Is It Even A Memory

24th Feb 2020

I ran a one off workshop last week, which was most inspiring. Giving prompts  and poetry to respond to,  the   group of six eager  writers spent an hour and a half getting their words down in their journals, each producing some really creative work.
As I was leading I didn't have the same head space as I usually do but I did do a little something.
The first exercise I suggested was to write to the prompt, "I remember" without taking the pen off the paper - free writing. From there we then wrote again in a more detailed way with what came from that.
This second task is where this poem came to life.

Is It Even A Memory?

Is it even a memory,
that day when the sun shone bright,
that day mum sent me out to play,
I was only three.
Can I trust that I remember
that worm that I ate,
that worm that hung from my mouth,
while I, keeping cool,
played under the caravan?

I see a little girl with blond curls.
She picks up the worm
 from the soft, squelchy mud,
her blue eyes wide, smiling.
She turns the creature
over and over in her hands,
rubs it down her dress,
the dress with the red roses on.
Gently, she rolls it in her fingers,
then, swiftly, she pops it
in her mouth.
She does not recoil - as I do now,
or grimace at the taste.
No, she stands triumphant.
She is queen.
She has conquered her prey.
The worm now hangs from her lips,
wriggles,
the little girl giggles.
Her freedom eludes me today,
as does her joy - passionate, pure.
When did I lose that innocence,
that sense of adventure?
That little girl is gone now.
Sometimes, I wish I could go back,
just for a while,
and join her under the caravan.

Window Shoppers

28th April


Soon there won't be any shops for the window shoppers to browse in . That would be a shame.







12th April 2018

A response to The Wasteland , by T.S.Eliot. 
I have used some of his lines throughout this poem.

Window Shoppers 

Last year for three months

 it was a bookshop,

large windows, terracotta frontage.
Mrs Baker came in on Thursdays,
after her visit to the hairdressers,
silver grey re-curled 
She'd stay for an hour, maybe more,
run her stick along the floor,
always buy a book. 

Then for nineteen weeks, 

the owner was very precise,

 it was a florists,
violet, red, yellow, speckled the various
shades of green all along the front.

Long departed now, no forwarding address .

For many months thereafter,
empty, memory and desire stirring,
 Walls burned green and orange,

 Framed by coloured stone, 
musty odor, like gas, escaping to g

concerned passers by. 

Today, newly painted in purple gloss, 
no sign of dross or moss, 
now, offices of a law firm.
Suited men, women,
carry briefcases,
frowns on their brows 
enter in the morning  at 8.30
and leave in the evening at five

Next door is the Corner Café, 
chairs spill out onto pebbles and pavement
the inviting smell of bacon,

 percolated coffee,
 summer sun reflects sky upon glass tops.

On rainy days the sound of chatter and a clatter,
 from within.

where  little groups huddle together round small tables,

Elegantly laid with tea pots,  china cups, saucers

Here, town councilors drink coffee 
nod their heads,  talk for an hour.

On the other side of the cafe, 

two hollow sepulchers
 stand empty, unloved,
long abandoned
grubby from want of human touch,
plaster falls from walls,

Nothing to attract the lover of beauty, 

or  the discerning window shopper. 

But,  beside them,  New Look 
glass front displays goods , 
racks of colour entice hungry shoppers
 to step inside.
a few staff members hover in anticipation,
try to catch the eye.

Up and down the street,  people wander,
 most out for a stroll ,
 not to buy, just to look

As one might go to the woods or the mountains.

No need today to rush about the shops
no need to get frustrated trying
  to find those items that we need. 

Instead, from the comfort of our sofa,
 on any number of electronic devices,
we  purchase what we want.

The High Street only a leisure activity

"Let's have a walk around the shops”  -  people say.

A museum of past times -
 you ought to be ashamed to look so antique.

What a wicked pack of cards for shopkeepers ,
 dealing as they do in profit and loss

With rates going up and would be customers 
 only window shopping.

Soon they will be gone -
 ruins tolling reminiscent bells

And I will show you fear in a handful of dust.

Thre e Years On

24th May 2017

Three Years On

Today there was a "memory" waiting for me on facebook of the start of my blog . It told me that three years ago today I began my blog. It feels like so much longer !

Anyway, I lost it and couldn't retrieve it but it got me thinking. I clearly din't know how it was going to go - and I still don't, obviously .

 But I do have a lot of writing on the blog and over 30,000 visits , so it must be relatively successful.
I enjoy posting and will continue because it has been a wonderful tool to get me writing . Short stories, poetry and ramblings of various sorts.


There have been great comments from a host of lovely people who sometimes say encouraging things about what I write , which is wonderful.
I've had a few spin offs , one of them when I was to review an authors work, someone who is already well known . That gave me a bit of a boost. And getting involved in the napowrimo month which I love.
I get to read and comment on other poet's work and mine is also read by them.

So, from that shaky beginning I have not looked back.
I hope to improve how I work and to reach many more people.

Stay with me

Give me ideas

And share you writing too

Below is that first , uncertain post . The day I set out on my blogging adventure  with just a laptop and no idea what to do with it.



24th May 2014

Ok, so here goes. Let's see how I get on with a blog. No idea what I'm doing but I trust that  it will work.
And I hope, if anybody ( yes you) does come to read it, that they will enjoy it and enter into conversation with me. And maybe we can do some "putting the world to rights" or something.
Just heard on the news that they found the upturned boat that the four British sailors were on with the life raft still attached, which means that they are dead. Very sad news indeed. My heart goes out to the families whose hope has now been dashed.
But stars only shine in the darkness and I believe that even from this painful situation good will emerge.
I did shiver when I thought of them drowning, though. That would be my least favourite way to die, I have to say.
So, what will I write on this  blog?
I think I shall answer all sorts of dilemmas. The sort that they have in the women's magazines. And if you have a different opinion then by all means let me know. It could make for an interesting chat. It would be like you were in my kitchen joining in the debate. For today I just want to see if I can get started.
So God Bless.
Talk again soon.