away suddenly when a lone teenager gives them the chase
Firing stones at them - not at all nice

And we walk on, hand in hand along  the beach,
On towards Reculver,  the sun warming our cheeks,
Evening threatening to come too soon.

We share stories as we go and talk with more ease,
Sorting the differences that will always be there,
In the sky the sun  joined by the moon.

The rhythm in our steps mirrored by the shushing of waves
Keeping time unconsciously with the gentle ebb and flow
Our bodies one with  nature around us

Moving further out of the town , two figures travelling alone
Scent of sweet lavender  -  an old aunt comes to mind,
Quiet reveals winged insects,  unknown to us.

4th April- Burgundy Red

4th April

Burgundy Red

The  pile of clothes grows on the bed
And with it, deep inside , so does my dread.
I want to go, yes, I want to,  that's for sure
But how am I going to get out the door?

A fiftieth birthday a milestone to celebrate
So I have to be there, she is a best mate .
And I know when I manage to get myself out,
I'll enjoy the whole thing , of that there's no doubt.

So I find some trousers  stretchy, comfy and black,
At least I'll be sitting - won't look like a sack
And and old, but fancy top, my colour-burgundy red
The lipstick that matches, yes, it's there by my bed

So I'm ready, but I don't want to be the first one there,
Not know whether to stand and wait or go sit on a chair.
So I leave the house at the time we have set
To meet at the restaurant, so I know I'll be met.

What a greeting I get when I walk in the door,
Champagne on the table and more on the floor.
The intention , it's clear, is to have a good crack
Laughing all evening to the moon and back

Past Bones

3rd April

Day 3 - poem a day:
                                                 

                                               Past Bones

Keep hold of that thread,

Let it hang form those past bones

Giving meaning to who we become
Every movement has its reason,

The flower, growing its timely season,

Where what has been

Has come to this,

And this is the softness
of the present
The delight of now

Hold on to that thread,

Though not too tightly

For each moment inform's the next,

Each thread must be broken,

Left behind 

To free the mind

In The Garden

2nd April 2017


Day 2 of the poem a day in April .

In The Garden

Sitting in the garden 

coffee and birdsong bring peace

 to the soul while bones

 are warmed

rhythm of water trickling 

into pond sends ears tickling

leads the mind to meditation

a butterfly- red admiral maybe

whiffs past nose 

lands gently on Budleia 

pink and yellow tulips 

stand tall in front of her

giving homage

lavender also gives of itself 

an aroma - sweet - memories

of female ancestors

and we sit

just a bit longer.

April 1st

1st April

Going to try and join in with the poem a day in April. I managed last year. 30 poems in 30 days with napowrimo . So here goes, the first one , trying to go with the prompt -  with Kay Ryan in mind "short, tight lines, rhymes interwoven throughout, maybe an animal or two, and, if you can manage to stuff it in, a sharp little philosophical conclusion."


Tiptoeing Around .

The bear sits
in his chair
asleep for now
unaware of those
tiptoeing around
hardly putting
feet to ground
pale faces
sunken
minds race
drunken
soon the beast will
wake
soon the beast will
take
from the souls
of those
those he loves
the very
spirit
of each one
breath by breath
til all is gone


See you tomorrow ...