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1/7/2019 0 Comments Some days...Some days I want to wear grey
No matter how bright the sun Or beckoning the day Some days I want to fade away To step into the background And have nothing to say Some days I want to give in Let go of every last thing And drift into oblivion Some days... Most days I fight the lure With colour, music, light With contact, friends, kin With all those small kindnesses: The touch of a sympathetic hand, The warmth of a fire and a good book The beseeching eyes of a dog Who senses all is not well and offers Love.
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10/10/2016 1 Comment Autumn MorningGossamer threads
Glisten in the air. Grass, silvered with dew, Shimmers dreamlike. Hedgerows, laden With hips and haws, Gleam with polished Scarlet berries. . Oak and chestnut Shed glossy fruit Gifts for squirrels And errant children. Summer blue sky Belies the chill As summer trees begin to don The fiery hues of Autumn. 2/10/2016 3 Comments GaleThe birch yields
As passionate wind strips delicate fronds. Elegant. The oak resists As obdurate wind wrenches ancient limbs. Dominant. The yew endures As renegade wind rips evergreen spikes. Sentinel. The willow sways, Lashing tortured wind with pitiless whips. Triumphant. 1/27/2016 0 Comments South Downs, January 2016Wind from the south herds sullen clouds
Northwards across the Downs Revealing glimmers of washed blue sky Shot through with silvery light From a pale, inadequate sun. Gulls bend their wings in sudden swirls, Angled across the sky While magpies, indifferent to the storm, Hop, earthbound, chattering stilled By the rush of blustering wind. Sheep stand forlorn, their huddled groups Seek shelter by the hedge. Pied wagtails flutter wildly in pairs Tossed by the buffeting blows Of the moist, malevolent gale. The hills stand steadfast, enduring, Solid beneath the sky, Ancient guardians of man made fields, Resistant to every breath Of Nature’s implacable force. 11/16/2015 0 Comments In tributeThe year ebbs Sodden fields slump beneath sullen skies Waiting for winter's blast. Hatred unfurls Grief immeasurable tears our hearts Splinters lives. Above a kestrel waits Hunter. The wren sings from the bramble hedge Heartfelt challenge to the sky. Hope. (first published in Firefly Magazine, Issue 3, December 2015) |
AuthorI spent most of my life not realising I was a writer. I just thought everybody's minds worked like mine. On some level I had a vague idea that the conversations with people who weren't there might just put me in the crazy category, so I kept quiet. Besides, the people in my head were usually more interesting which was never going to win me friends out there in the reality sphere. Fiction has always seemed to offer more interest than the real world and finally I realised - this is how writers think! Normal people don't have these thoughts. So, I had the imagination and the crazy thoughts. The only thing needed to turn me into a writer was to put pen to paper... Or, in my case, fingers to keypad. Here goes! Archives
January 2019
CategoriesAll Family History Family Letter Flash Fiction Ideas Little Black Dog Poem Story Tweets To Bill Work In Progress Writing |
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