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.