Blue Irises

9th June 2018

May and June 

I really cannot believe that we're nearly in the middle of June. I had so many plans to enjoy the last weeks of May and the month of June - my favourite. Not that I'm not enjoying them , no, but I had intended to make the most of the longer days by getting more walks by the sea and spending more time out of doors. Playing tennis with the grandchildren etc etc...
It's still my plan, but now I have less time and I feel as if we only have a few weeks ( which we do) before the days start to draw themselves together, giving us less daylight hours. I mean,  in seven or eight weeks time it will be dark by eight or nine.
I'm not a sun worshiper or anything but, I do like the months of May and June - just saying y'all..

I am looking out at the pond from the, now "shared",  studio and I see tall Irises, their blue flowers with no effort at all reaching heavenward. Radiant and glorious they fulfill their purpose.

I Set Out To Meet You 
I set out to meet you
not sure I'm going
I put my trust in the instructions
A light bag slung over my shoulder
containing a bottle of water,
and small cheese sandwich,
and sandals on my feet
for the day is mild.
I pass the factory on the left,
stop, listen,
machines break into the birdsong
quench it -  momentarily.
And rats scuttle in front of me.
I move on ,
 second road on the left
a residential road with its avenue of trees
and anonymous inhabitants
behind net curtains.
Hidden eyes follow
to the end , when I  turn
and walk down a country lane
until I reach the pond
where I wait .
It's where you told me to be.
Clouds gather and I notice
I'm getting wet.
I stand under a tree
but the clouds move swiftly,
turn black.
The rain comes down.
But then I see you.
I slosh through mud , quicken my pace
clothes dripping and heavy
Now you see me and rush to meet me
And together we walk on

A Walk With Orange

6th June 2017



In this Election week many of us are concerned about the future of the country and maybe of the world.
Recent events in Manchester and London have caused  quite a disturbance to our peace .
However, the response to those who would try to take our freedom away from us is surely to use it and get out and vote on Thursday.
We all have the freedom to vote for whoever we think will do a good job of running the country for us. I am not going to say which name/party you should put your cross against. But just be sure to go and do it.
If the majority of the country got out to the polling stations, wouldn't that be a vote for freedom and democracy and fly in the face of those who would interfere with them.

Anyway enough of that. I'd like to share a little bit of writing I did today for a workshop.


We were asked to choose a colour and then take a walk for about half an hour, taking notes if we wanted or pictures to inspire us .

So, on my walk I spotted :
a broken terracotta pot , dirty, half hidden in the  earth 
I wondered how it came to be there  in no one's garden,
but alone with a wreck of a truck for company;
a lily - like flower straining joyfully  towards the sky 
basking in the sun;
a diversion sign for traffic, a necessity it seemed as 
cars waited in long lines for some movement;
a lone marigold bud peeking out from under a wall
maybe tomorrow it will bloom;
five orange buckets - two men in overalls intent 
on some decorating, no doubt;
and then, some oranges in a bowl in someone's 
window- inviting fruit on a hot day;
and in contrast, in the road a distinctive
 orange sainsbury's bag full of rubbish;
a board outside a cafe with a menu for lunch;
a sign above a shoe shop - almost draws 
me in with its familiar letters;
a long dress in orange and black, for the beach,
taking me back to a long ago time of dreams;
and sandals with gold straps to add to
my life, my style, my look ( the orange New Look 
slogan);
lastly, beneath the windmills, out to sea specks 
of tangerine calling to me - time
to come home.

And a poem :
  

 A Walk with Orange                                              

There it sat in the bay window, right in the centre.

On either side, navy curtains dropped in symmetry

giving my OCD a comfortable moment of happy, that large bowl  

 full to the brim with vibrant  oranges.

You’d always said they were good for you, rich in vitamin c

one of your five a day. You picked them straight

 off the trees in our Spanish garden  in Valencia,

heavy scent of orange blossom hung as a taste throughout the house.

Our small, hilly grove gave up her fruit - sometimes bitter, 

sometimes sweet, sometimes in warm hands – large, safe.

Other times cut up on a tray, seeping inner juice to mingle

with my tears -silent , soft, tears drawn from your pain

You never spoke, there was no conversation, not really,

apart from those words of getting by.

Today I eat the pithy pigment with reluctance 

and not without your voice sounding in my ear

Next time I hope to have pictures.

See you soon and thanks for stopping by.